Vichane Dennes...

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 1

It has been a godforsaken amount of time since I arrived in this windy and treeless region. It was so unlike the place I came from, but no place for bloody-handed Vichane was there in the land of forefathers, no more. I came to Coast with promises of riches both material and abstract. I didn't have a plan. My deed had left no time for plans. This would be a fatal flaw for most of my time in the Coast. I would never had a plan...

I bought for most of my wealth a ride with a mercenary caravan to the lands of Baldur's Gate. When the rickety old Caravan barely made it over a trail near Beregost and a goblin nearly gnawed my face off - I had my suspicions maybe I had been overcharged.

I took the time took observe my surroundings as I approached the city, I couldn't help but sneer, at the strange men in oddly handsome uniform who pompously walked by. I didn't know their name at the time, just that they ate battle for the Dukes of the City and upheld the law of the land.

The blasted-bridge was the landmark of grand-defended Baldur's Gate. I kept my head low as the caravan checked with the guards. They noticed my shyness and one of them wrenched me by the chin and inspected me like a cow for market. When they realised I was *not* one of the local criminals the caravan was free to go.

Approaching the duke-ruled City. I saw countless bands of adventurers counting their gold and apparently their party (death was cheap here and many learned the value of flight or fight). The patrol-men from before stood aback at the gates. They were faceless with only their eyes visible and with impressive weaponry. They only needed to see a misdeed and the laconic Flaming Fist would give little room for negotiation.

It was a metropolis that lay before me now, the streets wide and taverns packed with the ugly western women. One of the largest trading cities in the Coast wasn't without it's fair couple of street traders or a hundred.
Amnian stone merchants spat at the merchants from Waterdeep. Businessmen from Calimshan selling jewelry crafted lies for the ears of "Noble" Baldurian women only.

When I got off near the Blade and Stars Inn. A swarthy man winked at me while donning a hood so night-black. It was if to say "Enjoy your stay in the city.. but don't stay too long". I took the quickest but narrowest path to empty-Elfsong Tavern shoving my way past the drunks and bickering fish wives. Many people came here on their first visit to the city, overall it served overcooked meat and ale that smelt like a gibberling rapping at Mykruls door, so nobody stayed long.

I bought a room for the night and wondered how the undeserved and hell-born powers of bloody-handed Vichane would be accepted among the populace. I undressed and thought about how my head would look on a pike. My head conformed to the shape of the pillow as I hopped on the biscuit-hard bed.

I looked around the room and watched the shadows dance around me. Insanity from this hell-born powers would take me one day. My eyes closed tight and I would have the last ever sound night in my life.

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 2

A grey-backed Wolf howled as it was engulfed in tormenting eldritch power. Hell-born power that attacked your very soul and ripped it piece from piece and threw it into the void. I had a few bite marks and a clawed chest from where this base animal had fought for it's life. I skinned it and sat on the floor, it's blood drenched pelt acting as a blanket against the bitter gusts.

After a few days of this I had grown substantially more powerful but I had met nobody I would call a equal in power or who even shared the same lineage. Those I had met were all born of fey and not of hell-born power. None I had met in the small area I had been practicing my skills in had greater mastery of the art than me. My powers were recieved with immediate distrust from other adventurers. These who were connected to the Fey and I, recieved looks that one Fey-born complained to me "Were born in ignorance".

Doubtful I thought, I had constructed the theory that perhaps many of *my* kind had stretched their abilities to the limit and brought forth some beast of the circle to massacre and break the will of the population. Life-threatened adventurers would hunt them down and cull them. All our powers looked the same and so I told the Fey-born Wanderer, who perhaps with a hint of hypocricy. When I told my lineage prepared his own powers and scoffed my hell-born powers that...
"We had more in common than he thought"
He wasn't quick enough though and by the time he readied his power. The winds loud shrill was overshadowed with his screams of agony as his face was melted from his blank smooth skull.

Panic unwarranted overtook me at the time. I had murdered another, was this to be my only legacy? Perhaps I should start up a business? I appear to be good at the snatching of life. I "fled the scene" out of the Cave with the speed of a horse in flight. I clutched my head in anger, I had learnt a new technique for my hell-born powers, sent by the furies to further damage my sanity...?

I had pity for the poor man but I soon learnt that "might was right" in the Sword Coast. That night I bought another room in the Elfsong smiling at innkeeper but sleep itself eluded me. My eyes were kept opened by the demons of the lower planes, who replayed the memory over and over in my mind.

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 3

"Might was right"

If you don't have any, you just shouldn't speak at all on the wide-reaching Sword Coast. Up to that point I had seen bar brawls started over a irrelevant adjective. A man decapitated by a halberd over a shoulder barge and a bear eviscerate a woman and lap up the blood, after the crazy Malarite owning it said she had burnt the ground with her campfire.

Everything was out to get you, the people, the fauna and the animals. Walk the wrong way and you could never come back. Human looking aberrations like Orcs and Goblins inhabit every old ruin and cave you can think to look. Animals of the dire kind squabble over carcasses of their outmatched hunter's. Devils and demons incinerate whatever landscape the whim of a childlike wizard chooses. Half-breeds who clearly have gone insane after breathing the pure air of Toril, fiercely defend themselves for a misplaced look.

The place was barbaric. However we had the courage-burdened Flaming Fist to make sure that the strong do not harm the weak. Near my beginnings in the region I was exposed to the man-mountain Randall Armstrong. He was tall, horrid of face but muscles forged by the hand of Gond, comically gruff and spartan with his words. A mans man you might say, which is amusing considering what came later...

