Eric Blackblood - Madness, Mead and Mental Problems

[Gottmoerder]

Basic Information
Name: Eric Blackblood
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 22
Birthday: 22 years from now.
Profession: Courier, Peddler, Shady Odd-jobs
Languages: Common, Abyssal, Infernal
Speech Pattern: Stuttering, many times he doesn't seem to get words out of his head. He also cuts his sentences in little pieces, almost as if everything he says is a puzzle he has to collect together in his head.

Physical Information
Height: 182 cm
Weight: 60 kg
Body Build: Sickly, burned and thin.
Skin Type: Burned patches are all over his body, but they strangely seem to fit. Otherwise he's very pale.
Hair Style: Bald
Face: He's a looker, a real handsome fellow. The face is in perfect symmetry.
Tattoos: None
Hair: Bald
Eyes: Dark brown
Skin: Pale
Handedness: Right

Mental Information
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Philosophy: A job's a job.
Deity/Beliefs: Lipservice to Beshaba. Wall of the Faithless imminent.



Additional Information
Gear: His armor is light and shiny Mithral Chain Shirt, with red padding decorating it. His cape is red, signaling his membership of the Hellstorm crew. He wears a cowl when at "work", which covers his face totally, also red. He has accumulated enchanted boots and gloves over his adventures, which he polishes and shines whenever his mind sets to it.

Jewelry: A shining ring, Heirloom of Asenath, from his first ever "shady odd-job". He keeps it on his left index finger constantly, never taking it off. It reminds him more sane times.

Habits/hobbies: He is extremely chaotic, people around him see him as mad. Mind ravaged by the Hells, he does almost whatever he feels like. In conversations people see him punching himself to the head, twitching and stomping the ground when trying to get words, thoughts, out of his mind.

General Health: Even though the body is ravaged, he seems to be in tip-top shape.

Favorite Drink: Anything with alcohol.

Weaknesses: He tends to get sick easily, and is knocked down even easier.

Family
Unknown

Friends
Kalma Hellstorm - Captain
Malphael - At least he considers him a friend
Many acquaintances.

[Gottmoerder]

A man lays on a grass next to friendly arm inn, seemingly sleeping. Inside his head there's a struggle in place:
Now.. Now that the organization has fallen.. The tabot has disappeared.. What will I do.. No! NO! He will return. Will he? YES! HE WILL!

Oooh.. But payment.. I never recieved payment. He MUST return. Payment is imminent. The gold will come. Treasures. TREASURES FROM NASHKEL. Yes. Tabot will return. Bored. No mead. No beer. What to do? TABOT WILL RETURN. Let me get...

The man punches himself on the head twice while laying on the grass, left side. People at the auctioneer are ignoring the fellow, thinking he's just a random bum

A job. I need work. Work pays. Payment brings riches. Riches bring mead. Mead brings balance. Balance. Calm. CLEAR. Yes.

The man rose up, with a determined but still yet somehow deranged look in his eyes, heading towards Beregost. He wandered, selling his last treasures left from his times at Magna Vault Trading Company. A few days later, while journeying from Baldur's Gate towards Friendly Arm Inn for some ales he encountered a character, a red hooded character. He met.. Kalma Hellstorm.

[Gottmoerder]

Tales from a trip to the inn Volume I:

Inside Erics head: Coins.. Coins.. I have.. Coins. Yes. Five, ten, twenty.. I can get drunk. Yes, drunk. Twentyone, twen.. Twen..

He punches himself to the head, left side, once and starts heading towards the Friendly Arm Inn. He marches straight to the counter and starts shouting and Bentley for mead, beer, rum, anything he can get for all the gold in a pouch he tossed at the counter. He is hushed by a female bard nearby, which grabs his attention. He introduces himself, they swap pleasantries.. At least to the best of Erics ability. After a chat, the bard starts singing. Eric is enchanted, almost as if magically tied to the melodies. His mind focuses on them completely, and his head seems to be intact for the first time in a long while

That.. That was... Excellent.

Those are almost the only words Eric can get out of his mouth, being so fascinated.. Until the bard starts to sing about dreams. During the song, vivid images start flowing from his mind, overtaking it, torturing him. Memories from Hells, pacts, torture. Images. His eyes flash red as he twitches and shouts:

No! NO! NO MORE!

