A dark past...

[Seheren]

{This is the re-posting from the faction forums}

Great Dark Lord, grant this humble servant your dark graces. Let your power bring death to these who oppose you..

The man prays in a soft voice, he stays kneeling, an alter before him. Made of an obsidian hued wood, the alter stands near three feet tall. It bears a number of lit black candles, a bowl filled with blood at its base. The alter is also decorated with carvings, statues, and a single adamantine symbol.

Dark Lord, accept this offering to you. The blood of a priest of Cyric, your great enemy. Accept this as offering of my servitude to you, a show of the power you have granted me.

Following this the man opens his eyes, still sitting silently before the great alter. He looks next to him in a tall mirror, reflecting his form. A large man of near thirty-five years, his hair tied back. A full beard and moustache covering much of his face. He regards the custom armor upon him, a gift from a knight like he was, armor black with red trim, adorned with plentiful spikes and a large huminoid skull on one shoulder. Looking back to the alter he stands as a man enters the tent.

"The Deep Mystery requests your presence, Brother." A dark cloaked priest says, as Verror turns to look at him.

"Of course I will be there at once." He nods to the priest.

Before leaving he dons his cloak and weapon, straping the scabbard to his wasit. He leaves the tent, his eyes adjusting to the darkness outside, and makes his way through the dim-lit camp. He nods to several Knights as he makes his way to the largest tent, held by the ranking priest amongst them. The priest, a large man, bears a single scar that mars his otherwise handsome face. A scar, he once told Verror, given to him by a priest of Banes hated enemy Cyric.

"Kneel, Brother Tehk." He commands bluntly

As he kneels he makes note of a set of maps and a small group of advisors in the far corner. They stand around a small table silently musing over the large scroll.

"You have done well. You are far more adept then I expected. You have proved as worthy a Priest as you did a Knight." The priest says.

"I do His will as I am able." Verror weakly responds, still reeling from the unexpected praise. So rare from the strict Priest.

"You will head an assault against the Temple. The order is given that those within will perish. You shall see to it." The priest continues, not looking at Verror.

"You will be given a small group, infiltrate the Temple and dispose of those who still live." He states coldly.

"They will not escape His wrath, today or ever. Now leave me be, make preperation for your task." He waves Verror off.

[Seheren]

Verror sits a long time in silence. He muses over the great opportunity before him, the chance to destroy a Temple holding Banes hated enemies. This gift to him a dream come true. He looks over the papers before him, detailing everything that is known of the structure. Quite extensive, in fact, because they had a mole within the Temple. One who slipped them plans detailing nearly every inch of the Temple.

Verror pours through the documents for hours, until the morning light begins to pierce through the material of his tent. Seeing the light, he decides it time to meet those he will lead into battle. Making his way to a black tent in a far corner of the encampment he finds an assortment of men, lower priests and warriors alike.

The men pay close attention to Verror as he walks them through his plan, their silent obedience building his confidence in the strategy. A simple plan, merciless and calculated as one would expect. The plan to cut off communication and systematically destroy those within section by section.

"We leave at dusk, prepare accordingly." Verror commands at the end of the briefing, leaving immediately to prepare himself as well.

Back at his own tent, he cleans his equipment diligently, taking time to ensure each step is excecuted with perfection. Moving on from this he begins his prayers, which last until the light of day begins to wane. Seeing this he makes his way to the tent that has served as his base of operations, checking in on his men.

All preparations finished, the force breaks from the encampment for their target, reaching it within the first hour. They find the structure poorly guarded, too few and unorganized. Verror revels in his first victory outside the Temple, less a battle as a massacre of a disorganized force. Making their way inside they are met by similar success. Making their way to the main chamber, occupied by the highest present priest of Cyric, the men suffer only minor casualties.


Standing at the entrance to the chapel, Verror spots the ornately garbed High Priest. Giving the silent command to stand ground, Verror marches forward alone. With every step he dreams of the moment where he will smite the priest with all the might of Bane, ending the assault with a single swift strike.

"You have failed your cause." The Cyricist states, without turning to face Verror.

"Your Temple is breached, your guards dead. All that remains is your life, which I am about to take." Verror replies, with a satisfied grin.

"That is what I wished you to believe.. We deceive you, Priest of Bane. Your men's lives are forfeit, and yours is mine to toy with." The priest turns to Verror with a maniacal grin.

