It happened at that damned bridge, the crossways to my true self. All along I’ve been called “Child of Bhaaal,” and gone along with it. Who doesn’t have a dark side to them? We have kings and laws to ensure we do not outright murder each other. It is our true self to desire power, but few are designed to attain it.
We did the unexpected, we attacked the crusader camp, showing no mercy. Mage and soldier bent double to my volley of Bhaal cursed arrows. Like silhouettes they fell slowly, slumping to the hams, slumping to their heels and then down to the earth that would reclaim them, finally. To worms. To worms.
Before I knew it, we broke ground at the bridge. A gaggle of troops and a mage lingered near some barrels. I saw red. Once again my bow sang, the mage–like all mages worth their salt–threatened…
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