Man-mountain Randall was the perfect warrior. As a Human he was completely imperfect, an suspected rapist, violent, bordering psychopathic.
The men planned vengeance and some women weeped uncontrollably as he passed. He illustrates my point perfectly, he took what he wanted not what he needed or was allowed.

He fascinated me but at the same time I wanted to move away from the recent "bumps" in my life. I spoke with him often but I tried not to imitate his behaviour, he reminded me too much of the creatures that gave me my hell-born powers. That was untill foreign-voice Myhun approached man-mountain Randall one evening...

The discourse was charged with brutality and hideous crimes were recounted by Myhun. Some Randall admitted to, others he fought against but whatever the case he was bound up by a woman who had no lawful authority and did not wear the uniform. She slapped him about giggling with a spirit of enjoyment.

The Flaming Fist did nothing perhaps understandably.. still I had sins against my name but nothing compared to Randall was accused of, innocent or not. I admitted to my reluctance that he looked eerily *happy* too. It could be bloody-handed Vichane, that what you are worrying over isn't such a big deal in your new home?

That night I rented my well-worn room at the Elfsong. Tossing and turning and spraying the walls with my sleepless mutterings. The foulness in the room cackled at the hand fate had dealt it. It's work was going to be substantially easier now.

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 4

"Zacham Taylor"

living-joke Zacham Taylor. He was a renowned local idiot and fool, he also had a few very nasty scars where a Dwarf had took a pop at his groin. However in terms of skill with the hell-born power, this incompetent socialite had somehow not only survived but caught up to *me*.

To not mention him would be a disservice to history. Because of his gradual betrayal, that showed me the disgusting overrule that the fairer sex have over their counterparts and shaped my thinking - though amusingly it's a power most of them don't know how to use. However he also, like many of those I gathered around me, served to confirm my own "brilliant" ideas.

When we first met, it was on the Banks near the Caves inhabited by the Kobold Clan. He jabbered on like an old man and it even made me wonder if some people just deserved to die. He had a woman with him, who I surmise was some kind of lover. I mocked the living-joke due to his stammer and random muttering . I admit I had found myself arguing with strangers more and more lately. There was a bubbling Cauldron of hate inside me that each day seemed higher and higher no matter how much you spilled out.

It got to the point when we were all nearly about to draw arms on each other, when fate once again reached out. Upon the path two Flaming Fist were leading a Female Fey-born in chains. They came to a halt and while we all sat in a row and watched the spectacle, our eyes bled.

I now saw the Flaming Fist as cackling Jackals then the brilliant white Stallions I had once. They started to beat her, shouting all sort of profanities, one grabbed her throat and start to squeeze and twist. The other headbutted her, then pulled her back up again and repeated. They saw us on the Hill but they shrugged us off, they had the power and we were powerless. They kicked her to the ground and both continued untill every bone was broke in five different ways. I wanted to save her, to comfort her in my arms but alas my cowardly stomach groaned against that decision.

Hell-born looked to Hell-born and for that moment, perhaps a seed had sprouted in both our minds but for all honesty none of us had the guts or the strength to back up our thoughts nor a plan for how we were going to do it. We walked away from each other in solace but that would not be the last time we spoke together...

I bought my room in the Elfsong Tavern once again, the welling anger puppeting my limbs as I lay back staring at the ceiling. In one screaming moment of outrage I pushed my fingers against my eyes, pressing them against the sockets untill it felt....

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 5

It is important to remember, that now I am writing this as a sane man. I can write upon everything I saw and heard in complete clarity because I am now cleansed by the lashing flames of hellfire and the vice-grip of truth. By the point of time the events of this next entry would have taken place, the overburden of this region "over-cast" by corruption and near constant spilling of blood had admitedly taken it's toll on me. Bloody-handed Vichane was more now like bloody-satuarated Vichane.

It seemingly had become apparent watching the incidents of the Coast unfold had made me realise that if anything, I should embrace this brutal act of murder and kiss it upon the cheek. For to not do so, would result in a short-sharp stab to the spine myself. Not only that but deemed an outcast by society, without any chance of a proper place in it. This and my hell-born powers was one of the few things I could perfect and love.

Though If I were ever to say there was a point of time where my whining and self-pity stopped and this appreciation for power began. It was when I saw a being that could snap a mortal's neck with a mere thought. These beings who I had garnered my power from in the first place in that moment of passion, who I had sworn to never dabble with again.

An constant itching thought at the back of my mind that has been tearing through the flesh. Was that maybe, just maybe, that this new outlook on life was a by-product of beings like the one I am about to describe.. that these powers had made me like this and I had blown everything I had seen out of proportion...

I had been pondering what would be a reasonable test of my powers for days at that time. When I came upon the man-mountain Randall once more, his greatsword stuck in the ground covered in the soil of the earth. He was dangerously close to the cliffs where the waves moaned.. care-free Randall, ultimately just waiting for the next thing to happen to him at the campfire.

I approached and we got to talking about something called "The Obsidian Soul". It was some kind of vigilante group that struck from the shadows and took the heads of whoever had commited wrongs against Faerun. Admitedly they had their work cut out for them..

