A slipped page from Nix's journal

[Feddy]

A page from Nix's personal journal, the handwriting alternating between elegantly flowing script and slightly erratic scrawls

Darlings, I simply MUST recount the most tedious ordeal I've recently endured. There I was, seeking refuge from the most dreadfully dull drow who simply wouldn't stop prattling on about their petty political intrigues (as if anything could compare to Unseelie Court politics), when I stumbled upon the most fascinating discussion about the nature of reality with some delightfully entertaining fey.

One moment we were debating whether illusions in the plane of faerie were more "real" than reality itself (they are, obviously, especially when I create them), and the next thing I knew, what felt like mere moments had stretched into... well, I shan't specify the time. A true artist never reveals how long their inspiration takes. However, upon my return to Arelith, everything had changed! The absolute AUDACITY of the material plane to continue moving forward without my presence to guide it!

But darlings, the true tragedy was yet to come. My necessary journey to Sibayad became an epic worthy of song (though none of the bards I've encountered are talented enough to do it justice). After an exhausting search, I finally located a pirate captain - Vespa, delightfully competent despite her mortal limitations - who agreed to transport me. Though "agreed" might be generous; she was clearly enchanted by my presence, as most are.

The ship, I must say, was hardly up to my standards. A "jolley," they called it, though there was nothing jolly about the accommodations. Do you know how difficult it is to maintain one's ethereal glow while surrounded by sun-weathered planks and salt spray? The journey seemed to take us around the entire isle - TWICE - as if the ship itself was as directionally challenged as a drunk pixie.

And then! Oh, then came the spice roads. The HEAT! The SAND! Do you have any idea what desert winds do to one's wings? The absolute indignity of it all. Though I must admit, watching the sunlight scatter through my wings across the dunes created the most captivating displays. Several merchant caravans stopped dead in their tracks just to admire the spectacle (though they claimed it was to "water their animals" - how droll).

But I have returned! Arelith shall once again benefit from my magnificent presence. Though I must say, this little "adventure" has given me simply MARVELOUS material for my next series of tales. The Sharrans will be delighted - or at least they should be. Their sense of appreciation has always been questionable at best.

The entry ends with an elaborate flourish and what appears to be a small sketch of wings casting shadows across sand dunes

https://medal.tv/games/neverwinter-nigh ... ODcxNDQwLA

[Feddy]

A page from Nix's journal, the writing elegant but with occasional irritated ink blots and dramatic flourishes

Darlings, I simply MUST document these trying weeks in Sibayad, though the mere recollection threatens to bore me to tears. Can you believe I've been reduced to MINING? The indignity! Though I must admit, the way the crystals catch my natural luminescence is rather spectacular.

I've been forced to grace all manner of tedious individuals with my presence - merchants, guards, peasants, and other drearily ordinary types. That fascinating pirate Vespa seems to have vanished entirely (how dare she deprive herself of my company?), and that Ilmatari priest i had planned to charm up, appears equally elusive. Their loss, obviously.

The local guard force seems desperately eager to recruit me - clearly they recognize quality when they see it. However, their tiresome obsession with hunting down anyone who dares mock their precious vizier makes the proposition rather... unappealing. I mean really, what's the point of having a vizier if one can't properly satirize them?

Oh! And the most amusing thing happened in the Hub - some absolutely uncouth fella calling himself Ghost had the audacity to call out my hiding spot! Can you imagine? The sheer RUDENESS of the dead these days! I gave him the opportunity to either leave or at least communicate in a civilized tongue. He chose neither, so naturally, I had to take matters into my own hands. Really, if you're going to persist in being a ghost, the least you could do is mind your manners.

