ONE

 I remember the pain of the brand as it was placed on my chest, the searing heat burning into my skin with vicious intensity. The cackles of the slave-master as he hit me again and again, laughing as I wept, laughing as I tried my best to resist him. But what could an eleven year old boy do against a heavy, muscled man whose fortune had been made fighting in Maztica?

 There was nothing I could do. After having branded me his property, he lay me down, stroking me, calling me his pretty slave… his fresh young meat. And then he inflicted upon me, horrors that I didn't even know existed. He held me down, and, although I still fought, he thrust inwards, again and again, and I screamed, crying for the parents he had killed.

 And then he left me, my soul torn apart by torment, to wash myself… to make myself suitable for the business of the day. I wept again and again as I sat in the hot bath, looking at my bruised form with shame, hoping that I could just drown… just drown and remove myself from the Realms.

 For three years, I stayed, trapped by the slave-master, until I was fourteen. On the day when the moon was especially full in the sky, and when the heat of the day lingered on into the evening, he came into the tent he kept for me, sweating, and hungry to touch me. Yet as he was standing over me, in the position I had come to know, and fear, there were shouts of alarm from outside the tent.

 Angar turned away from me, annoyance flashing in his eyes, and drew a sword from his belt, rushing outside. As the tent flap stirred, I could see a scene of pure chaos, and one that set my blood burning with a strange sense of arousal… I searched the tent, and I found a simple silver knife, used for cutting steak. Holding its cold surface, I kissed it, and smiled to myself as the pleasurable iciness of the blade touched my lips, sending shivers of excitement all the way down my body.

 My grip tightened on the handle of the knife, and I moved outside, into the world of burning, slaughter and fighting. Blood seemed to be everywhere, but rather than finding myself repulsed, I was intrigued, and a desire rose within me to be the cause of this blood. And I lifted the knife to my eyes once again, and smiled… feeling a strength rise within me that I had not had before.

 Horsemen, clad in armour, and bearing lances, were riding throughout the camp, killing the mercenaries who served my master. As they killed, they called out prayers to their gods of righteousness, and I realised then how paltry their desire for goodness was. How much better it was to become the evil, rather than let the evil rule you…

 But even then, at only fourteen, I knew that I was weak. I knew that I would have to be cunning if I was to survive… if I was to prosper in the Realms. So I ran madly around the burning tents, not having to pretend to be frightened. For deep down, I was frightened in reality.

 I ran away from the armoured horsemen, who charged, crying out their dedication to the Order. They parted through the undisciplined mobs of mercenaries like hot knives through butter… or rather, hot swords through butter. Yet there was one point in the encampment, where they failed to win.

 Around Angar, that brute who had forced himself upon me, the mercenaries were rallying, and had even brought down a few knights. It was then that a thought, sinuous and treacherous, wormed its way to the front of my mind… all I had to do was make these knights admire me… make them take me in… and I would be safe, surrounded by the goodness of warriors… safe to work my treacheries, treacheries that were already taking shape in my mind.

 I moved so that I was within the ring of mercenaries, standing alongside Angar, who looked at me strangely. I gave him a smile… a very seductive, playing smile, and whispered, "I am yours, master. I will stand with you against these knights of righteousness."

 And would you believe it, he smiled. He smiled at me, and patted me on the shoulder, though the pat lingered slightly, as he stroked my bare shoulders, then my bare chest, before playing with the soft cloth of my loincloth. "Later, Sion… later I will show you what you mean to me."

 But I already knew what I meant to him. I had known for three years, that to him, I was little more than a whore… but a whore he could take without paying, without regard or care for me. He was a man who fancied himself my parent. He was a man that I viewed a bastard.

 So as he turned to face the battle, I pulled out my knife, kissed its cold blade, and whispered a prayer to the one I knew would be watching over me. She who had watched me all my life, gradually subverting my innocence to something cold and cruel… she who would give me the power that I craved now, the power that would put me where Angar stood, that would put me in control.

 My master looked at me then, and frowned in puzzlement as he saw me kiss the blade again. That frown turned to pained shock however, when I stabbed him in his genitals. His high-pitched shriek tore through any humanity I had left, and as he fell to the floor, writhing and clutching at his bloody extremities, I laughed, excited by the pain… excited by the way his struggles were slowing… excited by the way his lips tried to move… excited by the way the light in his eyes faded as the coldness of death crept in.

 With Angar dead, the mercenaries crumbled, and they fled from the wrath of the knights. I, however, clutched my knife, and, as the warriors of righteousness approached, I shuddered, and started to cry. Part of it was real, part of it was not. Because as much as I despised the knights that took me in- they had come too late, after all- I loved them also, for they had saved me.

 They had set me free.

 The evil in my heart put me on my new path.

__________________________________________________________________________________

 They trained me as a knight.

 For seven years, I worked harder than I ever had before, and the softness of my skin was transformed into solid muscle. My eyes changed from their wide-eyed blue, to a darker, more austere blue. My hair, a brilliant gold, changed after years in the sun, to a brighter gold, a curled set of curled locks that I could have spent hours twiddling with, had I the time.

