The Mind of Tyrant

[Seheren]

Golden boots thudded on the earth as powerful legs strode through the serene town. Sestra slept. The bulk of its people slept at the first hour of the day. Only those few still awake from the mid-nights mass, and those guarding the gates, were away from their beds. Korvus took it all in as he walked, the sweet and salty taste of the cool night air, the chirping of crickets. All was going as planned. Under the watchful eye and strong fist of his leader he had brought peace to these people. Lord Bane brought order, and peace, to these people...

From post to post Korvus made his rounds. Finding it ever hard to sleep, he kept vigil over his charges. Ensuring they kept sharp, disciplined, even in the dead of night. His mind was far wandering, however. The nightly sermon had moved something within him. A fire long smoldering in his heart grew. It swelled in his chest and threatened to burst forth a raging inferno. The lust for conquest..

Sestra was claimed, it was settled, and it was given to the Tyrant. Yet it felt thin. The Tyrant would not be sated by the peaceful farming village, nor would Korvus. His heart burned to bring this peace, this enlightenment, to the lives of all within the sheltering peaks of the Spine. The people of Sundren feared him, the charismatic Exarch he pledged his life to, and the Almighty Tyrant rightly. For not all men are fit for a perfect world. Dissenters and anarchists would need purged...

Amidst the fire, somewhere deep within, a small voice cried an indistinguishable plea.. And as his mind was consumed, the Sun rose on a new day. The cold waters beneath the bridge on which Korvus stood reflected the light out in a dazzling display of color. Beauty not lost.. Not even on a Tyrant...

[Seheren]

Sun filtered through the glass, the impurities painting shadows across the parchment tacked to the polished table. A gilded goblet sat unmolested next to its matching, and equally exquisite, decanter. Korvus leaned across the heavy wooden table, silent and brooding. His mind was rather blank, and he found himself lost in the warmth of the early days light.

The sweet smell of the spiced wine, and the dusty smell of tomes and maps that littered the chambers filled his nose. His eyes stared unfocused at the map that lay before him, as he had for hours. A map of the Valley.

Colored lines sliced across the greens and blues that outlined the waters and fields. Major trade-ways to overgrown game trails.. It was a magnificent map. Yet it gave to Korvus no answers.

The parchment did not speak to him, nor did it reveal anything he did not already understand. Instinctively, Korvus' hand raised to the symbol about his neck. His long fingers curling around it tightly.

With eyes closed Korvus felt closer to Bane, he always did.. In the Darkness of his own mind he reached out to his Lord.

"Show me the way.." The whispered plea sounded absurdly loud after the hours of silence. Words lost on dry parchment and dust.

[Seheren]

Korvus sat stiffly at the desk in his quarters. The night was young, and he yearned for the darkest hour of night to find inspiration in the words of the night's sermon. The Knight found his mind wandering as he focused on the untouched goblet in front of him. The weeks had been long and arduous with the continued emphasis on training. His own body grew sore from the long days, training each group personally. Honing their skills to mirror many of his own.

Many of his men rose to his challenges, and he was pleased with many of their progress. However, it was the new men that held his closest attention. It was not solely that they were green and unskilled that drew his continued attention, there were a handful that had shown him promise he had never expected to find from farmers and fishermen.

The sleepy town of Sestra was more then he expected, and so too were its people. The Tyrant would spread his word and bring to the Valley the order and peace unseen by many of its inhabitants since its founding.

As the scenarios wound through his waking dreams, Korvus' thoughts trailed back to the hooded man he spoke with at the crossroads. For the first time in many years, Korvus found himself trying to prove himself. The man was nothing but a faithless fool. Yet still, the Knight found some of his words troubling, and found himself compelled to prove him wrong.

[Seheren]

Seated at his desk, Korvus looked thoughtfully to the map suspended against the wall. His eyes traced the red lines that sectioned the terrain. Each area held by forces out of his direct control. He leaned back into his chair, one hand swirling the dark red wine in its goblet. "The pieces will come together." he spoke aloud. His own voice echoed back to him and he smiled. He held the first of many meetings that night, though its success was yet to be known. Even so he was confident, and no doubts remained.

The first piece was set, and now came the time to set the stage. Sestra was in his grasp, but it was a paltry prize for the Black Hand. The North would be his. This would be his offering to the Tyrant, and from there he could seat himself to bring down the flimsy house of cards from its high perch. The Netheril knew the folly of magic, and so too would the Valley of Sundren.

A dark tide was coming. With it would come the suffering of all who stood in its path..

[Seheren]

The dark room was filled with a thick haze of acrid smoke as it flickered in phosphorus green light. Candles and incense burned upon the small altar as the magical symbol gave off it's eerie green glow. Korvus prostrated himself before the altar as he prayed. You have answered, and I will follow, he thought.

The cunning plots came to him in dreams and inspiration. The only explanation was divine gift in Korvus' mind. He had prayed for weeks for answers on what to do next and now the plans seemed planted within him. He could see the strings as he tugged each piece gently in the right direction. All he must do is keep matters in motion and the Tyrant's vision would be done.

Korvus kept his position before the altar for more then an hour, his mind offering forward his customary offerings of body and soul to the cause of Bane. This night, however, he felt closer then ever. He had prayed to Bane for years, each time prostrating himself before an altar or symbol at the darkest of night. Never had the Tyrant responded, yet now he laid out his plans before his faithful servant. Now he trusted in Korvus to see his will done.

Nothing will stand in my way, Korvus thought. He felt the power coursing through his veins and the feeling was intoxicating. He prayed over his dark blade, petitioning to his deity that it's power not wane, and that it continue to serve him well against all enemies. Korvus prayed, and now it seemed his prayers were heard....

[Seheren]

Seated at his desk, much like any night, Korvus' cold green eyes beheld a challenge. It was a taunt, and the thought nearly made him smile. The thin parchment had few words on it, but those few bore the intelligence gathered by some of his most proficient scouts. The forces of the Port have finally begun to asert themselves, he mused. As his mind mulled over the details a rare smile crept across his lips.

He sat for several minutes re-reading the report. One hand idly swirling the dark contents within his goblet. His mind wound around his intricate plans, the various pieces he had set into place. So many had changed, or became irrelevant. Many of his plans took new shape, or purpose, but some sat dormant. Waiting. And now our game truly begins... He thought as he penned his orders, the first move of many to come...