A Land Far Away

The smoke plumes lazily drifted to the clouds, darkening the sky above. The large town structures all remained dotted with blazing flames that licked their way up the walls. Screams could be made out of the many men, women and children that were methodically cut down by the penetrating army of goblinoids. Merchant stores were pillaged, supplies were ransacked, children bound as slaves, women violated in the streets and left for dead and lastly, the men were cut down wherever they were found.

A dozen riders sat still atop a hill observing the activities in the town below. The rider in the center stood out among the others with his dark platemail and calm ebony warhorse. An intricate etching on the breastplate could be made out: a closed fist of iron--the unholy symbol of Bane. Slowly, the rider took off his menacing, skull-like helm revealing a strikingly handsome visage underneath. A handsome union of human and elven blood displayed a squared jaw, angular features and a smoothly shaven face. From underneath his long, wavy golden hair, a pair of calculating gray eyes watched the movements of the soldiers below with determined vigilance.

Raising his steel gauntleted hand, a mounted hobgoblin in brigandine trotted his horse next to him and replied in his native goblin tongue, "Yes, my Lord..."

With clear, unmistakeable command, the half-elf ordered in goblin, "Froksin, reinforce the southeastern quadrant with approximately 100 infantry. There is a slight resistance there. Make an example of those that raise arms. Skin the men alive and make the women watch. Feed your soldiers with their flesh when the quadrant is secured...go."

A sinister grin crept across the goblinoid's face. With disciplined precision, the hobgoblin saluted and replied, "It will be done, my Lord..."


Crunath shot straight up from his bed in a cold sweat. His chest was heaving from the dream that once again seemed so real, so vivid. These nightmares of Crunath visualizing himself as a different person had plagued him for the past two years--ever since he began to question Torm as his chosen patron...

I could not save my wife. My god would not help me revive her. Why would my faith remain steadfast after something like that? Even Paladins have doubt...and rightfully so.

Without realizing it, anger seeped back into the half-elf just from recalling the past. In a fit of rage, he ripped the holy symbol chain from around his neck and slung it across his small room. It dawned on him what he had done and sat there staring at the holy symbol as if it would jump up and bite him--but it didn't.

Strange. I do not even feel guilty for having these feelings. In fact, I have not felt guilt in the years since they first began. What was I feeling when I awoke this night? Excitement? Anticipation? Now that I think about it, I may have liked the influence and power I had in my dream. I must learn more of these dreams, for better or worse...

Not giving thought more to the dilemma, Crunath gathered up his meager belongings in the middle of the night and left his room to never return. The holy symbol of Torm remained discarded on the cold floor...

Tears...Pain...Muffled cries...

...Ending with screams of agony and pleas of mercy... and moans of sheer pleasure...

...Soon followed by a hard knock on the heavy wooden door, and voices calling out in the night...



"My Lord, are you well?"


The servants' voices startled Lorena, as she paced around the bound man, her perceptive eyes boring into him with a cold delight, mingled with sensations of pure malice. He had invited her into his chambers ... to hurt him, to please him... to play out his most base desires...to be hurt, and even more, to cause hurt...

The deep spark of her brown eyes now flicked to the door lock, then to the man stretched in an almost ritualistic pose on the soft feather bed. His eyes met hers, still pleading, but with a look of gratitude that sent the undeniable message that she was safe from retribution...

Her deep, red colored lips smiled with genuine delight at his look, just before she crept out through the hidden panel he had shown her earlier. She knew this Lord of Arabel would say nothing of the real purpose and intent behind his pain. She had been invited by him, and would suffer no repercussions to her actions. His delight vindicated her wicked life.



Now, outside the elegant manor house, the past hours of pleasurable pain behind her, Lorena look up at the night sky. The deep darkness, lit only by a myriad of pinpoint stars, filled her with longing. Deep within her soul, she knew that her life in this place was not enough. To give herself over to the depraved longing of a few inconsequential men seemed suddenly inconsequential. A deep desire to serve her mistress, Loviatar, sprang up in the soul of this degenerate woman...and she knew...suddenly...like lightning striking in the dark...that there were conquests to be had, far greater...far deeper, than lords with sinful desires ...

It was time...to move on...to look for greater revels...to seek greater pain...to give greater pain .. to those who did not necessarily desire it...