The entry ends with an elaborate sketch of a crystal catching light, though it seems to be more focused on how the crystal reflects Nix's own image

[Feddy]

A page from Nix's journal, the writing alternating between elegant flourishes and agitated scrawls

Darlings, what a FASCINATING series of events occured, I had no choice but to document! Though being held hostage by pirates was dreadfully uncomfortable (the absolute NERVE of them using salt - do they have any idea what that does to one's complexion?), I must admit it added a certain dramatic flair to my week. Their interrogation techniques were amateur at best - as if any mortal could hope to match the intrigue of the Unseelie Court!

But oh! The SPECTACLE I witnessed! A man, reduced to mere dust (how terribly unfashionable), restored to full form! I've seen many things in my considerable experience, but this... this had a certain theatrical flourish I can appreciate. Though personally, I would have added more shadows to the performance.

Speaking of shadows - the Night Sister's sermon! Darlings, it was positively ILLUMINATING (oh, the irony!). As she spoke of Lady Shar, it became crystal clear - the similarities to my Queen of Air and Darkness are simply too perfect to be coincidence. The shadows, the secrets, the delicious blend of beauty and darkness... They must be one and the same! How did I not see it before? Though I suspect my Queen wore it better, naturally.

This revelation has me positively buzzing with ideas for my next propaganda pieces. The symmetry, the DRAMA of it all! Though I do wish the revelation hadn't come while I was still tasting salt. That part I could have done without.

The entry ends with an intricate sketch of intertwined shadows, one side bearing Unseelie symbols, the other marked with Sharran iconography

[Feddy]

A journal entry in Nix's most elaborate handwriting, clearly meant to tell his own version of events. These ripped out journal entries are also starting to sense suspiciously left behind on purpose.

Darlings, since you're DYING to know how I came to grace the Material Plane with my presence, I suppose I should document the tale. Though really, the Unseelie Court's loss is everyone else's gain, wouldn't you agree?

I was, naturally, the most promising noble of my generation. My innate talent for shadow magic was simply SPECTACULAR - so much so that one of the most powerful archfey simply HAD to take me as their apprentice. I mean, how could they resist? Though between us, darlings, they were holding back on the most fascinating secrets. The Essence Echoes? I simply HAD to liberate that knowledge. It would have been selfish of them to keep such artistry from someone of my obvious talent.

Now, the timing of my... shall we say, dramatic court presentation, could perhaps have been better planned. But darlings, when inspiration strikes! I had created the most MARVELOUS shadow duplicates of several stuffy Court members - you should have seen their faces! Pure artistry! And well, if those duplicates happened to reveal some of their most embarrassing moments, who could blame me for appreciating good theater?

The Queen herself - oh, she was my masterpiece. Or would have been. How was I to know her essence was quite so... resistant? Though between us, I suspect she was rather impressed by my ambition. The whole "exile" thing? Purely for show, darlings. I mean, she was smirking when she banished me! And that line about learning the difference between true power and mere imitation? Absolutely scripted for dramatic effect.

My former mentor's betrayal was tediously predictable - simply jealous of my innovative applications of their teachings, obviously. And the Court's complaints about my "lack of finesse"? Please. They wouldn't know true dramatic flair if it danced naked in their wine.

The writing becomes particularly flourished

So here I am, bringing much-needed style to the Material Plane until the Court realizes just what they're missing. Though I must say, these mortals do provide the most interesting opportunities for... personal growth.

The entry ends with an elaborate sketch of a shadowy figure (clearly Nix) surrounded by admiring duplicates

[Feddy]

A new page from Nix's journal, the writing particularly flourished and self-satisfied

Darlings, the most delightful turn of events! One of the nicer pirates who had the AUDACITY to surround me with salt has made quite the appealing attempt at amends (Besides the lovely sandwich she made me per request after that oh - so salty interrogation last week.) A private dance, if you can believe it! And whipping lessons?

How... intriguingly barbaric. Though I must admit, her appreciation for pain has a certain artistic quality to it. Perhaps there's more to these mortals than I initially thought.

