Malahel Eilysek
Malahel Eilysek (a.k.a. Najjar)
Malahel s parents were researchers and had dealings with the Annahera in the matters of magic and tinkering. Yet one day they were arrested and Malahel never saw them again. The only thing he had left of them was a particular piece in his memory, few words he could pick from their research.
"that 6 certain items could make something called the Bridge-Spire" and "Quintessence"
King Salazar Samira-Sebak took the child in after that, to mould it into a wizard. He told him that they teach magic wrong in school and that he would show him the correct way.
Physical Description
Identifying Characteristics
Malahel wears golden eyeshadow around his eyes, further emphasizing the his already goldene eyes. The use of intense make up was something he picked up from House Samira-Sebak.
Apparel & Accessories
He wore a sleek, heavy black coat, accented with silver jewelry—a collection of bracelets, rings worn over tall gloves, and earrings adorning his elongated elven ears. An ornamental gorget of rested at his neck, completing his look.
Born into the House Eilysek, bannermen to (importan elven house i dont remmemver) his parents were researchers and were arrested and trialed for their discovery. King Salazar took him in after that.
View Character Profile
Alignment
Lawful Neutral
Age
73 years old
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Golden
Hair
White-Opal
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Fair
Aftermath of the Dragon
24th of August 778 AoS
Lady Vayra and I became crystallized after Ailwyn opened the box bearing Azeroth's name.
When we descended to complete the task Titania had set for us, we found ourselves swimming in a river of blood beside the Autumn Fey’s tree. There, we battled the Nukelavi of Tirania, but soon after, we faced an abominable creature beneath the Trinity base. Sir Thorismund and his team had previously encountered one like it. Ailwyn and Sir Thorismund survived and defeated it, but as I mentioned, Lady Vayra and I were crystallized in the process.
Another "wizard" awoke us. It was likely some form of curse. The others were resurrected by Titania. Now, we find ourselves at the base, debating how best to defeat the shadow dragon. It seems this creature provoked them, offering no room for negotiation.
Drace Warson travels with them now.
I had intended to make sure he would be arrested. I spoke to Ailwyn about it and in the end, I did nothing. I can’t say whether that was the right choice or not.
I copied what I could from the wizard’s books. Two spellbooks, to be precise. One belonged to a Caranthir—another member of the magic academy, I assume.
Ailwyn returned to help his own, as the Umbralys threaten his grove. They left for battle. I wonder if they will return...
.
.
.
.
Ailwyn came back sooner than expected. The others are dead. Along with him were two strangers, Gilbert and Mog. The most unsettling presence of all was Nemo—the assassin sent for the others.
I don't know what my eyes were seeing or what my ears were hearing, but I think I shouldn't have been there.
We travelled with the spelljammer to retrieve their bodies. Ailwyn persuaded the dragon to release them. Perhaps I have judged him too harshly. I do not understand why he risked everything simply to reclaim their remains. I don’t know why I helped, but perhaps I don’t dislike him as much as I once thought.
We returned their bodies to Titania, and Persephone herself appeared.
Souls were freed from the crystal of Vonahaf.
Shadow Dragon
22th of August 778 AoS
A dragon like no other I have ever heard of pursued us—a creature wreathed in shadow and frost. It seemed tied to the veil Persephone spoke of, that twisted mirror of our world. This dragon should have been long dead, and yet it harbors unfinished business with Sir Thorismund and Lady Vayra.
It spoke of “Wish.”
What have they done? And how many others now hunt them because of it?
We found temporary refuge in a cave, one clearly once used by Fey of the Autumn Court. The magic here is palpable—a tree with a hollowed trunk and beating hearts still inside it, as though it grew for this purpose, a river of blood winding through the stone.
After the dragon collapsed the main exit, it seems the river is our only way forward.
For a fleeting moment, we rested and allowed ourselves to speak as companions.
Ailwyn, as it turns out, is not always so insufferable.
Invisible Shallows
21th of August 778 AoS
We have been tasked with eliminating the minions of Tirania, the Queen of Air and Darkness, and ruler of the Autumn Court—Titania’s sister. Her forces spread death and despair among the villagers of Rockwood. If we succeed, Titania will raise our fallen comrades. The risk is undeniable, and my body still aches from the torment of my recent ordeal, but we have little choice. We must prevail.
