Darkness rising

[Redjack]

The shadows thicken and the air begin to chill as the reddened sun slid behind the mountains to the west of the Sundered valley. Somewhere to the north, in the coolness of earth and stone, Clives eyes snap open. Moments later the crypt's silence is broken by the rasping of a marble slab grating across the surface of stone as the heavy lid of his coffin is thrust aside.
The vampire glances down at his silk clad chest and sees to his satisfaction that the wounds have closed and healed as they always do since the Gift was bestowed on him by the son of Colibrus.

Then the memories of the events of the previous night flood into his mind and he rises with a hiss of fury. Eyes fall on his empty scabbard. Banes Servant lost! The loss of the sword's dark power is tangible in crypt's still air. As he leaps over the lip of the coffin and to his feet the glowing red eyes of the undead guards flicker toward the movement then center back on the entrance of the grave. His rage surges and the blind hate threatens to overwhelm him and push him toward the lost mindlessness of animal fury. Clive closes his eyes and slowly forces himself to retain control as he reaches out mentally toward his Dark God and mutters words of Faith and Fear until the cold Hate once more settles back as a heavy blanket smothering his soul and again back into his ability to contain.
After a few breathless moments he turns. There! Clive reaches down and lifts the horned helm and turns in in his hand admiring the handiwork and basking in the power emanating from it.
The vampire lifts and settles the helm on his head. Pure unadulterated dark pleasure surges through his body as a power so different then he is used to courses through him. Once again the eyes of the undead guardians glance toward Clive as he bursts out in laughter.
"Like the blood of a elven maiden it gives me great strength!"
Clive begins to gather his equipment. Time for blood and prayer. He will need both soon as the moment the Black Hand had been working toward drew nearer.

[Redjack]

Clive sits at his desk turning a small golden ring in his hand. Thoughtfully he sets it down and gathers a few items to use in a incantation over it. Taking up the ring once more he places it in the palm of a goblins dried left hand that he has carefully placed on the desktop along with 3 candles of black wax. After lighting the candles he chats the words to invoke the spell he seeks and casts a pinch of powdered bone into a candle flame.
With flash of flame and black smoke the room darkens and a image begins to form over the preserved hand.
A woman, deathly pale, with sweat matted red hair tosses restlessly in her bed.
Clive speaks words of pain and hopelessness as he ensnares the soul of the woman who has dared to oppose him once again. "You will feel a black despair that you can not shake." He intones as the spell is completed."Your faith in love is shaken and doubt and fear fills the hollow of your heart." The image of the tormented woman vanishes with a puff of green smoke and with a smile of satisfaction the vampire places the ring over a finger of the dead hand as if being worn by the living. Then the hand is placed on a shelf out of the way and the desktop is cleared for Clive's prayer books to take their proper place.

He ponders the night. First a meeting with the woman Amilynn Steles to probe her faith and learn what he could. He had released her to go that time. Then the chance meeting of the Hand and the priestess at the crossroads, a clash of magic's and arms with a victory for the Black Lord and the escape of punishment by the wizard. He had taken the body as his trophy and after consideration decided to see if he could return her to life. Lord Bane had answered his prayers to raise her from death twice now, perhaps 3 times. Why? What was her role in this? What use did the Lord have for a infidel, other then a sacrifice of blood? Perhaps her soul would play a key part in the return of Myrkul to full power.
The ring was enchanted with just a cantrip of no power. The real use of the ring was the link it had to the previous wearer. He had slipped it off her finger as she had lain semiconscious at his feet, likely she had not missed it yet. Clive now had an article to use against the Priestess of Sune. She would now know true hopelessness and the cold grip of fear that had so guided his path.
The woman had tried to come to the defense of the wizard, one of the so called Hand of Mundus at the crossroads. She had named him a friend. That could be used against them in some matter. Friends were a weakness to be exploited, He had learned that lesson long ago.
No he did not regret releasing her flesh as he now had a claim on her soul.