It is a funny thing to be completely unimportant, because you will see and hear the most important exchanges, and none pause to think whether your hearing it will matter one slightest bit. Of course, if they should one day realize exactly how dangerous you can be, your life will be extinguished as quickly as a candle flame in a windstorm. I, Scribe Yaxill L'Fex of the Court of Queen Cristanos, do record the following to be as true as I can pen it, though my life may be forfeit to its observation.

And the Crowds Grew
It seemed that Neriak had suffered an outbreak of a virulent fever. For all the many dark passions of our race, we have displayed no behavior so outrageous, and in such a widespread patterning, as we have in recent days. Men who might only have spurned one another's business now kill each other in the streets, women who envy another's hairstyle rip it straight up from the roots, children beat dogs who refuse to fetch. From my place in the palace, I have observed as crowds assembled before the gates, fighting the guards for entry. Some shout for the Queen's guidance, but others shout for her head. More than anything, though, all are looking for an acknowledgement of what has come upon us -- a gateway to the Shard of Hate, here, in our very own city.
But the Queen has only drifted further from the public eye, and her advisors have grown more and more nervous. One by one, they have said that someone must go to her and urge her out of her confinement, but one by one, they have balked from that duty. So, it happened that they all turned and looked at me in the corner, as I was the lowest among them and the only one who could not pass the duty further down. And by that turn, I was chosen. I am no Dragoon, and I admit that my knees shook as I ascended the stairwell leading to her private chambers.
"Your majesty?" I called to her.
"Come in." Her voice echoed around me, harkening me forth. As the great ironwood door slid open, I observed her standing before the window, slits of light from the great sconces outside casting shapes on her face. She turned to me, and I nearly froze in place. "Why are you disturbing me?"
"I..." Words almost failed me, but I managed to pick myself up. "I was sent by your council to advise you that you must address the crowds before the palace."
"I must, must I?" she asked with a laugh, and my heart sank as I realized I had just presumed to command a god. "Who are you to tell me what I must do?"
I lowered my head in supplication, hoping not to be struck down for it. "I am no one, just a scribe. And, it's not that you must, it is simply that they fear your silence will only spur the crowd on. In your great intelligence, you should know what should be done, and with your great power, you are compelled to sway and guide them."
"Hmm," she said, and the sound hummed deep in the room. She began to glide toward me, the dark satin of her dress brushing along the ground. "Tell me, scribe, what they say is happening."
My head shot up in surprise. "Certainly you know," I said. "They say a portal has opened to the home of our Prince of Hate, Innoruuk."
She was quiet then. "But what," she said, "are they saying about me?"
I was quiet, not quite knowing how I should respond, but something in her eyes compelled me to speak plainly. "There are many who say your reluctance proves what your dissenters have been saying all along," I said, "that you have been setting yourself up as a false god, and that in the face of true power, you're frightened to lose ground."
"Does everyone think that?"
"No," I said, "those are largely members of the Dead, the same who have been crying out like spoiled children ever since your greatness was realized. Most of Neriak simply wish their leader to appear before them in this trying time and care nothing for the gossip mongers."
"I see," she said, "you may go."
"But what should I tell --?" The look in her eyes cut me off and bid me silent. I returned to her council members with nothing to report, and as days passed, she made no appearance, and no comment.
And the crowds grew.

