Posted by Peroleth on May 28, 2000 at 05:40:12:
I always liked this on paper, but I never could get sufficiently into it, alas. I had big plans that never materialized..... (pasted from my text files, as I don't have the actual output of "role") Initial entry at level 1, last week of April: Peroleth is more than he seems. He does not know himself, or the nature of his Peroleth has vague memories of the night. He never found the village, never Next entry, at level 45, 2nd week of May: The timing of events was unfortunate for Peroleth. At precisely the same time --- The demon-spirit fumed at the developments. If his host was to one day hold
circumstances, fully. He grew up in a small native tribe of little consequence,
savages in every sense of the word, living in ramshackle huts nestled deep in
otherwise-unexplored mountains at the southern edge of the Tahril. Ancestor
worship was a major component of the tribal heritage, and each year, the first
youth to reach the age of fourteen was ritually prepared and used as a vessel in
a channeling ceremony, a conduit for the ancestral spirits. Peroleth's odd
tattooes are a remnant of that ceremony--marks of warding, protection, and
strength, according to the tribal beliefs, to contain and focus the energy of
the spirit. In Peroleth's case, something went very, very wrong. What,
precisely, is unclear. The runes may have been mistakenly crafted by the
primitive tribal cabalists, or perhaps the spirit they attempted to contact
had been far less virtuous than was thought... The result, however, was
unmistakable. A demon-spirit from the depths of the Malebolge came to inhabit
the prepared vessel on that fareful night. The runes of warding were strong
enough to contain it, but not strong enough to control it. An hour later, the
village was in ruins. The rising sun, the distance from the flames of the
Inferno, and the exertion of suppressing the will of the unusually strong young
man, took their toll on the spirit, and as Peroleth collapsed in the mountains,
it became dormant, subtle yet controlling.
saw it in ruins. He remembers being drugged in preparation for the ritual,
and he remembers waking up alone, bruised and bleeding, deep in the Tahril
mountains. The only explanation: betrayal and abandonment. The only reaction:
hatred, disgust, destruction. Peroleth saw for the first time the great city
of New Thalos as he emerged from the mountains. It was a powerful experience,
having never seen anything beyond the mud hovels of his home, and it changed
the way he saw the world. He was taken into the Great Academy, he learned the
language of other humans, and he read voraciously of the glories of
civilization, of the rise of the Theran Empire, and of its history and
precepts. With every word, his hatred for his past grew--hatred for the
pathetic dregs of humanity, primitive and unenlightened. The demon-spirit
watched, learned of this new world around him, and lusted for power. It had
contempt for the world of flesh and blood, for the burdens its host imposed
it. But better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven, so to speak. With the
guidance of true strength, even this weak mortal coil could yield results
worthy of the effort. Perhaps there would be favor to be won in the eyes of
the Prince of Lies himself, bringing the mortal realm thus under his sway.
One day, when the time was right, he would guide Peroleth back to his home.
In preparation for that day, Peroleth was urged subtly to learn more of the
markings that will forever scar his flesh, to learn more of demons and the
extraplanar. An apt pupil, fascinated and dedicated, Peroleth progressed
quickly, never knowing why he possessed such an aptitude for the craft.
Peroleth is more than he seems.
as he reached the point where he was entitled to full citizenship within the
Empire, word came to him from other citizens that the Council had been
disbanded, deemed unfit to lead, and that it would be reconstituted in one
week's time. Peroleth was at first bothered by this delay to his citizenship,
and grew tired of being a second-class citizen within the Imperial order, yet
his agitation was entirely out of proportion with the inconvenience of this
mere delay. His mind began to stray to the matter of the empty seat of High
Arcanus, and there his ceaseless yearning found satisfaction. But it was
foolish to think of such things at this point in life, freshly out of the
Academy. It was nearly unheard of for one of his age to ascend to a seat on
the Council, and in his studies he had never come across one who made the
transition directly from bloodoath to Council member. And yet, his mind
would not let go of the matter. He spoke bold words to Zulghinlour when he
gained an audience regarding citizenship, words not of service to the Empire
but of leadership. The next step, to gain raw destructive power. A neophyte
in his guild will never command true respect. Fear and respect are inter-
connected, and ever shall be. This was accomplished with relative ease and
haste. Finally, Peroleth had to make his name known among the citizenry, to
distinguish himself from the masses, that others might recognize his ability
and authority. That opportunity came quickly. The Omegus noted the relative
emptiness of the Throne (only the Icon stored therein, which Peroleth himself
had gathered independently in the name of Arcana), and Peroleth responded. By
chance, perhaps, he was of the precise rank that all the available citizens
could muster around him, including many who were nearly heroes and technically
his seniors. Yet he led them all. Not only in a physical sense, but in a
true sense. Eight Blades, Divine, and Arcana acted for well over three
quarters of an elven hour in obedience with his words. Peroleth planned the
assaults and freely gave instructions to the group members throughout. And
all were obeyed without question. He wondered if they realized the subtle
acquiescence to his authority, and its implications. Regardless, it was
there. The only other Arcana remotely worth mention, Ambros, was an utter
fool in Peroleth's eyes, and far too weak to lead. The time was right.
supreme power over Thera, this opportunity could not be squandered. It had
learned the mistake of passivity the hard way, relegated to a minor role in
the court of Baalzebub when a far greater one was its due. It was not a
mistake it would repeat twice. With every ounce of strength it could muster
the demon-spirit raged within the confines of Peroleth's mind, crushing the
pathetic and weak impulse to defer action, spurring him to greatness. The
demon-spirit still harbored doubts as to whether this frail human form was
up to the task. The time for a test was nigh.