This story was originally Titled "Maiden of pain" and was solicited during an open call for writers by WOTC. I changed the name but little else to avoid any confusiuon, but this is basically my take on the story given the guidelines they gave me. Most charicters in this fic are original. A good rule of thumb is that if you can't find them in ANY Forgotten Realms supplement published since 1987 they belong to me.
It is rated R for violence, depravity, darkness, and a couple other unmentionable things that start with D. It is very dark for a Forgotten Realms fic and should not be read by anyone.
Reign of Pain:
Prologue:
His red hair snapped like a sweaty whip as his head exploded away from the pillow. The unblinking blue eyes almost beamed horror and his breath gasped through hopelessly clenched teeth. His lungs burned as if he were inhaling black dragon breath and his heart was trying to dig a mineshaft in his chest. The sweat poured as his eyes finally snapped shut, disappearing into two wrinkles beneath his brow as he held his breath.
"Dartrick?" She murmured from where she slept next to him.
"I'm fine Shael." he managed. "I'm just getting a drink of water."
She had heard it before, and knew it not to be true, but she returned to sleep just the same. A part of her didn't want to know what kind of nightmare could chill the brave heart of a man like Dartrick Aliston. As he got to his feet and walked into the next room, her eyes slowly closed. She was asleep again before the door closed.
Dartrick was unaccustomed to quarters as comfortable as this one. More often than not his bed was a ratty winter blanket on the forest floor. This was the finest room in the inn, provided by the owner as a sort of home away from home for the man who had kept it from being burned to the ground by marauding orcs. It was the only payment that the proud Ranger would accept. Other than his parents ranch in Shadowdale or his cabin in Daggerdale, this was the only place he could trust an offer of shelter during the long, dark years of rampaging Zhentarim galloping through the Dales.
He lit a single candle and sat in a chair in front of the table with a locked chest under it. He quickly unlocked it and pulled forth a hand axe within. This was the weapon that he planned to kill her with. He had to make sure that it was free of rust and without a single dull spot along its edge. She was not worth the honor of the sword or the stealth of the dagger. The axe was perfect, flawless, more than able to slice skin and muscle. More than able to crush bone. More than able to leave her a wriggling, squealing amputee begging for death.
He spit, vainly hoping to wash the foul taste of hatred from his mouth as he polished the axe.
Next to the candle he saw the message that had arrived yesterday. He had only really needed to read three words of it to realize its importance.
"Talindra... Scardale... Anton."
His brother had chased her from Zhental Keep to Mulmaster; from Thay to Raven's Bluff. Now she was coming to him. He put aside the axe to read the account again.
"...at the docks we attacked, but they slaughtered the Nightwatch. Without our allies, me and 'Paz had no hope. He didn't make it. I've lost them all, Dartrick. You're the only one who can stop her now."
Cyon and Braergan died in Mulmaster, and Sylea in Thay. Now Topez. The Thief had been on the outskirts of trustworthy, but he had been his first traveling companion. Now he was dead in the gutter that he had spent all of his life trying to escape. She had cost him so much that it was beyond reckoning now. He had forgotten how much the bounty was and didn't care anymore. He doubted if he would collect it. All that he wanted was her, his axe, and some time to enjoy the company.
Shael turned over in her false sleep, just wanting this to be over.