 The physical training was tiring, for I had to learn endurance, speed, strength and dexterity. I would spend days at a time shifting rocks from one side of the training yard, to the other, fighting against my body and its screaming, groaning muscles. I mastered the art of sword and bow, enjoying the sense of sword ringing upon sword, and even finding occasional pleasure in the brief flash of blood from a small cut. I masked my enjoyment well though, and even, to cement my trickery, appeared to be reluctant to fight.

 Certainly, I never volunteered trouble, and for that, I was loved and admired by my tutors. The clerics took me aside, realising that I must be something special, and so on top of my physical training, I was tutored in the arts of diplomacy, in the tenets of faith, in military and economical lore, about the theory of magic, about the history of the Sword Coast… I learned the correct way to bow in a ceremonial parade; I learned the correct way to address someone in Tethyr.

 During those times, when I was busy, I was almost happy. I wonder sometimes, that if I was left alone, I could have overcome the evil within my soul, I wondered if I could have become what the paladins wanted me to become- a warrior for light and justice. It troubles me, for it turns me from someone that is in control, to someone that has become what he is through circumstance rather than choice.

 When I was sixteen, when I still had five years left of my training, I was walking through the Castle Ward of Waterdeep, my longsword in my belt, and smiling at the pleasant, salty breeze that was being washed through the city from the sea. As I walked, I became aware that I was being followed, by one tall man, who wore dark black robes, with no adornment at all, nor any symbol with which I could judge his purpose.

 The curious streak that has always existed within me, a coiled serpent of steel, commanded me to stop, and, powerless to resist, I did so. I turned to look at him, and something whispered to me from within, something that told me that the darkness within my heart was reflected within this man. My blue eyes met his grey, and I was aware that they faced me, offering me a challenge.

 "My name is Tôleth," the robed figure stated simply, his voice soft, lingering and musical. "I am an emissary of the mistress, who watched you as you suffered under Angar… she has commanded me to teach you all that I know, that you may grow, and nurture the darkest desires that you have, lurking within you. I know… she knows, all that you want. You want revenge, you want to make people pay for what you have suffered… and she will let you have all of that, and more."

 And with those words, my true education began.

 That same day, he took me down a shadowed alley, and he tapped once on the stone wall. There was a faint distortion- a swirl, and then the wall disappeared in a small section, revealing a gaping doorway, that brimmed with malevolent shadows. His hands, gloved in black leather, rested on my back, and slowly travelled lower, lower, almost tender in their administrations.

 When it had been Angar, I had hated it. But with Tôleth, and his clear, beautiful voice whispering in my ear, telling me to embrace the darkness, I loved it. I leaned into his touch, and let him kiss me softly on my neck, crooning, and wrapping his arms around my waist, touching me ever-so gently…

 The door closed behind me, and we were plunged into darkness. He made love to me in the darkness, and I cried out as I had while I lay beneath Angar. But this time, I cried out in pleasure, calling out to the mistress that had sent him to cross my path.

 During the same seven years in which I trained under the knights of the order, I was trained by Toleth, in the arcane arts. At first, I was a slow student. "Sion," he said one night, as we lay sweating, entwined in each other's arms. "You have a mind that is grounded in the world of swords… in the world of paladins and knights. That is all very well. You view magic as hazy and second-rate, and why should you not? You have been trained by knights. But know that if you can understand the secrets of sorcery, then swords are as mere tools, as are the minds of men themselves. If I wished to, I could bend your mind to my will, forever, and powerless as you are at the moment, you could do nothing to stop me."

 That veiled threat, spoken as every with silken undertones, yet with a shivering promise of what might happen should I fail, spurred me forward. I progressed quickly- surprisingly so, according to Tôleth, who said that he had debated killing me and ending the threat I posed. I was not overly concerned. As he whispered: "The mistress has forbidden me to kill you though… unfortunately."

 After seven years, on my twenty-first birthday, I was faced with three different proposals. Tôleth, wrapping me in his soft thighs, and kissing me with passion as he groaned, asked me to travel with him, to learn with him the secrets of the arcane… Caladorn, as he tested my reflexes with the longsword, grinned, and said I was worthy enough to become a member of the Order… and Kevin, a sage for the order, encouraged me to continue academic studies…

 Do you even have to ask which path I chose?

 Kissing Tôleth fiercely, I told him that I would travel with him, and that together we would become such a force, that the defenders of goodness and justice would tremble before us, and that we would have hundreds of slaves to answer our every whim, as decadent as it might be.

 It was then, that I learned the name of my mistress. She was Auril, the Frostmaiden, one of the Gods of Fury. And she had taken an interest in me, a youth trained in the Art and in the ways of battle. I knelt beneath her altar, in a ruined temple east of Waterdeep, and she took the last of my innocence, the last of my childhood, and turned it into ice, and through Tôleth, breathed into me the fury of winter.

 And with that kiss, so much more potent than any of the hundreds I had shared with Tôleth, my world flashed, and the barriers between right and wrong vanished completely. The wizard looked at me, and we made love beneath the gaze of Auril, and she felt the power of her two servants, and was well pleased, for through us both, a great winter could descend upon the Sword Coast.

 What a winter it would be.