Pressing the conversation I discovered the man-mountain ached for information on the group. An incredibly dumb thought came to me, that perhaps the denizens of the Hells would know. That or a thought placed in my mind by the powers I described earlier. Not that it was wrong, it was just a well-known means to death for any Mage or Warlock.

He offered me nearly one-hundred thousand gold to perform a ritual, why with that I could have bought a house...
We took to the woods near the cliffs and I pulled out a small satchel containing the ground up intenstines of a beetle that I had planned to sell. It made a fine dye and so I used it to paint a pentagram on the ground. My old Theatre tutor would have been proud, because I certainly made the whole thing look dramatic for Randall. I think I more or less just begged for forgiveness and kissed the behind of whatever thing was about to come out.

The earth exploded and rocks fell back to the earth like the tears of Selune. We danced and weaved in and out, untill silence fell upon the now deep hole that had been created. I looked down into it's depths and nearly released my bowels when a firestorm shot out of it and riding with it came the most terrifying thing I had seen up untill that point.

A scheme-laden Pit Fiend, that was more mouth than anything else..It's thunderous hooves dug into the ground and it stared at me and the man-mountain. To say it looked furious would have been an understatement.

"What is the meaning of this mortals, speak! Your blood smells so appetizing and my spawn are getting thinner!"

Randall unfortunately took it upon himself to speak, which was one of his major faults. It is a well known fact that if everything you say to a Devil isn't bettering it's ego, you're not long for this world. A few sentences, an disrespectful insult and a blink, then he was phased out of the material plane, sent to the Wall no doubt.

The scheme-laden creature shook it's head violently. It spat acid at my feet and screamed that if I dared to summon it again, it would turn me into a thousand little insects that it would personally crush. I was too busy in shock and awe to reply but it descended into the earth. Closing up the way behind it. I removed my pentagram with utmost care and as midnight approached, headed back to the Elfsong.

I bought my usual room. Albiet rather jittery as I spoke to the innkeeper.
That night my fear had turned to envy, as the magnificient "death" of Randall, had played over and over in my mind. To think what I could do with such strength was a tantalizing prospect. I could even protect my hell-born kin. My sleep that night was not peaceful but the anger... at least was topped with a giddy excitement at the thought of what could one day be mine.

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 6

Hundreds of organisations, if not thousands, never get into the history books. This is usually because of a stupid or uncharismatic leader. A good leader can lead sheep against lions and win; however this also leads to a problem, you take away that leader and the sheep will quickly go back to munching on grass. This strategy though has it's benefits, surround yourself with idiots who have strength but don't know how to use it. Then point them where you want..

I had thoughts about forming such an organisation, led by a man like me. However I pondered that perhaps I would be getting myself into more than I handle. That I might find myself in competition with others who would be all too happy to snuff out the light of my life. That I would be tied to this sanguine-soaked place for eternity. Although.. the power... the golden nectar, supplied by a handful of fools who had gathered to me. Perhaps it was too much to pass up..

One group comes to mind, known as the Obsidian Soul. This fleeting memory of a group of "agents of vengeance"
They collected the heads of many on the Coast. Their leader was unknown.. so he/she thought. I have reason to believe he or she stepped on the wrong toes. This group mysteriously vanished from the Coast without a hint one day. I would say it was because their leader was "tactically smited"

The waves screeched against the shore and a fellow hell-born I had come to know as Richo Aries, snuck up behind me and clenched my shoulders. I didn't know what to think of Richo, he had the will and the power but he was distracted too easily. Especially by the sentiment I had so grown to despise known as "love". I mean, I never had it, I don't think I'd ever feel it. When I used to woe women back in my Theatre days I thought about what a empty life it was, but after comitting much more serious crimes, morality's vicious tones really don't do the damage they use to.

He was friends with the living-joke Zacham. Who had so lazily decided to follow Richo to my spot. He had now apparently decided he was going to be a Sorcerer. He whined and threw tantrums about the hell-born power that still gripped his soul, rattling the walls of his bone-house. He needed to break the "curse" first however this brought up a question every "True-born Warlock" must ask,

"is my power a curse? or a blessing I should exploit?"

He had been born this way and for that, I was willing to look the other way at what I percieved as treachery. I knew what I was getting myself into, no matter how much I complained about my "bloody-hands" or the "shadow" that now followed me. He had been born this way and probably was now burdened by a living hell that no-one asked wether he wanted to be thrown into. He had recently expressed a desire to still protect "Warlocks" even if he gave up his power. He talked about a "group" that could protect "Warlocks". Led by intelligent members who could order and guide the others.

It's a shame nearly every other hell-born or fey-born I had met made me wonder about castrating myself. Still why not just one intelligent "Warlock"...

That night I was destined for my usual room at the Elfsong Tavern and I only woke up twice in the whole night. Unbeknowst to me.. the scheme-laden demons and devils were chattering, everything had went their way and they were rewarding me for being the one puppet that they were very very proud of...

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Chapter 7

At the time of this entry, I had began suffer an defining mental ailment. I had not recently made a breakthrough in harnessing my powers so there was no immediate cause. It got worse though to put it lightly. I appeared to be a convulsion of the mind. Everytime I tried to think entirely with logic it would eagerly drag me off path with a quick shot of fury.

This strange ailment also forced me to keep repeating the same erratic tasks over and over and over.
Braying a stone wall over and over..
Shaking my head in a random pattern...
Wrenching my hands and then gnawing on the clenched creation..
Dutifully rolling my eyes in their slimy sockets over and over whenever someone spoke.
Clenching my face and smacking my lips over and over..
Trying to eat from the same bowl, even though it was empty...
It was an incredible frustration and it all built up like the highest citadel.

