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A Tattered Journal Page
| A Tattered Journal Page | |
|---|---|
| Source |
Ground spawn |
| Type | Note |
| Location | -111, 1982, -348 |
| Respawn Time | Not specified |
| Zone(s) | The Bloodied Quarry |
| See also | Text |
[LORE] [NO DROP]
The Note is rolled up.
WT: 0.6 Size: Small
Class: None
Race: None
I have designed a chamber insulated by falling water. the metal seems to have a less potent effect across such a barrier. I will continue my experiments when the slaves complete the chamber.
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...several slaves. They turned on one another almost instantly. The older a slave, the more quickly the mind buckles. Some of them rave about creatures emerging from solid stone walls. Impossible
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There must be a way to find greater control. Ordered production of thin needles of yclistinite. Perhaps control comes from within...
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This metal... it is unlike anything I have ever seen. The feelings it produces ring familiar... akin to other magics I have felt. Shamanism, no... necromancy. The magic hungers. Not for blood, or even life, but for the mind, the thoughts.
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Korl, that waste of skin. He demands to know the progress of my research, to know what I am doing with his precious slaves. Demands! He will grovel when my work is complete... Dreams continue. Tonight, teeth, fangs. There is something sinister in this mine... image after image in perfect clarity. My lieutenants addressed a create. Saluted it! My prowess grows.
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Treated a young orc with the slivers today. He showed amazing prowess. First completely disappeared from the chamber, fooling my guards. Faded back into view when he grew tired. After a brief rest he telekinetically removed all of the splinters from his skull. Unfortunately bled to death before I could make a complete examination... begun my own experiments. I held a shard and focused my will, intending to conjure the image of a small drake. I felt the power of the ore reach into my mind, flinging aside the winged lizard I imagined. Instead when I opened my eyes I was face to face with Saitha. I was so startled I dropped the shard, and she fell into sparking fragments.
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The attrition among my slaves is high. Highest in the deepest veins. There is a clear relation: the greater the exposure the sooner the metal claims their minds. These slaves are weak, but I begin to fear for my own sanity.
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Observing a slave in the pit today. I saw a shimmering light suspended in the air before it. I must...