A strange ritual

During the process of interbreeding between compatible species tends to water down each species' abilities and smoothes out downsides. While I need not constantly defend myself against being sealed and enslaved by wizards, It is not due to my immunity to such methods but simply that I do not have even a fraction of the power to make such effort worthwhile! I am jafu, an ifrit. Long have I heard tales of the power at the hands of my forefathers. I too long for such power; when I first tapped into the raw strength of my blood, I thought myself blessed. I thought I had found a pathway unto a deep chasm of flame, its burning might ready to rend my foes like an eager hound, but honestly, that flame was a sputtering candle before what a proper efreeti commands.

I curse my ancestor's foolish ways, squandering their great power in the mortal world they should be banding together! Seeking those stupid power-hungry wizards and teaching them that the flame they keep contained is merely a single spark in a roaring unified wildfire! Yet here I stand as an ant unto a man, weak and unfit, ridiculing those who can decide my fate between breaths. I am not reconciled. I have spent my days frequenting the city's library, pouring over and studiously transcribing text after text detailing the extensive culture, history, and biology of efreeti, and I believe I may finally have it! When studying the efreeti, very few willingly reveal the secret of their origin. Still, in several erudite texts, it is written that efreeti are the product of a mortal soul being bound with elemental force, a conduit for greed and cruelty. They are outside the machinations of the divine, and being a product of natural phenomena allows them to amass a terrible amount of power without being beholden to others or expected to sacrifice to some higher power. Groups of efreeti can dominate whole swathes of the elemental plane of fire. What mephit monarchy? They are but sniveling rats in their own plane before the might of the flame. I... I seem to have gotten a little carried away. I have been researching rituals, specifically those to change one's race. While studying an ancient magical circle, I deduced a working formula of how to expend one's knowledge gained in this world with an all-consuming entropic force.

Upon doing so, one may use the raw energy released to shape the intrinsic nature of their own being, retroactively rewriting their creation and development at the cost of short-term potential. While this may be a rather raw deal for others, I, as a proud ifrit, only need to expend a fraction of the energy, as I am only changing one set of partners! I have been selectively feeding my experience of this world to the dark void, spending each night in careful observation of the ever-encroaching darkness as it voraciously devours that which makes up my psyche, constantly vigilant for it to extend its tendrils further than I allow. I know deep in my heart that should it break our pact, I would be powerless to stop it even before I started, and each day it continued, I felt my mind slowing and my physical body withering away from the long nights with little rest. But still, I carried on, my life's goal tantalizingly just in reach. Had I not carefully checked and rechecked, I would suspect I was being lured in as a sacrifice to some dark god. Still, no one has even stepped into this corner of the library in years, let alone had time to covertly alter the content of several books to be universally consistent about key facts when faced with my scrutiny. Even with my experience as a barrister, I could find little to fault the creators of these books in terms of subject knowledge. Their use of complex jargon when detailing such important research could use some work, as allowing a knave with no arcane studies to step forwards and combine their work in a single day would indeed mar their accomplishments when put against my outstanding accolades! As I write this, I find myself becoming more excitable and less attached to others. When going into the library, the familiar face of the greeter came into view. Like clockwork, he took his greasy palm and smeared it upwards against his nostril, leaving a runny trail across his face before holding the door open while carefully containing my disgust, I found myself memorizing all the places on the door he was near enough to touch so as to not interact with the filth he surely exuded to all that touched him, I hadn't had this impulse before. I fear it is worsening as when I left the library and saw him standing alone on the shore with a bottle of gin in hand; I just couldn't help myself. It's not my fault! I was just cleaning up the coastline, yes, just doing my civic duty! And as I write this, I can think of a few more pieces of litter circulating in our city I think I should clean.