The priest of Tempus could do nothing. No Paladin or Cleric of Illmater would aid me. No Dark Priest could remove this dull ache or this howling madness that lingered around me. It followed me for months on and off, it didn't need to be there all the time. This curse's very existence itself bore me more anger.

I would have said the creatures that had offered me my hell-born power had enacted the next step in their plan. Any lesser creatures would have simply made a dramatic speech then ripped my soul out through my chest cavity. These ones though, they had a gambit. They took a only a quarter of their due to sustain them, which happened to be the part that would damage my solemn spirit. Similar to the mentality of a Thug that would knock you out in a back alley; complete madness and a mind without clarity would resort to violence to the taking of life to gain what it wanted. There were many souls that were destined for the hells for an eternity of torture and I would take them there..

It was a strange and cruel form of insanity, one that many would gladly wish upon their worst enemy. To never be at peace. Many would say the instability that had caused me to murder many already and my total socipathy would have my deserve this fate, I would not disagree.

Had the creatures done it too soon though, they couldn't have guaranteed I would have set on a path that would have led to a decent payback. Now though, the meeting with the living-joke, the wistful man and the painted lady about our new group would come to fruition. We would form a group. One that would last years but wouldn't have any true sucess untill I too had a gambit. Though that is another story for another time..

The ailment progressed quickly, while on the way to the Elfsong. I felt a immeasurable force in my back, as something metal and spiked happily imbedded itself in my flesh. It appears someone was trying to rob me, I spun around and realised it was a teenager. Not older than fifteen, who was wielding this weapon. He bared his teeth trying to intimidate me, I painfully pulled the weapon out and threw it back, he pulled out a dagger. I could have easily disarmed him..

It was not to be... I could have shouted "Fist!" then ran... How dare this young whelp attack me though. I rushed at him and clenched him by the throat and begin cutting my way through his neck with vitrolic energy. The poor boy began wrenching as his existence was slowly consumed by whatever God he prayed to.

I finished half-way and his head lolled down, life drained, barely held by a string of red gore. My wrath was immeasurable, I popped his eyes and charred his corpse then threw the bones to whatever foul vermin was struggling to exist that night. I then slumped down in the alleyway, back dripping with blood, completely exhausted...

[Cythraur]

Exordium

Final Chapter

I tapped the dagger against my nose lightly and watched as the day and night blended a red hue and then blackest night took over. Moonlight settled on the tip of my nose and I immediately stood up to prepare myself for a grand meeting. I had been looking out the window for the better part of a day. Me, the living-joke, the wistful lover and the red-woman had pulled ourselves together and decided to solve our problems once and for all.

It had come our attention Hell-born and Fey-born had been persecuted in this land for generations. They needed a community, a helping hand and protection. So we decided to create a small organisation that give them all these things and maybe even a home some day.

I checked the armoire in my room and pulled out some smart casual clothing. It looked like something perhaps landed-gentry or a merchant would wear, white in colour and thin. I took a small knife and scrapped the dirt and dead skin from my face from the many battles of the previous days and finally packed away some concealable armaments in my satchel.

I stepped out into Shars domain and took care through the city allowing any patrols to walk on by. I covered what tracks I could and took to the trade-way. Night is a beautiful thing, if you know how to use it. To the unintiated it skewers perceptions, protects murderers, rapists and fiends and breeds nothing but anguish for most isolated communities. However it's simply that it's advantages are barred from you at first.

On the trade-way it took my a couple of hours but I reached the desolate plains near Candlekeeps farming belt. There was strange jutting rock standing in the middle with a small gap underneath it where approximately *four* people could keep out of sight. There were three already waiting, scowling at me as I crawled under into this enclosure. We all looked just once at each other, then the living-joke took it upon himself to speak up.

He stated the reasons for the meeting and then spewed some idealistic cripe about how we should only use violence as a final resort and that we should educate the masses. That we would only propogate the stereotype of all Warlocks being spoilt children with a powerful tool.

Me myself? I had been watching the Orcs and the Elves even and I could see the thing Zacham could not. That our "race" was so inheriently full of problems that they will *always* bring down the whole race. We could protect Warlocks alright but the odd hundred monstrous Warlocks would cause so much havoc our organisation would be hunted down and killed. I would have to convince Zacham that making ours the *only* race was clearly the best option.

The meeting went on for hours, debating organisation and rank. I didn't really pay attention. The spark was my idea but I had my other plans.

When the meeting finally ended we all entered out to see the Morning Lord smile at Faerun and the wistful one so amusingly asked the question

"What we should call ourselves?"

Since I was sure that one day I would own this organisation, and that we would need a fearsome name. I proposed maybe half-jokingly "The Wretched Hymn". It came like a breath but I immediately became fond of it, everyone laughed the first time but I another took a serious shot and said it would serve the purpose of being intimidating.

Everyone sort of half-agreed because apparently calling yourself this was better than nothing, but the name stuck and that was that. Though it did not help our reputation, I knew Zacham was destined to fail anyway. As we walked hand in hand down the trade way little did I know in a couple of short years. Everyone I was with, would be either dead or driven from the Coast.

But that is a story for another time...