A Dark Clad Messenger
Months before, I had found myself in that same chamber, recording the Queen's wishes for a ball that was to be held shortly after that, when a curious visitor arrived. I had expected at any moment to be ordered to leave the room, but the queen and her companion never so much as flicked their eyes in my direction.
"Tell me you have found it."
The Queen gazed at the dark elf before her. He was swathed head to foot in darkly colored cloth -- an assassin of the Arm if I ever saw one. Only his eyes were visible. They were an almost iridescent blue in the swirling arcane light clasped within the metal hands of the sconce nearby.
"I have not." While her voice was like an echo in a cavernous chamber, his was like the scraping of a blade on a whetstone, low and broken.
"This is not good news." The queen turned away from him.
"Our sources say that Opal Darkbriar may have knowledge regarding its whereabouts," he said. "Unfortunately, Opal's gone and died. Killed, we believe, by an agent of the Emissaries of Freeport. She claimed to have knowledge that would earn her place in your court."
"We should assume, then, that they know," said the Queen.
"Perhaps not," said the darkly clad visitor, "Opal would likely keep so precious knowledge only in her own mind. That would be most effective in preserving its value."
"Fair spoken," she said, "and I'm not sure which is preferable. Their knowing means someone knows which, in turn, means we have somewhere to start again." She paused. "We should plan for both. Send someone to the Emissaries. Find out what they know. But do not stop others from looking. And tell any who finds it to bring it straight to me, with no pause; if its existence so much as leaks to one other individual, those responsible will know my wrath."
"As you ask of me, my Queen." It seemed as though nothing more than a shadow had slipped from the room as he made his exit, but in the brief time from when I had looked down to my notes, trying just slightly to appear like I was working on them, and glanced back up, he was gone.
"Not two but three... But where is it, where is it...." The Queen murmured to herself. In that moment, she caught my eyes with her own. They narrowed for just a second, and then she began to pace back and forth before me saying. "I wish only the finest bloodwyne. Call in Diamante V'Nol for a tasting. Her palette is unequalled. And as for the flower arrangements..."
It was as if nothing had happened, and in truth, nothing had -- nothing I understood. But I couldn't help but feel as though I'd seen something I shouldn't.

In the Streets
I stumbled down the alley behind the Library of K'Lorn. Behind me, I could still hear the riot that I had only just barely pushed my way through. My robe was torn near the shoulder, and the parchments I held in my hand only numbered half what they had before. I breathed in deeply as I leaned up against one of the walls and listened to the chorus of voices on stone.
My pulse had almost settled just as a figure tumbled from a nearby doorway. I jumped to the side, not wishing any errant blood to ruin my robe further. I began to retreat from the alley, stopping as I passed over the body. It was groaning and muttering. I could see no blood, and so I leaned down and turned the elf over gingerly. I recognized him as one of the librarians, but I was surprised to find that his eyes had gone completely white. Though I couldn't have told you much of what he looked like, I could certainly have told you that his eyes were not the same just the night before. Reflexively, I pulled back, but curiosity drove me to lean in and hear what he was saying.
"Voice of K'Lorn," he muttered, "K'Lorn... I am."
"Come on, get back inside," I said. I reached under the man to pull him to his feet but in a flash his hand gripped my wrist.
"K'Val," he hissed in a low voice, "they are all a part of it. G'Han, V'Dar, and K'Val. I am..."
My breath caught in my chest as his hands went to either side of my face, and as I looked in his eyes, I saw pools of lava flowing deep under the ground, and I could feel the heat burning me. Then I saw the blue eyes of the Arm assassin I had observed in the Queen's bedchamber, flitting with energy, and beside him, the face of a tall, beautiful Teir'dal around whose shoulders a drake lay curled. The magma flowed around them and they spoke in hushed tones. From the hands of the assassin to the woman passed a scroll, and then the assassin seemed to turn, as if noticing me, and his eyes burned hotter than the lava.
I ripped away from the vision and out of his hands. "Why are you showing me this," I spat at him, "why does everyone show me what I don't wish to see?"
For a moment, the librarian simply lay there, but then suddenly, he began gasping and his hands went to his chest. I leapt away as he began convulsing on the ground, thrashing from side to side. It was all I could stand to see. I turned, bolting out the opposite side of the alley as I had entered. In the distance, I could hear the shouting of the crowd, the raw sound of their hate quickening my pulse, but over that, I heard the librarian's words, twisted by something deeper, and purer. And the eyes of the Arm's agent burned into me.

By my pen it has been, and on my life, so it will be. Everything calls for a witness, and sometimes it is the most unimportant individual who is called to watch. I do not know what it is I have seen, nor what it has meant, only that it must be written down, though I know it will certainly cost my life.
Scribe Yaxill L'Fex