DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything to do with Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms, or anything like that. Please do not sue me, because I do not have much to sue for, and I am penniless, and all this is harmless fun, and you get the drift.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello. I am having a bit of a break from my sequel to Destiny and Duty… and for something different, I am writing this fic. It is a dark fic, about an evil Bhaalspawn who chose not to ascend… basically, it is about how he forges an empire for himself in Amn, and how he destroys all opposition, and things like that. It is rated R for possible violence, gore, etc. Updates for this and Magic and Murder might be rare, but rest assured, they will come. Apologies go to Dominique Sotto for semi-stealing her idea about a Chosen of Bhaal, but I really liked it… and it makes sense. Please don't hate me, if you read this. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this fic! Don't forget to review!
CHAPTER ONE: SPELLHOLD
7 Flamerule, 1380 DR
Alain stood on the highest tower of Spellhold, looking out upon the vast grey expanse of the ocean. At this time of morning, the apprentices and wizards who served him in the fortress were not awake yet, and the few guards who watched the sea for Amnian ships were hardly going to disturb him. If anyone even did want to disturb him, it would be nigh impossible, for his tower was closed to everyone except him, and only his will would open the way for anyone... it was probably the one place on the entire island where he could be alone with his thoughts.
He looked a haunting figure. His jet-black mage robes were tight fitting around his chest, stomach and arms, but billowed wide from the hips down. They made him seem elegant, yet at the same time, closed off and aloof. He wore dark black gloves, of soft velvet, and a hooded cloak- again, black- descended, clasped by a golden brooch at his collar. Hair of dark brown was long and curled, spilling over his shoulders. Eyes held a great wisdom and intelligence, yet at the same time immense power, and they took in all his surroundings with the wariness of a man used to combat.
An attractive man, now thirty years old, Alain was in his prime. His adventuring years behind him, nevertheless, his muscles and toned features were still present, as he was kept trim by magical duels between his teachers, as they sought to train the apprentices in the same quality as far off Silverymoon, or Neverwinter.
Alain sighed, and turned from the balcony, and descended into the depths of his fortress, as the bells sounded for the start of the day. A smirk formed on his face. Today, there would be a sacrifice to Bhaal… for a servant of Mystra had been captured last night, trying to steal tomes from the great library he had amassed over the years. Today, the apprentices and wizards would bathe in the blood of the wizard, who had seen fit to challenge the Master of Spellhold.
Today, father… you shall drink deep…
He felt the surge of primal desire for violence rise within him, and the touch of the god made him shiver almost expectantly. Ten years, and Alain still found himself basking with pleasure in the power of Murder… in the power of his father.
For after defeating Amelyssan, Alain had made a conscious decision to turn down the power of a god, instead, using it to restore his father to his former glory. And then, in gratitude to his only surviving son, Bhaal had named him Chosen… and had poured much of his power into the mortal archmage. This way, Alain had power he had always dreamed of, and yet had someone greater than he to protect him if he needed it… for Bhaal would always protect his son, the one Child who had been loyal enough to resurrect him.
Alain continued to descend through his tower, passing through room after room: his private vault of magical items amassed over the years of adventuring, as well as the years after that, when he had used the small army at his disposal to take what he wanted from the lords of Amn; his private chambers, where he slept; the altar to Bhaal… and many small rooms which served numerous purposes, such as scrying, or enchanting.
Speaking the word of power, Alain watched as the wards keeping his tower sealed from the rest of Spellhold dissolved. What had been stone moments before now became a solid door of illithium, which slid open without a sound. Alain walked through the doorway, and as he left the tower, the door became solid rock again, and the wards reconstructed themselves.
"Master!"
His lieutenant, a powerful wizard named Maale strode into view, and bowed his head low. Alain gave an absent movement with his hand as acknowledgement, and continued to move forward, walking down a set of stone steps, past a balcony that overlooked the sea, until he entered the massive library of Spellhold. And here, Alain stopped, taking a careful, regal seat.
Maale knelt before him, and said, "Her name is Reusa… and constant mind-probing has revealed her mission. She is a Harper, and volunteered to the High Lady Alustriel for a dangerous mission, which involved penetrating your fortress, and stealing the Grey Tome. From her mind, I have ascertained the identity of another Harper… within this building, as well as others who are working against you in southern Amn. I have also managed to find something shocking. The Harpers are working with the Cyricists to defeat you. Alustriel knows of your efforts to turn the Sythillisian Empire to your control, and she has passed that information to the Cyricists who march with Cyrvrisnea. As we speak, Harper assassins are working to kill your emissaries there, supported by the clerics of the Dark Sun."
Alain said, "Does it not seem suspect to you that someone who held such vital information would be sent into the fortress of an archmage with power to equal the Chosen of Mystra? Or is Alustriel arrogant enough to believe that a lowly Harper can get past my wards?"
His lieutenant, a greying man in his fifties, who was influential within the Cowled Wizards, smiled faintly, and then said. "There were wards on her mind, which took six of us all night to shatter. It left he mad, and a wizard of lesser power than I would not have been able to interpret the disjointed images from her mind. But Alustriel was obviously thinking you would try to break the wards, and she had them equipped with spells to melt your brain if you even tried."