As for the Fey and this realm we now traverse—words fail me. They are mischievous, hyperactive, endlessly cheerful, and maddeningly frustrating. Ailwyn is no exception. After encountering some of these creatures, I better understand why he is the way he is.
This place is said to overflow with joy, yet it offers me nothing but anguish.
The Feywild and its inhabitants are, it seems, closer to Corellon, closer to what elves are meant to be in their primal state. Elves, I am told, are meant to be carefree, joyous, and untamed. “Not embroiled in wars and scheming.”
I should be like this too. And yet, none of it resides within me.
I believe in knowledge. In progress. I understand that war is a necessary tool, often an essential one. I know that study and reason are paramount. That strength is indispensable. That one must always be strong.
This is who I am. These are the truths I hold dear.
So why, then, do I weep?
Lady Vayra, who has seemed burdened with doubt until now, appears to have surrendered herself to the strange currents of the Feywild. She spoke of the visions our people receive of their paradise—a place she has never seen.
I cannot understand how she can believe in, hope for, or long for something she has never laid eyes upon.
She threw me into the river.
Perhaps, in the end, we are both still far too young.
Assassins and Death
20th of August 778 AoS
From the suffocating darkness and the quiet embrace of the void, I felt a sharp, agonizing pull—a force dragging me back. Then, at last, light returned to my sight.
The final memory before my fall was the searing pain of the assassin’s blade. She came for us in the dead of night. Her power was unfathomable. Why would anyone send someone of her caliber? More importantly, who would make such a move against a small band trying to avert the world’s end?
Kippowrath and Karim are dead.
As for myself, I owe my continued existence to my lord, who sent a potion on my behalf, and to Lady Veyra, who administered it. But my gratitude is drowned by shame—shame that Duke Samira-Sebak had to divert his efforts and resources for the sake of my survival. My failure cost him. Just the thought of it is enough to make me wish I hadn’t returned.
I used to dream of standing before him again, of hearing him say, “Well done.” But now? I dread the moment. He will not be angry. He will not shout. No, disappointment is always silent.
I cannot afford to fail like this again.
My companions are shaken, as well. I imagine the loss of the others weighs heavily on them.
Sir Thorismund Sandhausenn has bound his eyes, claiming that this allows him to see more clearly. “Justice is blind,” he says. I suspect this is tied to his faith in Erathis, though it may also connect to a strange symbol written in the First Tongue that Ailwyn showed us.
I wasn’t in any state to examine it closely, nor am I now. I feel utterly depleted. Perhaps being dragged back to life exacts its own toll. I will speak to him about it when I can. Whatever it is, it feels important—I must understand it.
For now, we travel to the Invisible Shallows, a grove tied to Ailwyn. They believe Titania may hold the answers we seek—answers that might restore Kippowrath and Karim.
Personal Notes & Scribbles Pt. 5.
20th of Auhust 778 AoS
During these discussions, Lord Salazar offered a revelation that lingers heavily on my mind:
"The Dawn War is a lie—a deliberate distortion of how the world came into being."
How much of what we are taught is true? The way magic is taught, as my lord once explained, is but another facet of the falsehoods we have been made to believe. Who decided the course of these deceptions? When was this tapestry of lies woven? The myths of creation, the nature of magic, even the histories we hold sacred—there is intent behind these fabrications. But what, or who, lies at the heart of it all?
Celestials, I now understand, were born of the arrival of Illuminatus—the being who taught humanity the First Tongue. Draconic, too, is a fragment of this primordial language. Connections abound, yet they elude clarity. Lord Salazar does not speak idly. He has shared this knowledge for a purpose, though I cannot yet discern what that purpose may be.
I fear I am spiralling toward madness. Is it not ridiculous to imagine that the dragonriders and their fabled battle on the Island are intertwined with these revelations? And yet, if Draconic stems from the First Tongue, and the dragonriders’ bond with dragons transcended that of mere dragonborn, might they have mastered this ancient speech? They were said to be "immortal," after all. Could they have tapped into divine power through the First Tongue? Is the quintessence rumored to linger on the Island the remnants of their legacy?
No. Such thoughts are indulgent fantasies. I must ground myself. Evidence is what I require—tangible, measurable data to dissect and comprehend.
Salazar, as is his habit, intertwined his revelations with a lesson in history—a lesson that stirred memories of my own studies.
