Disclaimer: This fanfiction is a novelized retelling of a campaign... but not yet another retelling of the original campaign (though I might undertake such task at some point). I mean to make my very own special tribute to Steve B's phenomenal module, Blackguard. Of course I am not making any profit out of this, and I do not wish to take credit that does not belong to me: the story, all characters but the main one – and even a bit of that one – belong to the fantastic Steve B; the game's resources belong to their developers and ultimately their company; the world of Faerun belongs to Wizards of the Coast... and you know the drill. No copyright infringement is intended in any way, I merely wish to entertain, to write, and to share this incredible story with everyone who cares to read.

Note: Better to be safe than sorry: this story won't turn out mild. As it may be inferred from the title, it is about the rising of a Blackguard, a true unholy paladin, a champion of darkness and destruction. I am not sure as of yet of the tone I'll give the text, but I am partial to a bit of introspective narrative and the mind of a Blackguard is not exactly a bright place. In any case, events portrayed will be violent at best, and cruel and sadistic at times: not for people who is bothered by extremely unmoral actions. Consider yourself warned of this, because I refuse to be blamed for any disgusting experience people might have when reading this work: after all, I am exploring the darkest side.

All's said now; let's move on to the real story.

Introduction

Dark smoke thickened the air, heavy with the acrid smell of burning flesh. The anguished screams of the panicked citizens were drowned out by the roaring of the flames as they engulfed the homes and buildings of Yartar, leaving but mounds of ashes and piles of blackened debris on their wake.

Many had already perished, but many others still run blindly, trying desperately to find a way out, any way out; finding none. At last, a small party of survivors managed to gather close to the entrance to Tyr's temple, and they tried to make it through the ransacked marketplace to the city gates. However, they hadn't managed to cover a third of the way when one of them, a young woman, shrieked in horror: there, barely discernible behind the smoke and the flames, a lone figure stood like a demon out of the deepest pits of the Abyss. It advanced forward, revealing a young man in his late twenties clad in banded mail, the easiness of the warrior in his step, a greatsword leaning on his shoulder. He stopped within sight of the fleeing group, and he smiled genuinely, the fiery light reflecting off his chocolate colored eyes.

"I don't think so."

His deep baritone voice was heard above the noises of the dying city, and, seemingly on cue, the city gates were thrown open behind him as a group of savage orcs poured in. The small group of terrified citizens still attempted to run, and the young woman who had first spotted the stranger turned to him, pleading for help.

He rocked back on his hells and watched.

Just as the last disemboweled, lifeless bodies fell to the ground and the stranger allowed himself to breathe out in contentment at the development of events, a second figure stepped through the carnage and stood by his side. He was clad in shiny full plate armor, and although his features were hidden by a scintillating helm, there was a definite air of amusement to him. He strolled casually, unarmed, but the sheer personality that radiated off of him in waves made it clear that he was the more dangerous of the two. He surveyed the scene, and then laughed. The head of the first man snapped to the side and fixed the newcomer with a deathly glare.

"You" he bit out. "What are you doing here? Leave... me... the... hell... alone!"

"Why, yes, I am here. And I must say that I do enjoy visiting you... so dark, so full of hate! As for the reasons of my presence, it is you who has called me, my friend"

"I haven't done such a thing!" the young man seethed. "All I've done is destroying this wretched city, full of traitors and hypocrites and..."

"Again", stated the second man, cutting in.

"Indeed, again. I'll destroy it as many times as I see fit, until it's gone forever."

The other man chuckled.

"But Duncan... Oh, surely you realize that orcs will get you only so far?"

Barely had his words left his mouth when a small group of trained warriors charged out of the temple, following the lead of a righteous paladin. The humanoids, who were still lingering in the area after their kill looking for new preys, were poor fighters when it came down to it, and in mere seconds their blood run hot, mixing with that of their most recent victims and watering the reddish road.

Duncan stared at the intruders, tasting bile in his mouth as his anger raised higher and higher, building up against the dam of his self-restraint, a crimson veil slowly covering his eyes and blurring his vision. He turned on the man still standing by his side.

"How do you dare? I'll have my revenge! Yartar will fall!"

"Really, now. It doesn't look that way to me..." the unknown man pressed on.

The man's breath started coming in short, ragged pants. His handsome face contorted with a look of sheer rage.

"You... you... It will fall! I will bring it down! I will call onto whatever power I must, and it will heed my words and my will and Yartar will suffer!"

As the man spoke, hatred and passion growing in his soul, it seemed as if the dark powers he had just named were indeed listening to him, granting his wish, and with an ear shattering rumble, the ground shook as several thin, deep ditches opened up around the group of saviors. With a final grunt Duncan willed the invocation to be completed, and four huge, twisted demonic creatures appeared with a red lingering light and a faint sulfuric smell. He smiled as the weapons of the pathetic defenders bounced against the hardened exoskeleton of the monsters, whose long beaks and merciless talons pierced through shields and armor alike as if it were naked flesh. Duncan let out a mirthless, satisfied laugh.

"As I said. They will die."

"You truly show potential, my friend. But you will not go anywhere by yourself. Or do you believe that it will be so easy to call upon the gods? But your heart is black with hate and your soul thirsts for bloody revenge, and with a guide you might rise to fulfill your destiny. You are headed to Yartar... once there, you must seek out and find a man by the name Fargrak: he will be waiting for you, and with his help you will be able to attain your goal."

Duncan looked confused for a moment, the adrenaline leaving his system and allowing him to think clearer.

"Fargrak? Who is that man? Where will I find him? And anyway, who are you?"

"Your questions are most interesting, young Duncan Blake. I am sure you will find your answers, but now... there is much to do. Wake up!"