The Bhaalspawn chuckled. "So she was really an assassin? By Bhaal, Alustriel is cunning… she thought I would take personal command of interrogation, believing that I would be prideful like the enemies she has faced so far… but instead, she has handed to us a useful mine of information… where is Reusa now, Maale?"
The wizard said, "Locked in her cell. Her brain is completely devastated- she is acting like a two year-old, and is incapable of speech… will she be a suitable sacrifice for the Lord of Murder in this state, Master?"
Alain nodded. "Yes… blood is blood, whether from an idiot or an archmage possessed of all her faculties. Though I am sure Bhaal welcomes the day when the blood of Alustriel and her sisters flows on my altar here… but my prattling does not bring me any closer to anything. Tell me, Maale. How is the campaign going in the south?"
"The ogre magi have had control of Murann, as you know, for nearly five years. Imnescar is still a charred ruin, and Trademeet is occupied by a battalion of orcs. The entire south is completely held by the ogre magi. Any humans that survive have been turned into slaves, and are farming and mining the lands, bringing great wealth to the ogres. They are intelligent though, and are not pushing forward any more, content to consolidate their hold on the south. Like most, they are wary of Councillor Nalia."
Snorting, Alain stood. "She is another one whose blood I cannot wait to see dripping on my altar… she served my brother, that paladin, Emmanuel. When I killed him though, and added his powers to my own, she fled. Apparently, she vowed to bring me to justice for my crimes, but I was never really interested. My father was resurrected shortly after that, and I was busy taking control of this island… perhaps, when the ogres are my servants, I can finally rid myself of de'Arnise."
And then he stopped.
Maale asked, "You have an idea, Master?"
The Bhaalspawn nodded with an evil smirk on his face. "Yes… I have an idea indeed. It seems I might finally have a use for the Thrall Collars… perhaps it is time to forget about emissaries, and use magic instead."
Excitement rushed through him.
Soon, despite the opposition of the Harpers and the Zhentarim, Alain would gain control of the Sythillisian Empire… and then he would have his own Empire… the empire of Bhaal, with temples and altars to his father, and orc warriors to chant their praises, and hobgoblins to slaughter in his name.
*
Cyrvrisnea, wife of Sythillis, was the one who really commanded the empire. Yet the appearance was that Sythillis controlled, and so when they sat in the throne room that had once belonged to the Governor of Murann, it was Sythillis who spoke to the emissaries, it was Sythillis who made the decisions… and so it was, that Sythillis had made the decision to accept the Lord of Brynnlaw and Master of Spellhold into their court.
Staring at the Bhaalspawn as he entered, the ogre magi couldn't help but notice how attractive he was- he wore all-black robes, and although they looked simple, she could sense the power contained within his robes washing out around him. She had heard rumours about Alain crafting the robes, and from what she had heard, they were a priceless artefact.
The robes of an ancient lich, Vecna, had been drained of their power, and then placed into a vessel of diamond, which had been drenched in the blood of ten wizards of considerable power. Blood from a gold dragon, along with demonic blood had also been added to it, and spells of magnificent scope had been incanted over the robes. The cloak he wore had been created in much the same way, though the life-force of a solar had been channelled into the black fabric, bound within the cloth by the blood of ten other wizards. Everything Alain wore was black. Rings of deepest obsidian glimmered dully, his boots were black… even the circlet on his forehead was a band of ebony... according to popular rumour, its core power had been drained from the Circlet of Netheril, and then it had been made even stronger with the blood of the Demogorgon, Prince of Demons.
The only trace of colour- apart from his near-bronze skin- was a golden brooch that fastened at his collar. The metal had been forged into the insignia of Bhaal, with the tears of the god glistening red around it… Cyrvrisnea looked at those tears, and marvelled at the way they shifted colour ever-so-slightly, from deepest crimson, to a dull orange… were they jewels… or were they really the tears of the god… the father of the archmage who stood before them now.
"Why are you here, puny human?"
Cyrvrisnea resisted the urge to wince.
Her husband was mishandling it already. He was insulting someone- an immortal
Chosen of Bhaal, an equal to the fabled Elminster- who held the power to kill
him in an instant, and capture his soul as a plaything to keep him amused for
all eternity.
Yet when Alain spoke, in crisp, clear and stately tones, she couldn't hear any trace of anger… but then again, she couldn't hear any other emotion either. "Great and powerful Sythillis, Conqueror of Murann, Emperor of Southern Amn, I bid you welcome. I am Alain, Lord of Brynnlaw, and Master of Spellhold… and I have come to ask about an alliance… and to wonder why my emissaries lie dead when they were meant to be under your protection!"
Now she could sense the anger… it rolled off him in palpable waves, yet his voice had not changed tone once, nor had his face shown any emotion whatsoever. Sythillis stood to his feet, and bellowed: "You insult me, Alain! You are small; you are no match for me! You should be bowing! Instead, you stand there as if you rule me! Apologise for your insult to me!"