Centuries ago, in the capital of the Anahera, a battle raged among four gods: Bane, Morgeron, Vanessa, and Azeroth. Morgeron, known as the Destroyer, wielded a blade called Verasora. This blade, imbued with the power to warp reality itself, inflicted unimaginable pain upon him.
If my deductions hold, this sword once belonged to Karim. When the dragon spoke of "Wish," could it have been Karim—or perhaps more accurately, his blade—that served as the linchpin? It is a tantalizing possibility. I doubt Sir Thorismund’s layered cloaks conceal a spellbook holding such power.
Personal Notes & Scribbles Pt. 4.
20th of August 778 AoS
Who could have anticipated what lay hidden within a Trinity base? This was no ordinary stronghold but one that my lord himself once explored. Within its depths, they had bound an Avatar of the Prince of Demons. When it was released, its wrath obliterated everything in its path. The very summit of the mountain was torn asunder in its fury, and it is said the chimera that now prowls those ruins was borne of its hatred.
The hatred of the Prince of Demons, as expected, can corrupt and twist even the Fey. Such corruption is a grotesque testament to his power. Yet, within this horror lies opportunity. To study a creature twisted by such forces might lead to profound breakthroughs in the art of grafting—an avenue worth pursuing, though fraught with its own risks.
We have knowledge of three Trinity bases:
The first, hidden beneath Eneriana, is where my companions first emerged—a revelation owed to Karim of Araya, albeit unwittingly. They described this base as the "magnum opus" of its architect, a testament to both architectural genius and lunacy.
The second lies in Rockwood, the very site that imprisoned the Avatar. This location, however, presents a thorny issue. With the Duchess of Umbralys, Akasha, dead, seizing control will be anything but straightforward. Two courses of action have been proposed:
Resurrecting the Duchess—a prospect that clearly unnerves Sir Thorismund, though his reasons for unease remain elusive.
And stirring a civil conflict by aligning with the Blacklusters, a move rife with unpredictability and the promise of chaos.
The majority leaned toward the first option. Having a pawn who could be guided by my lord’s hand would greatly simplify matters. The second option, while undesirable, remains a contingency.
The third base is situated in Hercastella, the ancient capital of the dwarves. What secrets might such a place conceal? If a remote outpost near a village housed a demon, one can only imagine the magnitude of what lies dormant in this once-great city.
Personal Notes & Scribbles Pt. 2.
19th of August 778 AoS
"I once pursued an investigation alongside Montok" Lord Salazar said—an inquiry concerning certain women in a secluded manor, women who were with child. Montok, however, is now missing, leaving me bereft of answers that only he could have provided.
What my lord has shared with me is troubling. These women were not ordinary mortals but immortal beings, each marked with a seal—seven distinct glyphs inscribed in the First Tongue. The ancient significance of this language cannot be overstated, and the implications are... profound.
These women were not without a guardian. Cyprus Hale, an individual of singular importance, was stationed to watch over them. Yet now, he is in the hands of the rebellion—a grotesque waste of his potential and knowledge. That such a man is at the mercy of these blundering incompetents is a travesty. A travesty, I assure myself, that will not persist for long.
While the war nears its inevitable conclusion, I find solace in one aspect: the spoils of their ignorance will soon belong to those who know how to wield them. Cyprus himself, and the magic of House Laexe in Osvorate, will serve higher purposes.
Should any of my newfound companions indeed align with the rebellion (and I cannot yet rule out the possibility), I must question them carefully. Perhaps they possess some sliver of information regarding Cyprus, though I dare not hope for much.
My lord last visited "the Island" many years ago, though it is now barren and abandoned. Research suggests this desolation is likely caused by the enormous, fluid energies present there—energies that may well be quintessence itself. If this is true, it is imperative that I reach the Island. Answers await, and I must uncover them. Securing passage to the Island must become a priority.
Personal Notes & Scribbles Pt. 1.
19th of August 778 AoS
My lord, Salazar, has entrusted me with a matter of the utmost significance.
It is difficult to fathom that there exists anything in this world capable of troubling someone of his status and intellect. And yet, the situation with the Black Lotus has proven itself to be precisely that—a menace even to those of his station.
The Black Lotus has begun to take root in the squalor of the Low City of Eneriana. Its properties are nothing short of catastrophic; mere contact ensures death—unavoidable, unrelenting. Even the formidable Duke of Samira-Sebak, for all his power, would not withstand it.
