The facilities were not comfortable, but I had hundreds of years without anything worthy. First, the laboratory—working with death to give more power, the empire, always the damned elven power, maintaining it at all costs. Then knowing we faced the species' decline, being relieved of my duties as instructor and researcher, turning my offices from the comfortable facilities of the Autumn Breeze University into a cave—a cavern without light, without readings from my own species even! That was the most tiring of all. I was reduced to reading books from all races—moldy treatises from species that did not even know they had them. Some on tree bark, vulgar poems from satyrs, dwarven legends, things some dryads tattooed on their skin and fossilized in wild resin—all pointing to one thing: the origin of magic.
Now it was different. I did not need food as such—was I not the only true one? The need disappeared a couple of years ago, just before setting the plans in motion. I knew I would die alone. I had seen what the king did to those who knew secrets of that level. He called himself my friend even in the end. But the letters had been written long ago—before my arms failed, before the rot of death reached me. Just as it invaded you. I did not want to imagine your last days, old friend—wounded to death, protecting everyone even in that state. Well, you will see that will not be a problem much longer. I admit, my dear mana pool, that I underestimated you. I thought you were ripe fruit two hundred years ago, barely a hundred years after reading about your existence, about the nature of us. I dedicated the strength all elves would envy—all my power, that which my parasitic artifacts had. Look at the irony of being helped even when they did not know! All excited by my artifacts that maintained status while using little magic. But they used less, and the rest they sent to me. I knew my king copied the idea. I knew about the tattoos of these invaders; I would do something about that later. But at that moment, without realizing it, I began weaving runes without stopping. Dominating you cost me sleep, hunger, and finally life. Yet how close I am now!
Of course, I could do nothing these three decisive years—it was not my fault, believe me. The seals I imposed on you were losing vitality, so the first thing I did was recharge them... Fine! Do not be angry. The first thing I was forced to do was heal myself. Look how powerful that bastard was! Not only did he force me to spend almost half my magic protecting myself, but I imitated his spell without knowing what I was doing. I felt as powerful as in the old days. That magic should not exist—it is devastating and requires no one to die but the attacked. Thinking how I managed to evade death, how through enchantments and curses I managed to send missives asking for more lives—which allowed me to retain consciousness—that was why I revived so many of my assistants. Once they kill, I strengthen. But I ramble, you old bone husk! That human should have died, but he did not. Nothing I launched at his refuge killed him. Now he was whole and searching in the king's castle. That would not be good, but I knew the truth. Knowing that before him gave me such an advantage I shuddered. It was not like in the old days; here I did not have decades—barely years, at most, were what I aspired to... Look! Some of your young are loose—do not be angry, old scold—curious to say this having five thousand years of life and more than a thousand of un-life. But you have much more in your being. It was fine that they were easy to catch; my magic was powerful, not for its potential, but because it controlled life, emotions, the sensations of your progeny. That was why you could not kill them—though it would not be necessary. Those dwarves—organized? They were finishing them off. But why earth dragons? Do not tell me there is no juice for more invocations. Do not worry—you are almost mine. All that power will be. For now, I will revive your idiot lizards and use them to harvest a few more souls. Do not resist! ... Damn you! Did you see what you did? They are dead! I could not take those souls. Do you not understand? You are mine! You and your scarce eggs, so stop taking my subjects.
In any case, it does not matter. Those lizards were useful, but by saving them, you tired yourself a little more. Now my troops can enter the mountain. Let us see if I can get them in. Let us see if death is all that binds you. By the time the month ends, you will be mine, Obsidiana, protector dragon. No one deserves your power. Once I have it, I will use it to enter the Infernal Marks—so much magic that makes me salivate... well, if I had saliva. In any case, it is stupid that my people called you that, but you were the most perfect thing they had ever seen. We knew you; you were the source of our power. Perhaps I am the only one who knows that you took that power from us. I still do not fully understand the reasons, but I have waited centuries to see you this weakened. There is little time left. My pets keep appearing and keep the "Dark Lord's" hordes occupied. Humans barely know we exist. Dwarves are completely isolated. Elves think everything is the fault of the idiots dwelling in the ancient keep. All the idiocy is concentrated, as always serving my purposes.