Banebringer

"Forsaking the light,
Feeding on strife,
I see a sword bathed in blood"

Sun. In the past months I've learned to hate it. Day after day the same torment. Waking up in half sanded tent, hiding my face in a deep white cape and going sea-ill while sitting on the back of a stinking camel.

The endless desert looked the same no matter in which direction I viewed. I've past countless sand dunes only to find thousand more in front of me. The sand was everywhere. In my boots, on my skin, in the water, in the air... I felt it even in my dreams. But the worst of all was the sun and the hellish heat, both driving me to insanity whenever I touched the glowing hilt of my sword or mused drink the boiling-hot water.

The only escape was the coldness of night but then I prayed to whoever who might listen that I would not freeze to dead.

But none of those obstacles could broke my will and prevent my desired destiny.

With each step I was coming closer to a fulfilled dream, a legend, a tool to change history and to gain eternal power.

Years of searching and studying tombs older than the whole mankind, countless journeys through whole Faerun to nearly all greater libraries and temples of Oghma, the god of knowledge...visiting legendary places and cities like Nimbral, Candelkeep, Waterdeep, Zhentil Keep, Halruaa, Sossal and hundreds others…even traveled beyond this plane to a city ruled by the infamous Lady of Pain - Sigil...

All that to find a small, half-decayed crumpled piece of parchment with a scrawled drawing of a map and only one readable word – Banebringer.

Banebringer - a word which has occupied my mind for dozens of years, a word burned in the deeps of my soul and making me shiver whenever I heard or spoke it...a name of a weapon...no...More - a name for a destiny...my destiny.

A sword, forged in the unholy flames of Abyss by one from the first fallen angels known as The Scarred One, quenched in the blood of a Higher god and sharpen on the horned skull of a Demon prince...this weapon is able to slay every living, dead, undead or unliving being no matter of its power and to transfer its essential force to the veins of its slayer...

Yes! This weapon will make me more than a god. It will make me timeless and eternal. Those pathetic excuses for gods will creep in panic and even Ao will bow to me in fear.

Never again enslaved by the Balance. To stand forever above it or better...to compose it new. Ha! What an irony. To compose what decomposed me and my entire life. Never...never again waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare which was my past. To hear the screams of my children and wife, to see them murdered by one of those fanatic upholders of Balance - a Harper. Never will I forget his words, his words when he cut the throat of my daughter...

"It is a matter of balance..."

To hell with the balance! Those fanatics will be first. Only one day...tomorrow at this time I will reach the ruined temple and the word Balance will be no more.

The sun is sinking down. I already feel a cold breeze. I'm old...older than a human should live. Sometimes I wish I could live so long like the elves do...but then I think I could never follow my path so systematically or worse...to forget it.

I'm thirsty...I've drinked up my last water jack three days ago. It doesn't matter now. With Banebringer in my hand I will never be thirsty again...They will all bow...they will all beg for mercy...why am I lying on the sand?...it's so dark...

I don't feel the thirst anymore...it is cold and I fill the hilt of Banebringer in my hand...it is so quiet...