He collapses and bashes the floor with Hellish fury, leaving burn marks while the images run wild in his mind. After the bard stops, the images quickly fade. They have a meaningful conversation of what just happened, but Eric manages not to open too much, keeping reclusive. One thing is for sure..



NO DREAMS.

[Gottmoerder]

Time has passed by fast.. A struggle inside Erics head takes new levels as His human thoughts conflict with the demonic voices more frequently. They become stronger. Alcohol does not aid much anymore, it used to make him normal and euphoric. Now it just slightens the madness. Bits of conversation from Eric's head:

I need to kill them. Yes. Kill them. Burn them. Them elves, hin, orcs, everyone who stands in my way. Only that way I can get the gold to.. The gold to..

What? Gold? Where.. Eh.. My armors are shiny.. My shields are new.. Can it be.. Do I need a potion? A potion of Barkskin. They taste like Chaos Mist. Make skin barken. Gold for bark. Barkgold.

And when I drink it I burn! Burn like all the creatures I've burned! How stupid can I be? I didn't think this through, no. No potions. No. Gold for Magic! We buy magic to burn everything! The more I burn the more pleasures I get! The women will bow down to me in humongous formations, I shall be the ruler of Baldur's Gate, I shall..

.. noo.. To rule? I'm no ruler? Am I? Advice to people.. Lot's of wealth and riches.. My own city.. No.. I'm a wanderer. I want to see places, experience new cities,

burn them to ash in fires of Hells! Enslave the people to amass an army to march to the gates of Neverwinter, Luskan and Waterdeep! Everything shall burn, I will destroy them all! When the living creatures perish I shall be

..lonely? Wouldn't I be lonely without.. The crew? The traders? Mead.. Sweet mead, with it's taste, so smooth, so much honey.. So fresh, so bubbly.. With raisins. Raisins in the mead..
And blood on the floor of every tavern from all the way from the south to the north! Everything burned!

.. and it continues like this, until he is suddenly poked by Captain Kalma. It is time to go again..

[Gottmoerder]

Eric wakes up, dizzy and hungover, by the fields of the dead. His skin aches and after further inspection he sees it is severely burned. Hah, like that should be possible? His mouth is dry, tastes like brimstone and blood. His head.. Is eerily silent. Where is the voice? Where are the whispers that can only be silenced by the nectar of Gods, alcohol? Newfound power flows in his veins, a new kind of darkness. His thoughts.. Are clearer, but still.. He can feel the presence of something in the back of his head..

Now.. Now for some booze and wenches.. To the Friendly Arm Inn!

[Gottmoerder]

What the Captain says, Eric does. What Eric does, murders. What murders one is an invocation. An invocation is conjured up from a plane. A plane? A plane. Another plane. I invoke. I conjure energy, infinite energy. Why is my thought flowing so smoothly? This is the smoothest I've thought in a long while. Could I get an idea? I might. Let's think. Now. Yes. Wait. Ha! Still no voices. I'm still thin-...

A darkness shrouds his mind yet again, like usually every 30 seconds to 2 minutes. The entity behind his eyes is knocking. Looking through his eyes. The pact, being fulfilled constantly. Power in exchange for sight, feeling, taste, experience of how it is to gaze and walk upon Faerun. To experience mortality. This is what the being yearns for, this is what Eric has promised. And He is paying the price.

[Gottmoerder]

Death.. I know much about death. I've inflicted death upon others all these years.. I've watched close ones to me perish in the Hellfire conjured up from my own fingertips. I've watched innocents burn in my fire. And it consumes me.

Not many days ago.. A botched assassination. Utter lack of stealth or thought. We we're followed. Tracked. Watched. We thought it was smooth, but the man who hired us insisted on following. He was like a giant lamp, signaling ships where the assassination was to take place.. Caught. We we're caught. I drank like I usually drank, tried to sink it all into the sweet delirium of Mead.

A rope. A rope is what I received, a rope is where my tale ended. My neck didn't break. I suffocated. On the lighter side of things, that drove the demon who plagued my mind and granted my power off as well. He must be enjoying himself in the Hells. I'm here, withering down, breaking into components of the Wall of the Faithless. The moaning, the screams of other souls annoy me. But I like it here. Until I dissolve I shall ponder. Think. What made me the man who I was. Why did I sign the pact I did.. But at least my thought runs clear, as clear as spring water in the Troll Claw Fjord.

But the tale is over.

Sign,
Eric Blackblood