[Cythraur]

Indux

Chapter 1

So the barbarous days of the Wretched Hymn began. To tell this story to the world is my duty. Our organisation had only four members to begin. Recruiting more was impossible without first deciding on our direction. It was being hung drawn and quartered at it's birth. Stagnation would prove the solution. Eventually the others dropped off into only I and hell-born Richo, only our fire would burn through the indecisiveness.

Before then though my power would erupt into a pinnacle. I had melted, incinerated, banished and anihilated thousands of nameless creatures. Yet I was furious still, their deaths would never fufill. I relinquished the key to my room at the Elfsong, pausing to clench it. The Innkeep grabbed it, he had a stick between his teeth, but I heard many obsecenities muttered. He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to another customer, gossiping like a sparrow. It had never been a happy place, but mine it had been.

I took a Sojourn to the Mountains near the Troll Ford. Here, they would whisper my name for centuries to come. I held the Ford for days, months, maybe even years. The glee I could see, when their Hunters would snicker and snack as they crossed the ford; so proud of their days hunt. I didn't *want* to kill them, but I needed to. The dull ache commanded, it said
"Vichane come now? Do you want to upset your stomach?"

It was here on this rigid path that stunk of the dead. That I would met several "useful" people. They cared not for abstract emotions but only to grow more powerful by whatever means. Aronmyr the bare-headed. A man who spoke only the obvious, yet called it wisdom. sky-blue Valahaem, he kept his heritage hidden, but he was "Warlock". Finally Callo, he was a mercenary but a coward. He expected gold to fall from his earholes, and into his thuggish hands.

It was here one day I learnt one of the most powerful techniques, that should be barred to most mortals, by decree of the gods. However I had transcended that flimsy shell. It could drain the energy from the life that surrounded my body and in an instant they would join me. I would liken myself at that moment to Asmodeus, but that would be putting a chain on my power.

"How outrageous, we are limitless"

[Cythraur]

Chapter 2

At this point living-joke Zacham's lady friend had fled the Coast for some unknown reason. Zacham had gone from annoying to sickening. Joke was now too kind in hindsight. I think I'll go with "meaningless". He was, he was, he was. He was never dedicated to any job, except chasing behinds. How I imagined his lips miming and his groin sweating as he spoke to the ladies.

One especially infatuated meaningless Zacham. The Saint Merielle now Silene. Once he became a "Sorcerer" he abandoned everything he should have held dear and followed the wrapped lady. He banged on about wanting excitement. I think maybe she bribed him with the hundreds of incidents that happen to her daily.

Now though it was just me and hell-born Richo. Our minds were alike, and knew if we wanted to found an organization to protect Warlocks. We would still need ironically, non-Warlocks. The only problem was.. We were on the Sword Coast

There was no love was held for us unless the last few months had been a dream. Embarassingly I did ask around, and embarassingly recruited many later-known spies and vessels of treachery. Gold dulled all senses and opinions. I founded a mercenary guild, where many dreamers forgot their mysterious hatred of hell-born. Asking out in the open with a handful of gold went well, saying they were only joining a mercenary organisation. Asking them out in the open to join a secretive part of the organisation, not so well but, we eventually had nails for the hammers of our hell-born circle.

"Enough to challenge the Flaming Fist?"

Why not? The ceiling of oppression on the Sword Coast. Most of the individuals in this little mercenary band hated them with passion. We could kill hundreds of Bandits and most Flaming Fist had trouble with them, bar the exceptional individuals.

I waited for a chance that came the following day, when a Half-Orc named Sven Dragonslayer would ignite passion in the average man of the Sword Coast. Passion cannot warm you in a prison cell, so I would find out.

[Cythraur]

Indux

Chapter 3

Sven Dragonslayer was a Orc. He had a huge sword. He had thick and rigid armour. It didn't glint in the distant sun and matched his skin in shade. He didn't have much else, except a temper... He lost that frequently, especially with the Flaming Fist. On multiple occasions he had been caught taunting and ruthlessly attacking them. He cleaved in the skull of a man named Trent, spliting his head in half, while the brains slipped out like gelatinous sludge. He had powerful friends too so it seemed. He could evade the embrace of Mykrul with the best of them. His empty grave turning up empty questions.

Around that time I had, arrogantly, seen the wide-ruling Flaming Fist as a rival. My mercenary company was clearly up and coming. They had their flaming eye on me I thought. I thought that we could destroy them and their two-thousand strong army at any time. They did not have many wolves in their herd of sheep after all...

I had managed to pay all of the "Troll Ford Club" to work for me by now. Now I set my sights on recruiting the brute-jaw Sven to my cause. Supporting the brute-jaw was a worthy endeavor if he caused trouble with the Flaming Fist. We organized to meet on the swirling banks of the river by the endless caves of the Trolls.



He wasn't much interesting in joining though. He wanted protection for himself against the Flaming Fist.

"How humiliating. He's a big baby.. Kill him"

The gold he offered set the mens eyes flickering like a courtesan. I admit with that we could pay salaries for weeks. So I agreed for two men to guard him. However what he really wanted was scapegoats. He immediately dragged them around with him while he buzzed around Flaming Fist like Celtis, proding them with the swords of -my- men.

Not that Celtis was absolved of blame. He threatened to report us if some of my men didn't move from the same hunting area as some of my men. Throwing out insolence like that was what begot all their problems... My men and Sven bore down on the man and in their shadows he danced on our strings untill eventually more of his companions arrived. Celtis ran off to them blubbering.