To serve Salazar, I must pursue every avenue to secure the Lotus and thus protect him from its potential threat. My lord, ever prudent, has suggested the Blood Orchid as a solution*. Yet, the timing is not right. Such subtleties must not be rushed. My immediate task is clear: to untangle the web of allegiances and territories—who is where, who claims what. The petty games of these so-called lords must be understood before any further action is taken.
This morning, my lord spoke with a rebel—a rather unimpressive figure destined to become one of my companions. The thought of working alongside such individuals does not inspire confidence. Nevertheless, I trust Lord Salazar’s wisdom in selecting them for this endeavour, even if their worth is not yet evident to me.
Additionally, my lord resolved, with his customary decisiveness, a troubling matter involving a wizard. He advised me not to concern myself with it, as if to shield me from distractions. As always, his guidance is both gracious and deliberate.
Everything I do, I do in his service.
He told me not to worry.
.
.
.
*Failure was not an option, but still, I failed. A different path must be forged. I should not burden him with the consequences of my inadequacies.
Personal Notes & Scribbles Pt. 3.
19th-20th of August 778AoS
My introduction to my companions was... acceptable, though not without its challenges. They were understandably guarded. My approach, admittedly, may have lacked the gentler courtesies they likely expected. Still, I find such pleasantries irrelevant to a matter of this magnitude.
Notes for further observation:
It is apparent, even at a glance, that they lack the discipline to filter or organize the information they encounter. A disarrayed mind is of no use in such endeavours.
Sir Thorismund Sandhaussen is particularly noteworthy. He seems deeply burdened by his thoughts, yet those thoughts are expressed with an almost childlike simplicity. His ideas remain unrefined, embryonic. Should we uncover the full extent of the truths that lie ahead, I do not believe he will endure their weight.
I, however, will endure.
I must endure.
Thorismund’s sole redeeming quality—if it can even be called that—is his relentless determination regarding the task at hand. I suspect his conversational repertoire is limited to three topics: the Trinity, the Island, and the end of the world. These are, admittedly, significant subjects, but his fixation borders on obsessive.
Still, his resolve is not without its uses. I am confident that, if pressed, he would take the most extreme measures in service of our mission without hesitation. This recklessness, of course, could prove either a boon or a liability. He possesses an artifact—a set of scales—that appears to embody some abstract "ideal." My lord, ever inquisitive and resourceful, utilized Anastrella to peer into its true nature. What he uncovered was... disquieting. Thorismund, unable to grasp the full implications, unravelled. He has since behaved erratically, further undermining what little faith I had in his competence.
Lady Vayra, meanwhile, is wholly devoted to him. Her attachment to Thorismund is as evident as it is troubling. When she perceived a threat to his safety, she did not hesitate to wield magic against me—a decision as impulsive as it was ineffective. The question that lingers is whether Thorismund is her strength or her undoing. If he were removed, would she shatter first? Or would she destroy whoever dared to harm him? This dynamic bears closer observation.
Among the more puzzling figures in this ensemble is Ailwyn "Amadon" Shazorwyn, a moon elf and the last heir of House Varlath. His presence here is both unexpected and baffling. I struggle to discern his motivations or his value to the group. He strikes me as little more than a fool, driven by a desire for vengeance against both the Rebellion and the Empire. Such aimless rage is dangerous, and I must determine precisely whom he seeks to destroy.
The two self-styled "rebels" are no less problematic.
Kappamund Kippowrath is a dragonborn, but regrettably also a sorcerer—a natural ally for the rebellion, I suppose. He carries himself with the self-importance of a would-be hero, clinging to a coin as though it will grant him the strength he lacks. It is the hallmark of sorcerers to rely on luck and raw talent rather than discipline or diligence. His reliance on chance marks him as a liability.
Then there is Karim, a child from some Araya. Like Kappamund, he was given more power than he could wield and bears the scars of that overreach. He lacks the wisdom to know when to speak and when to hold his tongue. If fortune favours me, he will continue not to think at all.
Frankly, the only justification for resurrecting these two is that they may yet serve as pawns. They will, if nothing else, die for the cause when the time demands it. Even in death, I will ensure they are useful.
Despite the absurdity of their prior attempt on my lord's life—a debacle that would be laughable were it not so insulting—Thorismund agreed to speak with him. Lord Salazar, magnanimous as always, chose to share a fraction of his vast knowledge with these misguided souls.
Comments