Entry dated 30th of June, 853 TA
“I live again, though the taste of defeat still lingers like bile in my throat. Malice has restored me—though I suspect her reasons are not mere affection. The party that slew me at Wave Echo Cave still roams free. I remember their faces as I fell, their resolve. They robbed me of the Arachnostaff, a relic whose secrets I was so close to unlock. Malice’s scorn was evident when she found me broken. She mocked my failure, reminded me that I exist only to serve Vuthul’s plan. She dangled comfort as one dangles meat before a starving beast, yet never truly grants it. I ache for her touch, yet she only sees my suffering as another tool.”
Entry dated 5th of November, 853 TA
“I visited my daughter’s shrine again. Thousands of years have passed, yet the pain is as fresh as my last breath. Malice taunted me for my weakness. ‘Clinging to old bones and broken memories,’ she said, sneering at the black roses I leave at her feet. ‘Your daughter is dust. Use that pain or discard it—do not wallow in it.’ Yet it is all I have of gentleness, a shard of light amidst the rot. Malice’s comfort is always conditional, always withheld. She would have me weep before Vuthul’s altar, feeding on my despair. Still, I remain bound, for what else can I do?”
Entry dated 3rd of February, 854 TA
“They eluded me once more. Twice now these meddling adventurers have slipped through my grasp. Twice they have scarred my pride. I sense Malice’s subtle hand in this. She led them to Glasstaff’s location, ensuring they would claim his knowledge before I could wrest it free. Why did she allow them to claim his research, if not to further her own ends? She insists the party suspects nothing of her true identity, but I am not so certain. The world beyond these halls grows darker at Vuthul’s whisper, yet these heroes seem somehow blessed by fate. Malice hints that they are chosen by opposing gods, destined to stand in our way. If that is true, how am I, their herald, to prove my worth?”
Entry dated 21st of February, 854 TA
The Arachnostaff rejected me. I felt its power recoil from my touch, as though the spirit of its former master still clings to it. Lolth’s spiteful gift will not heed Vuthul’s herald—her hatred lingers even in exile. I thought I could wrest control of its dormant strength, but it slipped from my grasp like silk. The adventurers closed in, one as a blasted dinosaur, and I was forced to retreat, bleeding and humiliated.
They carry it now, along with the other relics, and I fear what will come if they awaken them fully. Artifacts forged by gods—tools that once bound even Vuthul himself. If they succeed, we may not be able to stop them. Malice scoffs at my caution, but I see the truth. Their power grows, and soon, even I may not be able to stand against them.
Entry dated 19th of March, 854 TA
“Malice grows restless. She searches for alternatives now that her original plan to simply wrest the key from the party’s grasp has faltered. I have caught her poring over that vile tome she keeps—her so-called spellbook of forbidden rites. I have witnessed her muttering words that chill the very air around her. If she cannot reclaim the key, she intends to tear open the world through some monstrous ritual. I know not all her secrets, but I sense this dire alternative could plunge the surface into utter darkness. If she succeeds, my role as Vuthul’s herald may be made meaningless..."