I now made a mistake of helping the men in battle. It was a fateful one. We traversed the bridge that may have well connected two countries. It had massive security and we weren't getting across it without Sven getting caught. The brute-jaw though he could win though, so he ran off screaming a amusingly polite battle-cry. He and a man named Odder were stopped on the bridge and the Flaming Fist Grunga stomped and spat.

There was a brief exchange of words and not knowing who did what. A brawl started out, Grunga threw her axe into Odders spleen and his legs buckled, and his eyes exploded when her axe decimated his head. Sven was overpowering, Grunga was holding firm but her stance was waining. In that final moment, nearly Sven's victory. I think I got carried away, it was our chance, the Flaming Fist's finest warrior to be vanquished... or perhaps it was that my hands moved without my mind's permission.

Whatever the case, there was a lady Flaming Fist coming up behind Sven. I chanted the blackest speech to empower myself, then I felt my hands vibrate as eldritch power stopped her world. She breathed, and then she didn't and her doll-like body crumpled to the floor. I turned to run so my murder was not known, but unfortunately this was not be.

My smile crumbled when an Elven Sorceress named Rith threw a spell that gave me the same fate as the woman I just murdered, but slower. Slow enough that your lungs burst and your heart turns to mush.

My eyes closed, and opened again in a Prison Cell. An agonizing place where everyone cries for the same glorious "Freedom" but it does not come to us all at once. Only one at a time. I

was maltreated in various manners. You would think a civilized society would show decency. No wonder they have so many rebels. Guards spat on me, made me strip naked, bound and gagged me and threw the occasional piece of bread in the cell. Only to burst in and wrench it back while kicking my teeth out.

Eventually it was my turn for the Court. I knew it was hopeless if I told the truth. Sven had gone before me and I knew the punishment for killing Flaming Fist on purpose. The Duke whispered and studied me with his advisors as I stood in his worthless halls. I lied and told him that I had been trying to take the life of Sven and not the Lady Flaming Fist. When death reflects in your minds eyes. Not many go out without a witty statement. Most go out soiling themselves.

Luck intervened on my behalf.
"Luck, come on now, it was skill."
Yes I had a tongue of silk. I was banished from Baldur's Gate for five years, but I was alive. Alive, breathing still, but my mercenary company was a still corpse. It would need life again if I was to destroy the Flaming Fist.

Oh no the cells had only strengthened my resolve...

[Cythraur]

Indux

Chapter 4


If you go down to the beach today, well you won't find anyone. However in the old days, it bustled, and the waves swallowed secrets aswell as sand. Eventually coast near the lighthouse would become more important than I had imagined. However on those comfty golden sprinkles. There were two incidents of note.

To continue after my spell in the cells. For my arrogance I had been punished with what may has well been a permanent expulsion from Baldur's Gate. Bellicose Duke Eltan had chosen to take my word. The others were not so lucky. Loyalty runs thin like a lit rope, as the passage of time had took many of my Hymn mercenaries away from me. I had a few though, that would be directed towards my new enemy. The Flaming Fist.

In the meantime, while anger held the heart of bloody-handed Vichane. I could not forget to breath. Heroes like me needed to take a break. I set on spending a day down at the rim of Umberlee.

I arrived only to find the beach occupied by the Man-mountain Randall, so I found out. Actually at the time I just thought it was a paticularly lonely woman at the beach. With a blade that could shatter a man on impact. I took it upon myself to try recruit her for a quick sum, but the gold was thrown in my eyes. My hands reached into the planes for whatever abominal fury I could muster towards her, but I stayed my hand.

"Had I learned anything from my time in the boxes

As I poked the golden cushion beneath me happily with a stick, as if living a childhood I never had. I watched a young elf woman join the half-man. With a hint of defiance I approached her with the same offer as Randall. She accepted quick enough that it made me suspicious. However bearing not the paranoia that keeps me safe now. I shrugged it off and was about to leave when I noticed a alabaster woman waiting near the nearby cave entrance.

I snacked at her with a passion. I even accused her of spying, even though it was a public beach. I know now she was spying of course. It was not an act of coincidence I met the most important figure in my life.

Eventually we reached the suspiciously easy conclusion that she "should work for me so I didn't have to slay her"
I may have threatened her with turning her into a man. Hillarious that by the way, an excellent way to distract people. To drive the stake deep, I made sure to call her "John" throughout the entire conversation. I was so weak to believe these excuses but by believing her small lie. She tuaght me how to defend myself against much bigger ones.

I recall now a less profound but rather a humilating incident that occured on beach overlook. I was returning from a training session with two fresh recruits. I had become something of a oaf as of then. I had not persued further strength. I thought myself perfection and hellfire embodied.

My mind hides the details, as if hiding a bad joke. However two maybe even three what looked like self-righteous walking tin-cans were headingin the opposite direction. I threw an insult at one of the men who I would come to know as "Ramas". His friend warned us not to press our advantage of patience. Eventually though the man wanted to duel me. I was the glorious figure here, and smart kings will exhaust every opportunity before fighting themselves. In one quick click of my fingers,I signaled the newest mercenary to step forward.

That was all she got really, in one ferocious motion a red streak appeared across her stomach through her casket. She looked down, only to see her intestines fleeing her body and squirming out along the ground with a life of their own. I didn't feel the least bit sad for her, she died for a good cause and of course, would have wanted it.

The remaining combatant and his friend just stared us down, and didn't say a word. They remained frozen, as if they were now on another plane of existence left only for the defeated opponents. A plane where only muck and scum inhabited.

