The Obsession of Knowledge - Background of Mortan Osserfid

9th Day of the Mother Moon 2400 A.S., Eight Bones and Three

The uncommon elven subject exhibits signs of pre-path decay upon his third to fifth rib [heart-side] and upon both sides of the jaw and forehead. The eyes are milky and unfocused though the subject continues to breath, albeit labored. Senses of touch, sight, and taste seem dulled. Hearing appears normal. Smell seems enhanced, though with adverse reactions to the subject's stomach. No external-visible glands seem to be swollen or malfunctioning from a precursory examination. Subject's skin carries a slightly more ashen tone than subject's bloodline normally allows.

He put the quill back in it's small vial and looked at the pitiful creature laying on the examination table next to him. It was definitely a blood-borne pathogen he had never seen before. The gnome got up from his undecorated but well-made desk and walked over to his bookshelf, sorting through a few shelves before retrieving a tome almost as big as he was and carrying it over to his desk. Flipping through the old dusty pages he came upon the desired diagram of the elven circulatory system.

He placed the ceremonial black & white mask on his face just a few seconds before the gem in the blade flashed.

9th Day of the Mother Moon 2400 A.S., Eight Bones and Twenty

Vascular system seems normal. Signs of decay reaching the internal organs. Several uncommon cysts seem to have developed around the neck and shoulder [liver-side]. They seem to be filled with...

He gave a momentary start as the cysts began to pulse and move of their own volition. A quick prayer to Gharlamaal revealed the "things" as undead. As they began to pulse and grow, he felt his God's power move through him and the undead abominations disappeared in a flash of bright light. He blinked once, twice...before returning to his writing.

...some sort of cognitive necrotic entity. Perhaps grown organically, but more than likely of a maliciously applied nature. I must find another subject thus infected and study further. The applications of such a subversive affliction are astounding at least.

He set the quill back down and tossed a meticulously carved humanoid bone at a pile of it's less-ornate brethren sitting in an abandoned corner. As a skeletal form began to take shape from the remains, the sudden spark of energy that hit his consciousness, as the will of the undead became his own, made him smile. Undead were so much easier to understand than the "civilized" races. They had limited layers and their wants and motives were pure.

"Yes, astounding indeed. You there, take this post-path carcass from my sight. Strip it of flesh and return the bones to your corner. Then away with you."

The animated force was surprisingly quick to oblige, dragging the now passed on elf to a dark corner, where unholy sounds issued forth. After a few ticks of time had passed, the sounds stopped and the undead's connection to the gnome disappeared as the magic departed. The gnome slowly moved to the pile of bones and retrieved the carved bone before placing his cloak around his small frame and venturing into the darkening late afternoon.

Mortan had always been good at research, and true to form, his exhaustive inquisitions over the next two weeks - Magical, Literary and, in dire circumstances, Socially - lead him to information of the potential origins of such a "disease". As uncouth as the races of the world were, the flash of coin or fear of dismemberment were still useful tools for loosening lips or keeping them clamped shut. And should they cross him, well...the gnome's journey to his final path was not one to make judgments on who lived and who died. That was for Gharlamaal alone, as far as he was concerned. However, once they had helped Gharlamaal make his decision, Morten was more than happy to help the fortunate soul speed his way.

29th Day of the Mother Moon 2400 A.S., No Bones and Twelve

My acquired information leads me away from my homeland for the first time since Gharlamaal's embrace. I am not want to leave behind my possessions and library, but this undertaking requires no more than what I can carry with me and the coin around my neck. By fear of a fabricated curse and a few coin, I have secured the watch of my dominion until my return by the local locksmith, Kerry, who will padlock my rooms behind me and make sure that when I return with the key, the lock has not been disturbed.

Soon, I will head to the docks of Sunderfallon to catch a passenger craft, cargo ship, dung heap...I do not care which. I have my most important possessions and Gharlamaal at my side. That is all I need to achieve my result. The Isles of Macinar hold the knowledge I require, one way or another, and I can hear them calling...

The gnome closed the book, tucked it away on the shelf, and entered the moonless night with a mirthful bounce in his step.