RAVEN'S BLUFF
Months of travel, research and learning, not to mention his nightly dreams, brought Crunath here. Tall, dark spires stretched skyward, giving a sense of majesty and splendor to one of the largest temples to the Fistlord in all of Faerun. Fully armored guards brandishing halberds blocked Crunath's passage with one of them inquiring sternly, "Why are you here again, halfbreed?"

He will pay dearly for that comment...

Swallowing his pride, Crunath bowed slightly and said simply, "I am expected. I have another appointment with High Priest Galann."

The sentry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but gave him no more difficulty, "He can be found in his quarters, half-breed..."

Nodding in mock appreciation, Crunath manuevered into the interior of the temple inner sanctum. Coming to the broad office door, he knocked firmly. From within, he heard the deep voice of the High Priest, "Enter Crunath."

The lean half-elf slipped in and closed the door behind him. Gesturing broadly, the large priest swept his hand to a chair opposite his desk, "Please sit, young one. You have been coming here for months now. You have denounced your vows to Torm and now you sit in the seat of Bane's power, learning our ways...to what end do you wish to take this? Does it have to do with your dreams?"

Crunath decided that answering bluntly and honestly had its place right here and now, "Yes, my dreams prompted this, along with other things."

The High Priest nodded and replied, "I will be candid. You have fallen into our hands and taken to the faith of the Strifelord like a fish to water. I must ask, to what end?"

Crunath sat back thoughtfully and said with a conviction that was undisputable, "Torm failed me. The church of Torm failed me. Bane answered my pleas for help and guidance--Torm did not. Bane has sent me visions of conquest and unholy alliances. You wish to know why I am here? It is simply a starting point for my campaigns. I will answer Bane's call and bring my visions to reality. I come to you to coordinate with the church of Bane. What I have in mind is grand in scale and heavy in its undertaking. All before me have failed...why? They did not see the big picture. They did not know their enemy--I do. All I want to know is can I count of the Church of Bane for what I have in mind?"

The High Priest of Bane was in shock at the half-elf's words only momentarily. With a silvery voice, he answered carefully, "It depends on what you have in mind, Fated One..."


For hours, Crunath laid out his plans to High Priest Galann...

Weeks passed, and still Lorena lingered within the Arabel city limits. Outwardly, little had changed in her life, as she still visited those who sought her services, continued on with the daily life that had filled her hours with both the mundane and the exotic.

Yet, the lightning strike of revelation and dissatisfaction, which had lit her soul with greater desires, continued to burn within her breast. Her life here seemed flat and meaningless now, but she still lacked direction.

Inner change may come quickly, but it is the outward changes that I fight hardest to achieve. I find myself fearing the unknown. I, who delight in the fear and pain of others, find my own fear too painful to bear.

It was that thought which finally drove the young woman to action. She could not allow herself to wallow in her own indecision, and thus, she packed up her belongings, and without thought for what she was leaving behind, set out to the south. She had no reason for choosing that direction, other than the feeling that it just seemed right.

The miles passed as she trod the dusty road south. Each step she took seemed a reminder that she was a woman, traveling alone, on a path which held dangers for even a well armed group. Yet, it was the very real threat of danger which kept her moving onward. The sense that something lay ahead, something dark, and sick, and twisted, forced her to place one foot before the other in her ever-southward trek.

It was one evening, near sunset, after she had been on the road about a week, that the first hint of what drove her on, came to Lorena. The sounds of a battle echoed from somewhere ahead. The shouts... the screams... the cries of pain...

The noise had ceased, yet she had managed to follow the earlier sounds to their source. What remained of a small farming village was burning. Bodies of men, women and children lay about, and the clear signs of an orc attack was evident. Her frown was almost a grimace, as she realized there was nothing here for her. What did she care about the dead? Death was nothingness. Meaningless.

Then, she heard it. A soft moan from beneath a pile of debris. Lying there was a woman, near to her own age. Naked, torn, broken in both body and spirit. As Lorena knelt over her, the woman's pain wracked eyes bore into her own, pleading, begging ... for help, or for release.

Lorena knelt there for many hours, watching the long suffering of this helpless woman, as she moved ever closer to death. She was silent in her vigil, allowing the ecstasy of another's suffering and pain fill her soul with delight. This was beauty, This was glory. This was what had inspired her to leave her home, and to seek the outside world.

And, as the final life-light fled from the other woman's eyes, Lorena knew that she must taste this sensation again ...