It took me a while to ever enjoy the seaside again...

[Cythraur]

Indux
Chapter 5

I had chosen to surround myself with marionettes almost entirely now. They could sing and dance, but they couldn't compose or coreograph. My magnificent mind had no desire for competition. Whenever a marionette began to think it's a real person, I burnt it alive.

This was the case with quick-skin Jo. He had been a well-bred little puppy so far. He always came when I whistled, and always bit when I said sic. However my banishment had turned me into a hermit, an outcast from society. My ears and eyes closed by a shroud of isolation. It is around this time that I began to appreciate that came with knowing the right people and the right things.

The Hymn was now largely underground. However it's mercenary pool was impossible to maintain with the type of people in our repor. It was leaning more towards a secret syndacite, as it should have always been. I tried my best to recruit only hell-born Warlocks to my cause, but a loneliness had suddenly descended on all hell-borns. Every Warlock thought he was the only one of his kind in Faerun.

I had attempted to purchase several explosives from a man named "Kel". He had obtained them but we never had the chance to put them into action against the Flaming Fist.

"Make them go bang them against the wall!"

It would have worked I know! It was a flawless plan. I would have created a godlike hole in their armour. With their walls done for, I bet that a surrounding nation like Amn would have rose up against the city-state.

We had been "taking" the odd assassination in the meantime. It provided a touch of the merchant's honey. However it cost me much more to fake the ones I did. I needed to expand the reputation of my organisation. The current requests for secretive murders in the Coast was in a lull. So I may have heard a few names and then wrote a few contracts. No one will remember them anyway, they may as well serve a purpose above themselves.

I suppose alot of those assassinations did *not* go ahead. Much to my chagrin, that wastrel, spiller of words and well I diverge... To return to the quick-skin Jo. By the time one of my members finally reported to me about it. I was meditating in the Sharpteeth. I prayed to whatever abomination could hear my request. With one flesh crystal turned to the side I spoke with the agent. It turns out Jo was a woman's toy and a gossip. He had already talked about his position in my organisation and about some of our murders.

The flat-headed moron had signed his own warrant... I needed a more forceful method of puppetry. I could bore out his back and use it as a hand-hole perhaps? Unfortunately that may lead to his death. I was no longer an appreciator of the fine art of soul-freeing. I had learned the soul is best kept in the body, where it can suffer.

I met him in the high segment of the Gullykin Tower one boreal day. It was a comfy place and filled with hins too occupied to register a small bit of noise. I approached him a fine line or two about local events and kept a civil appearance. However I could not hide the tempest beneath the glass of my eyes. As the faked meeting ended I casually wandered by his side and patted him on the back.

The knowledge of ages flowed through me, and into quick-skin Jo's spine. His excruciating cries made me only want to pile on anguish even more. I led my hand up and down some would say carresing him, with a spread of ravenous acid. He thrashed and his veins bludged as he attempted to transform into anything he could to escape. I would personally want to die as a human, but whatever works. When his final throes began I stopped my onslaught and beat him a little further with my morningstar. I told him with all the stability I could muster to my language that "If he could not be a responsible child with his tongue, I would need to control it"

I had been concoting something that was effectively "A puppet curse". My previous attempts had created only boring-looking dolls and wooden effigies. They were trapped as they should be.. but they didn't have their power anymore. I believe I now had a willing test subject for once.

I cannot bear to write every contortion and feeble defence of his mind against my curse here. However he succumbed eventually within the hour. I finally had a prototype. With a untapped strength I could release onto the unsuspecting surroundings at anytime. Wood-skin Jo would eventually break free from the curse.. but not before he had chewed on the flesh of compatriots and nobodies alike.

[Cythraur]

Indux
Chapter 6

I would like to think me and Tiberious were grand comrades. He was dutiful, loyal, humble and always came to my side when I needed him. He was not a hell-born, but was for all intensive purposes, my right-hand man. He gave me many reasons to be cynical, but I pride myself on being able to read people, on being a leader. I could hold what should have been a shambles together through pure will.

I suppose I was just wandering on a drug of smug and pleasure. I strode ahead on the road, without checking the faces my "companions" were making on the road behind me. On the face of it, everything was going well.

removed-Richo had been a paticularly boring contact so far. Ironically the messages he delivered before going on his ill-fated soujourn; led to some of the most eventful days here. He was commonly found persuing the opposite sex. I swear everyone on this ugly and wet coastline has the sex-drive of a nymph.

Whatever the case I was suprised to see him. I met him in the Blade and Stars Inn and he told me of two messages he recieved. He told me first of all, that a woman had been whispering to him during the night. My stomach let out a timely grumble and the shadow of my hood excellently extended over my face as if to hide my rampant frowning. Thankfully it was not a sex story, but of someone looking for the Hymn. I brushed it off with a slight pang of discomfort. It was probably just some up and comer who was in awe of me, thinking she was worth *my* time.

Next was of two more interesting characters, who were also looking for the Hymn. They had arranged to meet rather ominously tommorow at midnight at the Gullykin Tower. It didn't have the trappings of an ambush, and Richo was no upsurper. I rushed him ahead with my reply and after that I never saw him again. I would like to say it meant something to me.. It didn't.

In cloak and dagger I stepped out into Shar's whim with an invisibility enchantment on and ventured to the Tower. The stairs were winding but the light was blinding, but I finally arrived at the top to the appearance of two hideous visages.