In all his arrogance, he never realized the trap. Too easy it was, he thought now. I should have known.. Turning he sees the corpses of his men, brought down without a word by the skilled assassins now standing above them. The priest before him laughs, looking at Verror, now alone in this sanctuary to Cyric.

[Seheren]

Pain...

Its hard to remember much else, burning pain blinding the senses. Cyric and his followers are not known for being merciful....


Days pass... Months it would seem to Verror. His skin is cut and beaten as his mind is tortured as brutally. He doesn't sleep, held in a cold stone cell. Verror awaits his death, the culmination of all the brutality he has endured so far...

Opening his eyes, he is once again dragged to his feet.

"Get up you miserable piece of shit.." The Guard snaps at Verror.

Doing so, he is led down the corridor. A familiar act, as he was led each day to be beaten and tortured. His face no longer the grim bearded man. Now shaved clean, where his beard once was lies bruises and deep lacerations from the days of captivity. His left eye swollen shut, he hardly looks as he is dragged on. Eventually he finds himself not in the room he had come to be used to, but the main chapel. In front of him the arrogant Priest who had tricked him...

"You still live... A pity." The priest mocks.

"We are going to become more acquainted, fool. Consider this a great honor." The Priest smirks as he looks at the broken Banite.

Pulling forth a curved and ornately designed blade, the priest looks between it and Verror. Moving closer, he runs the blade lightly across Verror's face, just hard enough to draw blood.

"This will be your last day. Cyric will take your soul, and keep it from your weak god.. No one defies the True God!" The priest becoming enraged just looking at Verror, backhands him.

Guards force him up to his knees, his face downward. The priest looks down on the man with a smile and forcibly grabs his head. Squeezing it with great strength he says a final insult before slicing through the soft flesh of Verror's face. Beginning at the chin, the blade is roughly and brutally torn up through the eye socket and finally to the base of his hairline.

Screams... Who's screams he cant tell, through all the pain what can you be sure of.. The cackle of the priests laughter, and the sickening sound of severed limbs. Mine?

Blackness consumes

Clanging steel and whirring magic, the sounds wake Verror. He can barely see through the blood. Barely stand from the pain and loss of blood... The words and power to heal come to him, as if a gift of his faith.. The wound closes but the blood still clouds his single eye as he scans the room.

What he sees is an inspiring sight... Three lone men, clad in the most terrifying armor.. Commanding a host of undead, and humans.. Clashing with the Cyricists, with little resistance. Verror watches in awe as the forces that had taken him are laid low by these men, men he recognized as the most feared Dreadmasters....

He watches for as long as he can, before the pain and blood lost send him back to the quiet calm, the darkness...

[Seheren]

He kneels in a large tent, finely furnished and dim-lit. A large man kneels on a raised platform, ahead of him. Before him is an ornately designed altar, bearing the mark of their Lord, a blackened gauntlet. Radiating from within the clenched gauntlet an eerie green light, the dark power oozes from it. After several minutes the man stands to his feet and turns swiftly to look upon Verror.

"You failed me." His voice grim, his face drawn into a tight scowl. Then man takes a step closer to Verror, his eyes cutting through him.

"There is no excuse, Lord..." Verror stammers.

His own voice sounding strange to him.. A metalic ring to it, each breath loud from behind the iron mask now covering his face. His eyes locked on the mans feet, fear mingles with the crushing weight of his shame. The man comes to stand directly in front of Verror, looking down upon the masked form.

"They say you denied the priest the satisfaction of your screams..." He says in a deep tone, the anger less apparent in his voice. "They say those weaklings holding you screamed like little girls, begged for mercy before their death." The man reaches down and grabs Verrors head, removing the mask and forcing it upward. He gazes for a moment upon the mutilated face, devoid of any compassion.

"I am told that you granted them no satisfaction, and in the end their deaths were had.. A small consolation within your failure." He pauses a moment then begins to pace "You show great promise, despite this failure.. It is quite obvious to all that you lack no faith." He stops for a moment and once again takes place before Verror, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look into his eyes.

"You are going back to that wretched Valley.. You will be of more use to them then me. I cannot allow you to fail me again. Perhaps in time you will become half the man I am. That would be a far rise. Now leave. I want you gone by sunrise."

[Seheren]

[The rest will be faction only due to sensitive faction related subjects to come.]