Day 2: Bel’or, Cleric of Izlim the Shadow Lord.
Day 2.
STR: 12 DEX: 14
INT: 10 CON: 8
WIS: 15 CHA: 14
Lawful-Evil. Male. Human. 66 years old. (all decided by the Dice.)
The priest looked down his thin nose at his subject. The elf, shirtless and dirty, arms bound to the altar with thick leather straps, murmured prayers aloud. With each crack of the two-tailed whip, the mantras turned to shouts of agony. “You must praise the Shadow Lord through the pain, Konos. Know the lot the savage gods of Light have dealt your kind. Izlim wishes you always to remember your hate! Only by harnessing that hate can the Lord Izlim overtake the goddess and cast her into the sea!”
The elf-man’s deep grey flesh was streaked with blood that shone black in the moonlight. He gazed up to see the Lady’s rays mocking him through the iron-barred window. “Hail Izlim! God of the Night! Lord of the Shadows! Free your people, O my Father, from the dark caves where our children starve before they are grown! I pledge my blood! My pain! Let my agony nourish Thee!”
The last word rang out on the echo of the cracking whip. Konos fell unconscious against the altar, and the now satisfied priest wrapped up his weapon, and tossed back his hooded robe. Ice blue eyes reflected the moonlight, and a well-trimmed gray beard against skin dark as night absorbed it. Faintly one could make out the raised scars down the priest’s face – hairline to jaw, over each eye: The sign of his initiation so many years ago. Bel’or slammed the heavy iron door behind him, his heavy boots falling heavily on the flagstone path. The thunder had begun. It was not long now.
He stopped at a private altar not far from the prayer chambers – a small hollow in the rock – and whispered a request for strength. The priest bit hard the inside of his mouth, and spat his blood upon the rock in tribute before rising to meet the captain of the raid.
“I seek your blessing, Brother,” the Son of Shadow knelt before the priest.
“You will have it, when you return with the Ring. I trust you remember where it is kept?”
The dark elf nodded. “Aye, Brother. I remember your words well.”
Bel’or’s mouth twisted into a pleased smile. “Good. You will take your men to the village of Ban at the foot Kel’Morgha. Do as you please with the village and the creatures within, but you will bring me the ring from the Temple of Eosë.” The priest lifted his hood, and turned away. As the elf-captain rose, Bel’or stopped. “Oh, Dansk? Do not fail me. If you do, you fail your God, and life nor death will spare you the wrath of Izlim.”
