[Muse]

*As finished with his day of ignorant fools, he walks into his chambers at the Burning House of Kossuth. He sits at his desk. He then takes a deep inhale, and a deep exhale. He opens his pack, pulls out his journal, flips to the next available page, and dips the already present quill into the ink well. He then begins to write...*
Well, a normal day in Thay..
*A small smirk hits his lips.*
Holy War has been declared of the followers of Moander, and the drakes are not enthusiastic at all at being at their sides in this conflict. They haven't been out in military campaign in a while, so it's kind of expected.
Due to mutual diplomatic relations, we are required as they are required in one or the others time of need.
Foolish half-bred woman.. Caramiriel((Animayhem.)) has bitten off a little bit more than she can chew.
Silvanus' champion isn't quite the champion of picking wise moves..
Apparently, from what Master Minion Vareth((Possibilitias)) says, followers of Torm and Harper Scouts are getting involved on their side..
Just fantastic.
*He smirks returns to his face.*
We'll just see how it goes from here.
*The sounds of torture fill the halls behind him, and his smirk turns into the pure stereotypical smile. He slams his journal closed, and then stands to see to the torture.*

[Muse]

*Jay's journal laid open, his quill still standing up in the ink well. Jay came through the door into the inner chambers of the burning house, a sigh of relief on finding it untouched. He walked to it and took the already dipped quill out of the well, wiping the excess ink off on the rim of the well. He then flipped to the next available page and began to write..*
Another day, another week, another month. Business as usual goes in Thay.
*He sighs.*
Nightmares have been striking me recently, without relent.
Each one that comes to me isn't a dream, like a normal fantasy of most dreams.
It's almost as if it's a insight on the future, or the past.
Some have been flashbacks, but some have been of me now in precarious situations..
I don't know what to do, or what to say.
*He shudders really quickly as something pops into his memory.*
I should seek out Phydran ((Carcass)), a seer that had used tarot cards earlier to actually reveal me. His interpretation and it's meaning was right on the bullseye.
*He runs his other hand through his hair, his eyes widening with it but he lets it go and puts it back on the parchment to hold it in place.*
He might tell me what I should make of this..
*He looks to hands, stopping his writing. He closes the journal, putting the quill back into the ink well. He sighs, pulling his hair back with both his hands, sighing as he leans back into the chair.*
"What is to come.." He mutters to himself.

[Muse]

*After Jay was executed in Tyraturos, he made his way down into the nine hells, of all places. He ended in the fifth, a place he reckognized quite quickly. The throne room of Levistus, the archduke, as the purely evil ruler sat.*
"Seems we have a new one..Jay?" The Archduke had his index finger tips to his lips, the rest of his fingers crossed over. Jay looked at his own arms, his form ethreal. The evil thing shifted position as he looked down at the very small tiefling.
"Ah, Prince Levistus.." Jay bowed his head, him speaking the infernal language.
"We have some things to discuss.." Jay smiled, the stereotypical smile, of a pure devil, of pure despisement, instantly covering his face.
He then began to laugh...

[[And so ends this thread. Thanks to all who stuck with me yhrough all of this]]

[Muse]

((ANNOUNCEMENT))
[This thread is now reopened! :) In the past of Jay's life time, this thread was mainly made up of posts on journal entries of the notorious tiefling and his times in Thay with others. NOW, it will live up to it's title of Jay's past and be of, Jay's past. Before he came to Thay. With his brothers, his nine other brothers. The description of his bloodline and family is very, controversial. I mean this as in it seems as if there is no possibility of this ever happening. When I grew up on NWN and DnD, I grew up on fantasy. Some people have even gotten irritated that I made this weird possibility happen and created it in the first place. To those people, your playing a game that is made up of orcs and wizards and mages. It was built for imagination. I'm exploiting that, and making my best experience for me to play with.

I look forward to posting this like a book, a novel if you would, of events in the Asher family past. I'll post soon. Here's to it.]

[Wids]

(Apologies if I missed out on Jay's adventures. Why was he executed, if I may ask?)

[Muse]

Astrid stood in her home in Bezantur, going through an old chest of her father's belongings. Her long, red hair hung down her face as she opened the chest, a look of somber but yet a hint of curiosity in her eyes, reaching back to brush her hair slightly past her horns and out of her face as she began to pick out seperate items of her father's past. She hefted her father's red and yellow armor of Kossuth out of the chest, and began to appropriately place piece by piece on an armor stand. Astrid seemed to have no trouble putting this in place, the rather taller tiefling woman waving her tail back and forth as she grunted once she set her father's armor stand now near the fireplace. She shook her head a few moments, placing the old Kossuthian cloak and his old sword next to the armor stand on the mantle of her fireplace. She then rose an eyebrow as she came across an old, blood-stained book. She had waited a long time, not really giving her father's old belonging chest she gathered after his execution any mind due to her frustration of how idiotic he went and got himself in such a situation. She smirked, knowing her father quite well and how he got himself in many near death situations before. With caution, she opened his book.

"The Journal of Jay Asher, Fire Drake of Kossuth."

With more intent than she expected she began to read through the pages, her pace quickening in her reading. Her amber eyes scanned across the pages with interest, growing more and more as she grew more and more enamored with the passages of the journal. She read each entry with interest, a slight tear even forming on her right eye and falling down her cheek as she read his last journal entry. She spent hours there, comprehending the meaning, and imagining to herself how exciting it must've been to be him. To know these people, to go and accomplish these feats, earn these riches, and become known throughout the nation. She then stood up, and left her home for the first time in months. She grabbed her father's sword by the hilt, running her thumb over it for a few seconds as she choked back a few tears. She sighed, and took her father's sword, and his scabbard and placed it around her shoulder, sliding that flaming, large bastard sword back into it's scabbard. Sure, she wouldn't be able to use it for a long, long time. But she kept it with her, forever and always. She set out then, out of her home, with the copy of the deed in her hand. After she got a few of her belongings with her, she set out. Goal number one, get a suit of armor. Goal number two, shed herself of her shell and become free of her home, the prison that has kept her there in fear of the ones who executed her father. Goal number three, find this beggar of which he spoke so negatively about.