Alain paled then, and Cyrvrisnea could sense his fear. Fear? A smile played across her face… perhaps her husband did have his uses, though she hadn't thought an ogre would intimidate the famous Bhaalspawn, who had fought dragons in the south…
"My lord Sythillis, I am sorry… I beg your forgiveness."
Her husband growled. "You will die, Alain! You are not-so-mighty as all say you are! Feel my wrath! Soon you be home with your father, puny human!"
And lightning crackled in the hands of
Sythillis, and Alain paled even more. "N- no, my lord
Sythillis… p- p- please, do not kill me… please do not kill me… I have no wish
to die… please; I will be your slave in everything… I will… I will swear an
oath to obey you utterly!"
Sythillis shook his head. "No, you die."
Alain looked around frantically at the ogre guards, who were advancing menacingly, and then tore from his robes two gleaming golden amulets. Even from here, Cyrvrisnea could sense the power within the metal. "Please… if… if you spare my life, great lord… I… I will give you these amulets…"
Now Cyrvrisnea spoke. "What enchantments have these?"
The Chosen of Bhaal looked at her, and bowed his head in humiliation and defeat. "Great lover of Sythillis… these amulets have bound within them the souls of demons… great Lords of the Abyss… they will protect you from magic, they will increase your power, and make you immune to all enchantment spells… this I swear on my power as a wizard…"
Sythillis took them roughly, the lightning fading as quickly as it had come. Roughly, he threw one to her, and she caught it. She watched as he chanted a quick identify spell, and swiftly, she did the same. Flashes of insight as to what powers this charm had entered her mind. Power she had never felt before was locked within the metal, and she could see herself now, marching at the head of her troops, bathed in magical power, dealing death to the Councillor de'Arnise, whose magic had been able to defeat them at every turn…
Greedily, she looked at Sythillis, and said, "It is safe."
He nodded, and then he placed his amulet around his neck. Cyrvrisnea was so busy studying the single blue gem set in the metal that she didn't notice the surprised, pained flinch of her lover, and the way he looked directly at Alain, his eyes glazed over, before regaining clarity. Had she seen that, perhaps she wouldn't have placed the amulet around her neck…
The gold metal touched the back of her neck, and the jewel brushed against the skin of her chest. She stood for a moment; basking in the amount of power that rushed through her veins… she smiled, and looked upwards… and then shook her head, as a shivering numbness spread.
Look at me, slave.
Helpless, Cyrvrisnea looked directly at Alain, who now stood, smug and confident. Within the depths of her mind, she screamed at having been manipulated so easily… but then she realised that Alain could sense her thoughts, for he was smiling. Immediately, she tried to fight, but then another shiver ran down her spine.
Stop fighting. You are my slave.
"Alain- thank you for this gift. We great friends of the Bhaalspawn now. Follow us into our private rooms, and we will talk about a friendship."
She dimly heard her husband speak to the archmage standing in front of her, and realised that the Chosen of Bhaal must be controlling everything that her husband said. Speak, Cyrvrisnea, speak as I command you to.
His mental command forced her mouth to open, and she found herself saying, "Yes, follow us… and we will talk about an alliance. We have ignored you for too long, Chosen of Bhaal. It is time for a change of friends."
Inwardly, Cyrvrisnea was screaming.
*
Alain teleported back to Spellhold in an instant, and was met by Maale, who bowed: "Master, did your plan succeed?"
The Bhaalspawn nodded. "Yes… yes it did. Cyrvrisnea and her lover are my slaves now… I have given them relative freedom, but I can still sense their thoughts… and I can control them completely should I wish to do so… and before you ask, Maale, I did ensure that they cannot speak of their enslavement…"
"Their first actions as allies of yours, my lord?"
Alain smiled. "You are quick. I have commanded them to round up the Cyricists and send here to me… the temple to Cyric in the Small Teeth will soon be taken over by ogres, and the priests there will be sent here as well. In a day, with the help of teleport scrolls and my newest slaves, Bhaal will have a hundred priests of Cyric to bathe his altars."
"Anything else?"
"Oh… alert the pirates… we will be getting three shiploads of gold and gems…"
Maale grinned. "So you have the beginnings of your empire then, Master."
Alain nodded. "Yes I do… all I have to do now is kill Councillor de'Arnise, and I will be able to take complete control over Amn… and then we will see what Cyric can do against my father… we will see whether the Dark Sun can even stand against Bhaal, let alone challenge him for the portfolio of Murder… because I will be damned before I see my father lose power to Cyric."
Maale left, to make sure that Spellhold was made ready for the influx of priests that would soon come their way… Alain sighed, and sat on the seats in his library, sipping a glass of mulled wine as he mused about future plans.
So far, it had been easy… the work of ten years to establish his power base had paid off…
The hardest times were on their way, for he doubted the Harpers or the Cyricists would allow themselves to be defeated by two slave collars... no, Alain would have to fight if he wanted the rest of Amn… but he was prepared to wait…
After all, all good things come to those who wait.