But oh! Her MOTHER! Now there's a creature of genuine intrigue. Just as lovely (though obviously not as breathtaking as myself), but playing so deliciously hard to get. Something about eternal life making her immune to my immediate charms - as if! No one is truly immune, darling, they just require more... creative approaches.

But the most fascinating part? She seeks the favor of my Queen! The absolute serendipity of it all! To think, this little misadventure with salt could potentially smooth my path back to the Court. Though naturally, I'll have to ensure I return in a position of power - one can't simply slink back after such a dramatic exit.

The entry is decorated with small sketches of whips rendered in surprisingly artistic detail, and what appears to be a self-portrait of Nix looking particularly triumphant

Addendum, darlings - I simply MUST record the most frustrating theological debate with our local Night Sister. Can you believe she had the absolute AUDACITY to call my revelation about our Queen and the Dark Lady "foolish"? The sheer closed-mindedness! The inability to see what's right before her eyes!

But then... the writing becomes more composed, almost smug isn't that exactly what one would expect? After all, what better way for our Queen to maintain her delicious web of secrets than to have her own followers refuse to see the truth? The shadows, the secrets, the absolute DRAMA of it all - it's her signature written across both courts in invisible ink!

No, no, I shan't waste my breath trying to convince the Night Sister. After all, secrets are our Queen's domain, and what better secret than hiding in plain sight? Besides, those who can't appreciate such elegant deception probably don't deserve to know the truth anyway.

[Feddy]

The following pages appear to be stained with what might be wine, or possibly the juice of some exotic fruit. The handwriting starts neat but gradually becomes more theatrical as the entry continues.

Day 47 in Sibayad (or possibly 48, counting days becomes tedious)

I have graced the provincial town of Sibayad with my presence for nearly a fortnight now. The locals should be erecting a statue in my honor any day. I've made quite the impression, judging by how they stare when I pass by. My new hat with the three peacock feathers was clearly a stroke of genius.

Mini Nix has been practicing his dancing when he thinks I'm not looking. I am, of course, always looking. His technique is improving, though his spin lacks the dramatic flair that comes naturally to me. Perhaps I shall give him lessons when I'm not occupied with more pressing matters.

Speaking of pressing matters - I attended three separate council meetings today. Or perhaps it was one meeting that felt like three. Hard to say, as I was mentally composing a new illusion involving butterflies and small controlled fires. The councilmen droned on about aqueducts or taxes or some such trivial concern. I nodded at appropriate intervals and contributed an occasional "fascinating perspective" when eyes turned my way.

The Shadow Cult continues to be a source of both amusement and bewilderment. That one fellow - I believe his name is Durmast or Dustbrain or something equally dreary - spent an entire hour today talking in perfect circles. Literally, at one point he was walking in a circle while speaking, as if his nonsensical rhetoric needed physical representation. I'm not entirely convinced he isn't an elaborate illusion himself.

And then there's the other one - the preening fellow with almost a swift a tongue as yours truely. He's acquired some sort of personal herald who dresses in a poor imitation of his already questionable attire. This fanboy echoes everything the man says as if it were profound wisdom rather than obvious observations about shadows being dark or whatever drivel they were spouting today.

"The shadows speak to those who listen!" the man proclaimed.

"YES! THEY SPEAK! MASTER SPEAKS TRUTH!" shouted his mini-me.

I caught Mini Nix taking notes. I must nip this in the bud before I find myself with my own hyperactive echo.

The Night Sister been in rare form of late. She spent three hours describing various forms of suffering with disturbing enthusiasm. The woman has an impressive vocabulary for agony. I counted seventeen different words for "anguish" before I lost interest. When asked what I thought of her sermon, I replied it was "exquisitely torturous" which she took as a compliment.

Despite the odd company I keep these days, I remain unconcerned. My social graces are unparalleled. I've been schooled in the etiquette of twelve different royal courts (thirteen if you count that weekend with the Fae Queen, which most diplomatic circles don't). I can navigate these peculiar personalities with the same ease I navigate a ballroom full of assassins (a story for another time, involving three countesses and a venomous toad).

