Perhaps some of you will remember my earlier stories. I decided to write a bit about some things that have been happening to me recently, this is the first installment, entitled, "The Fog Thickens". It's rather long winded, but I hope you all enjoy it none the less.

The man sat hunched over his large oaken desk, the room softly lit only by the few candles he had set about him. He had not slept in close near two days, the work had not allowed him that luxury. He brushed his thin black hair from his tired dark eyes as he read the letter that rested on his desktop among countless implements and sheets of paper.

Darthus,

I write this in haste for I have little time before I am discovered. I have reason to believe that you have traitors within your guild. I think perhaps you have been too lax, too willing to comply and allow people their "free will". This only weakens your position, do you think your members fear and respect you when you let them do as they will? You must crack down on them, kick out a few members whose loyalties are questionable as an example to the rest.

Also, you have to realize that your actions in the last war involving the Church and Ashtan were pure folly. What on earth were you thinking allying with the forces of Light? You cannot hope to think that your actions can be separated from the rest of your members. That fool allegiance served no purpose other than to endanger the entire guild. I have seen you skulking around as Gijan assaults the younger members of Shallam. I suggest you don't even THINK about aiding them, no matter your personal beliefs. You are Guildmaster, your feelings come second to the interests of the guild.

As you may have guessed, I am a member as well and have watched your actions for some time now. Ponder my words carefully glorius leader before you tear us apart at the seams.

Darthus raised his head slowly as his chest heaved a deep sigh. These words came not as a surprise to him. He had known them as true for a long time now. His heart and his guild's interests had come at conflict on many occasions, and his guild had nearly always won every battle. The question was, which should win the war?

He had sat in his office on high, watching via his spies and contacts as he saw the once honorable Church fall into a downward spiral of dishonorable action after dishonorable action. He yearned to help, to do anything he could to bring them to position they deserved. But who was he to do such a thing? A serpentlord, a servent of the shadows. Everything he lived conflicted with the feelings that lived inside him.

He had come a long way from his dark days among the heartless and dishonorable Kharon, but had he come far enough? He had walked the path of power, and had obtained everything he'd sought. But was the path he walked the true path his heart desired?

These questions had been whirring in his head for years, even as he attempted with all his soul day in and day out to be the Leader the Serpentlords deserved, he pondered whether that was his true calling. The Serpents had become his family, his brothers and sisters, every last one. But when rumours abound that family members were plotting against him behind his back, and each attempt to follow his heart had dealt his siblings only pain, how was he to act?

Darthus gave a soft grunt of frustration, and thrust his hands in his hair, his head resting in his hands as he stared down at the polished wood of his desk. He let out a small sigh as he leaned his head back, his throat exposed. He then stood from his chair and walked about his office, blowing out each candle in turn. He had done this countless times before, and he continued until the room was blanketed in inky black darkness even his trained vision could barely pierce.

He sat heavily down in his chair and peered down at his callused palms. "These hands have killed so many, dealt so much pain.", he whispered to himself "but has that pain, that death, all been in the interest of justice, can I truly live with a clear conscience?". He closed his eyes tightly, knowing that no sleep would greet him this night, that all he could hope for was that he would find some clear solution in this dense fog of pain and confusion before him. His heart and his responsibilities were at odds, and he had the power to sway the tide of the battle. Which side would he choose?

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Aeguary, in the year 226 AF.