The Gwan Are Fools, but I Am Wise

The gwan never cease to irritate me. Fools! Idiotic, ill-favored wretches! Once again, I must resist my own desires and stay my hand. The desire to have done with it and slaughter the lot of them is so strong, but it is senseless. I must be stronger than my desire. I will be stronger. The pathetic little gwan girl and the filthy brat that she carries shall not change my perfect plans. I shall resist the urge, though it pricks upon my mind irritatingly, and I shall let her and them live. For now.

I do not know why the girl has survived. I do not know why she is of such interest to so many. Esmeria, the wisest of my race besides myself, has taken great pains with the girl -- why? What is so special about her? Why has Haden's son, Eric or whatever the boy's name is, married her? They never figured into my plans before, Haden's son or that girl, but they concern me now. Only a fool thinks their plan is infallible. The wise must be prudent, ever watching for potential risks.

I shall keep my eyes upon this fleeing pair. And I shall restrain my annoyance and my anger, until the proper time arises. I shall ignore the frailities of the gwan, in particular the weaknesses of their idiot king, and I shall bide my time.

My will shall not be circumvented.

How the Man Infuriates Me!

I am greatly displeased at present. Haden is being infuriating, and I cannot poison or otherwise dispose of the idiot king yet because he is still too useful to me. Oh, the frustration! I cannot recall ever having such trouble with a gwan. My plans are glorious, complex, and deliciously subtle, yet they are continually slowed owing to my necessary dependance on Haden for carrying out the essential formative details. I cannot use another gwan, as my need is for a Glemarian king. Haden seemed an ideal pawn for my requisite tasks at first, but now I am not so certain.

It is infuriating to have placed myself in such a ridiculous position, actually allowing such an essential part of my magnificent plan to depend upon a foolish gwan. Yet that in itself was the most ingenious part of the strategy, to let it be a gwan who ultimately enslaved their miserable race under me. I recall how I laughed aloud in delight when it occurred to me so many years ago. It took decades of skillful, cautious work to build the entire framework in which to enact my scheme, then even more time to place the necessary pawns in the proper places. So much effort, so many carefully thought out details . . . oh, how my blood boils within me when I look upon that pathetic, contemptible man's face, kiss his flaccid, clammy lips, allow his corpulent, sweating body to press against my own . . . I shudder at all that I endure for my plan, my glorious, resplendent lifelong aspiration!

The only thought that carries me through my horrid nights of Haden's vapid bedroom performances is that of his demise. How I shall torment and agonize that man when at last I require him no longer! It will not be a quick end, devoid of the satisfaction I so richly deserve. It shall be miserable, seemingly unending . . . how succulent and exquisite the very thought is to me! It is as a rich chocolate that I savor against my tongue, a dream that I clutch to my bosom. I shall enjoy Haden's death more than any other I have brought about; I know that it shall become my most cherished of memories.

My anger has abated somewhat now, as I turn over in my mind the delightful images of Haden's amply proportioned form writhing in depths of untold agony. I shall sleep well tonight.

Easily Led, Easily Controlled

Those of my race have a special word for humans. We call them "gwan," the original meaning of which was "weak". And it is particularly apt to think of them as weak, for the gwan are more easily manipulated than any other race. They thirst for power, knowledge, love, and distinction, and a minuscule taste of any of the above ignites within them a powerful craving that eventually overtakes them. This is the principal charm of gwan — they are easily enticed, easily kept, easily led. Best of all, after they have outlived their usefulness, they are even more easily disposed of and replaced.

When I was younger, perhaps twenty, I attracted numerous suiters. Obviously, such bondage as marriage was never a consideration for me. Why deliberately limit my own realms of possibility? However, the dozen or so virile, red-blooded gwan men who pursued me were an asset that should not be shaken aside carelessly (or brutally slaughtered for sport, as I am certain Finnias would advocate). I bestowed little attentions upon the suiters; a coy wink here, a girlish blush there, perhaps even a moonlit tryst where necessary. It was a delicate matter, stringing along so many men whilst keeping each unaware of the others, but I skillfully led my besotted cattle along.

After a time, my gwan suiters were completely within my power, without even the slightest drop of a love potion (I find such means lazy in general, though there is an appropriate time and place for them). It took very little cajoling on my part to inspire any sort of behavior I liked from my suiters; eventually they were my twelve dumbly driven minions. When I tired of them, it took only a few strategically employed tears to convince each of some grievous insult toward me from another, and the fools began challenging one another to duels. When only three remained, I grew bored and poisoned them.

Love and poison. The two are so inextricably intertwined amongst the feeble gwan. When they learn of one who has powers beyond their own, the total of their requests can be summarized as one of two desires: the elixir of love or the draught of poison. They either long for the consummation of their romantic longings or they seek to eliminate a rival, often a rival in love, interestingly. Through the promise of either of these potions, I have incited gwan to mindlessly perform acts which their race would deem horrific. And mind you, this is only in exchange for a promise.

In the end, the poor simpletons never realize that the potion I give them is always the latter, the drought of poison. After all, of what use are they to me after they have served their purpose?

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Subtlety Is Far More Artful than Blatancy

I am pleased to accept the formal invitation to join this community of higher-minded individuals. I am, for those unfortunate beings who have yet to make my acquaintance, currently known by the name Alicia Fenn. For the time being, that name shall continue to do nicely. I had originally intended to follow the example set by other colleagues and offer an abbreviated autobiography here, but I have since changed my mind. I would rather use this forum to voice a particular concern that has been troubling my mind.

I have noticed a most distressing trend in recent years. Apparently, those enlightened individuals who seek after evil have now completely lost the fine art of subtlety. It is really quite deplorable to see how clumsy individuals have gotten in this present age. Consider Haden, for instance. Over and again I have striven to hold that man's baser instincts in check, and yet still he persists in blatant mass executions and other such tomfoolery. I cannot count the times I have reminded him of the important, simple lesson, "One can accomplish far more with a single well-placed poisoning than one can by massacring an entire city." And yet, still my lessons have had little impact on him.

Allow me to illustrate my point:

When I was a small child, perhaps three or four years of age, I very much desired a unicorn for my birthday. When the day came, however, my parents gave me a kitten instead. She was a fluffy yellow creature, selflessly devoted to me from the very beginning. Now, I did indeed cherish this creature, as any child might. Nevertheless, it was not a kitten that I had specifically asked for. Now, I might have followed the example of other artless children and wept and wailed in the hope of securing the desired present. I was not like those other children, though. I was not foolish, weak, and unmethodical. I was above such things, even at that tender age.

I named the kitten Muffin and took her with me everywhere, demonstrating a most emphatic fondness for the little creature. My parents actually grew to believe that they had skillfully deceived me into accepting an inferior gift. After two weeks of constant, tender affection bestowed upon the kitten, I took her outside one night and strangled her. I left the body on our front steps. The next morning, I "discovered" the body and was inconsolable until the loss was made up for with the long-desired unicorn. Later, when I had grown into an academically-minded adolescent, I used the blood and organs from the unicorn in some of my first experimental potions. Ah, yes, I really was an endearingly practical child.

From that simple and charming childhood lesson, I learned significant truths about life and the pursuit of one's desires. These lessons, as one might surmise, have served me immensely well. And so, in this forum, I take it upon myself today to remind all others who have chosen to forsake "good" and other such nonsense of this most essential truth: Subtlety, always subtlety.