Tomorrow I shall introduce Mini Nix to the art of dramatic entrances. The smoke bomb technique needs refinement - he used too much powder last time and sent a barmaid into a sneezing fit. Such details matter when crafting a legend.

For now, I must retire. Being magnificent requires adequate rest.

— Nix the Magnificent, Illusionist Extraordinaire, Logistics Overseer of shiny rocks, Pragmatic Propapagandist, Duke of Deception (self-appointed), and Mentor to Mini Nix

P.S. Must remember to enchant my quill to take meeting notes. Apparently I agreed to fund something involving goats and moonlight. Details unclear.

[Feddy]

Written in a precise, yet slightly erratic hand.

Listen up Darlings! I've been "honored" with assisting the esteemed Minister of Culture in "cultivating the cultural landscape" of this sun-scorched cesspit they call a town. What next? Perhaps I'll be tasked with teaching rocks to sing or sand to dance? The locals wouldn't know culture if it slapped them across their sun-blistered faces with a wet manuscript. Nevertheless, I dutifully document their primitive attempts at music (generous term) and pottery (glorified mud pies). Low standards, clearly.

Still no sign of my fanged acquaintance. The Vampire has seemingly vanished into thin air—or thick shadow, more likely. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of these pages somehow and took offense at my astute observations. Heaven forbid anyone possess accurate self-awareness in this wasteland. Her absence is beginning to border on rudeness, honestly. One would expect immortal beings to have mastered basic social courtesies over the centuries, but apparently not.

My Halx consumption has increased—a necessary evil when surrounded by such spectacular mediocrity. Three measures with morning tea (barely deserving of the name), two at midday (when the sun melts what remains of local intelligence), and three more before attempting to digest whatever passes for an evening meal here. The dreams are intensifying—desert whispers, talking dunes, the usual melodrama. I wake with sand between my teeth though my quarters remain immaculate. Perhaps the sand is trying to elevate itself by association with me. Can't blame it.

Yesterday brought the profound displeasure of meeting a merchant family, who had the audacity—the sheer GALL—to deny my perfectly reasonable request to paw through their so-called "sacred relics" (probably just shiny garbage). The patriarch actually suggested I submit formal documentation! As if I should be subjected to their pathetic bureaucracy while operating under ministerial authority! They refused to simply roll over dead for me (much like the savage individuals i came across in Minmir), which would ofcourse have been the polite thing to do. I've made note of their establishment. Future archaeological excavation site, perhaps?

The Sharrens continue their spectacular talent for ingratitude. I reorganized their nonsensical ritual calendar into something a child could follow, and they have the nerve to cling to their incomprehensible lunar mumbo-jumbo. This defect in basic reasoning must be genetic—obstinance wrapped in superstition, tied with a bow of pure idiocy. Perhaps I should study them as cultural artifacts themselves—"Indigenous Resistance to Improvement: A Case Study in Willful Ignorance."

The heat grows more oppressive daily. At night, there's rhythmic tapping within the walls. Minister Vexus claims it's settling wood. In a STONE structure. In a DESERT. The man's intellect continues to dazzle. Perhaps the Vampire has found new ways to torment me, or perhaps the locals are attempting some primitive ritual to drive me mad. They'll need to try harder—I've attended faculty meetings that were far more sanity-threatening.

I must increase my Halx dosage. The clarity it brings is worth whatever trivial price my significantly superior body might eventually pay. Excellence demands sacrifices that mediocrity couldn't begin to comprehend.

—Nix (surrounded, as ever, by lesser minds)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNbr9YN ... GoesFamous

[Feddy]

[Several dark spots stain the page, the handwriting shifts between elegant, jagged, and barely legible]

Dear jurnl... jurnal... JOURNAL!