One was a haggared old man. His face ravaged by beasts, cuts, burns, force and time. He rested on his staff and wore a robe like the darkness of morte. He said nothing throughout the entire conversation and remained entirely emotioness. The other did all the talking... he was dressed in a grey mask that reminded me of something you would wear sadistically to frighten children or a death mask. He carried a sword that was as tall as he was and wore armour with a black center and gold streaming along the extremities.

This man asked the standard questions. What are you about? how can you be of use? What are you exploits? Feeling rather bemused delivering so much information I tried to make an exchange but he would answer nothing in reply. I tried to make jokes, as much to ease myself as to impress them but they were two practical men.

They also asked about my religion. To be fair, I had never really followed a god. Not out of some rage against the heavens but because I had never seen one of use to me. Lately though, I had been wondering about finding a creature that would teach and nuture my rising potential. I told them that and I swore that the ancient one cracked a smile.

Satisfied, the large one dropped a bag of gold at my feet and nodded. It was apparent that we would meet again. Where? It was
"A suprise".
He told me his name was Reliknam. Then like a monstrosity, lumbered away with his sword behind him.

As I watched them leave. i had a hunch that I had just met the Zhentarim.

[Cythraur]

Indux
Final Chapter

I took the Shepherd's way over hills to approach the Woods of Sharp teeth, under the watch of an bloated moon. It was sickened over the horrors of the building that now came onto the horizon. That I would even step foot in such a place. Two orcs tried to assault me in a poorly timed attack that cost them dearly. I threw a spiraling blast into the chest cavity of the first, leaving a hole that gifted a harvest of blood onto the Terra beneath. The second tried to fire arrow after arrow my way, but the entropic shield I had prepared chewed on each and every arrow. I simply walked up and cracked it over the skull with my morning star. It flopped to the floor, along with it's now deformed head and shattered teeth.

Heart colliding against bone... I reached a building cut from the essence of the murdered. It was engorged on terror and the sweat of those tasting Kelemvors realm. Every step closer the screams grow louder, but you must block them out. Otherwise it's inhabitants won't hesitate to add you to the screams, friend or foe. At the entrance was faceless-Reliknam and my right-hand Tiberious. The broken giant remained silent and slid the key into the lock. The door was as heavy as the air and it took brutish strength for Reliknam to open it.

I wasn't quite sure to expect when I opened it. Would I be surrounded by nobles and well-to-do men who blathered in court and threw money into public works by day, but by night were possessed by the desires of Bane?
Would I be greeted by thugs and madmen who had long ago like me, shunned society and hid in these walls?
Reliknam pushed me forward into the light and stood back to the door. Tiberious followed and and seemed just as uncomfortable as I was.

Inside the screams seemed to quieten, as if only to stop them overpowering the holy chants to Bane. The floors and walls were cracked and shade. No one had used this Temple in a long time...
In front of me there were three individuals. One was the man I recognized as "The Black". One was a "Dread Agent". One who bore the air of authority was the "Dreadmaster".

The Dreadmaster spoke..
"You have done well to reach this far. To tell you the truth. I thought your little group would dissolve before it could be of use to us"
"Do you intend to use me as your puppet?" I snarled.
The Dreadmaster smiled and his one eye twitched manically "Do not be so uncivil now.. we just want to offer you a place in the Zhentarim. You are so lonely, we just want you to see that their is plenty of funding for your plans."

The Dreadmaster didn't allow me to reply and nodded to the altar. In unison the party of villainous men turned towards the altar but did nothing.
"First we must give thanks to his eminence." The Dreadmaster growled.
As if guided by the Black Hand himself. A spark of madness and a useless sacrifice, as I rushed to the atlar. I took the worn knife from the altar and drove it into my hand. The blood slithered its way to it's designated place. Maneuvering down the canals of my hand. It turned to green gas as it splashed onto the pedestal. The gas swam through the ethereal air to my nose and made it's way into my body and my blood. Imbuing me with new tricks and ancient secrets.

I beckoned over Tiberious to do the same, it could only him good after all. The trepidation in this voice was irritating, he knows everything I do is best for our group. He *appeared* to follow the same movements that I did, as a second Faithless joined the Church of Bane. His eminence was pleased.

As I entered my place among this collective, the faceless Reliknam stepped up to the pedestal. He grinded his gigantic piece of steel against his palm, ripping up chunks of flesh.. but when the blood touched the altar. A sweeping fell wind knocked us all flat on our backs. We were the tortoises helpless at the gaze of the much superior eagle. The presence spoke with the confidence of a god.

"You let this traitor enter my domain! My house?"

Suddenly Reliknam was grabbed by an invisible, unresistable strength. The strength launched him into the steel door of the temple. Then it picked him up and slammed him again and again against the door. The body left a trail of blood as a snail leaves a trail of slime. As it slid down onto the checkered floor. Bones jutted out of what was left of this bloodied mess, his ravaged and ugly face beyond repair... but I swore he was still breathing.

The voice continued
"This is what happens to those servants of other gods who you show hospitality. No quarter! only your deeds saved the rest of you. You best continue to show you are not completely worthless... for your own sake"
Bane's presence left the halls. Finally a being with power I could show homage too. No more pointless murders. In exchange he would provide me gifts like he had tonight. What a shame he never taught me the art of subterfuge.

We all stared at Reliknam. He had some explaining to do...



"To be continued..."