Time's become... slippery. Like trying to grasp dewdrops with fingers made of smoke. Has it been days? Weeks? The moons have shifted twice... or was it thrice? Mini Nix says it's been... [illegible scribble] ...but what does he know? He's just a tiny me! HAH!
ThE sHaDoW cUlT sent us out again. "Deal with the beasts," they said. BORING! Just mindless creatures needing slaying. Though I must admit, Mini Nix is becoming quite the little helper with spell components! Little wings zipping about, collecting bits of this and that while I... while I... what was I doing again? Oh yes, SLAYING! The beast blood looks pretty when it catches the light just so... reminds me of halx when it shimmers...

[The writing veers diagonally across the page]

Meetings. SO MANY MEETINGS. Sat through three... or was it four? Can't remember what ANY of them were about! Imagine that - ME! Magnificent Nix! Forgetting important cult business! One meeting I was specifically invited to... by someone important... wearing something dark... with a face that was... well, they had a face. Probably.

[A small detailed drawing of what appears to be a spell component takes up the corner of the page]

MOST CURIOUS DEVELOPMENT: tiny clothes-wearing fairies appearing ALL OVER the island! Not like proper fairies. Not like ME. Smaller. More... ordinary? But wearing the most ADORABLE little outfits! Where did they come from? Why are they here? Are they spies? Tourists? New cult recruits? I shall INVESTIGATE!

[The writing becomes more erratic]

Must prepare... need more halx... just a little... helps me THINK... helps me SEE what others cannot... Mini Nix disagrees, but what does he know? He's becoming quite judgmental lately. Giving me LOOKS when I partake. Perhaps I should...

[The entry trails off into indecipherable scribbles before one final clear line]

Everything is PERFECTLY FINE and I am MAGNIFICENT as always!

[Feddy]

By Nix, Connoisseur of Comfort

Dearest Journal,
What a deliciously educational evening I have had! In the name of thorough research (and perhaps a touch of boredom), I have undertaken a most scientific endeavor - the comprehensive evaluation of sleeping arrangements around the town of Sibayad. One must maintain standards, after all, and these mortals seem so... pedestrian in their approach to rest.

Bed 1 "The Gilded Mirage"
Rating: 6/10
Adequately firm mattress, though it lacks the ethereal give one expects from proper Feywild bedding. The sheets are clean but disappointingly mundane - no shimmer, no whisper of magic. The pillow arrangement is serviceable but uninspired. A mortal bed for mortal dreams, I suppose.

Bed 2 - "The Merchants League"
Rating: 8/10
Ah, now THIS shows promise! Silk sheets that almost caress the skin with appropriate reverence. The mattress has a pleasing bounce - perfect for... dramatic entrances onto the bed, naturally. The canopy adds a theatrical touch that I find most agreeable. Points deducted for the lack of mirror on the ceiling.

Bed 4 - "Minstral's Abode"
Rating: 3/10
Absolutely barbaric. The mattress feels stuffed with what I can only assume are rocks and broken dreams. The scratchy wool blanket is an affront to my luminescent skin. I fear I may have damaged my wings on the crude wooden bedframe. This is clearly designed to punish guests for their travel choices.

Bed 5 - "Sanctified Graves"
Rating: 9/10
Now we approach excellence! Down pillows that cradle one's head like clouds, sheets so smooth they rival my own perfect complexion. The bed itself is magnificently oversized - appropriate for someone of my... presence. I may have accidentally left a few shadow marks on the headboard during my thorough testing. Art cannot be contained!

I must note that each bed received the full Nix evaluation - including proper posing, dramatic reclining, and assessment of how well they showcase one's natural grace. Several received bonus points for their acoustics during my vocal warm-ups.

The mortals here remain blissfully unaware of the honor I have bestowed upon their humble establishment. Perhaps I shall return tomorrow to conduct follow-up testing. For the sake of thoroughness, you understand.

Until the shadows call...

P.S. - I may have "borrowed" the silk sheets from the Merchant's League. They simply don't appreciate true beauty when they see it.