Vanakoth Anakteiron the Fist of Darkness, Imperial Dread Lord

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Role

Chapter 6

At an early age Vanakoth learned to play the game. He knew how
to simulate the expressions of those around himself to gain what
he wanted. He could cry, he could laugh, he could lie. It all
came very natural to him. He assumed that everyone else was also
playing the same game.

Vanakoth was so good at playing the game that he grew to be very
popular. He was making the right jokes at the right times, smiled
at the right moments and always knew what to say - but he felt so
empty inside. Was this game really all there was to living? He
wanted to ask someone but one of the rules of the game was apparantly
that you do not talk of it.

Sometimes the game made him very tired. Like when that one girl
kept following him and looking at him. He had been playing it all
day and he just wished to get home and rest his wings. But no she
had to follow him around and force him to play it. Eventually it
apparantly led to some situation where he was to (according to the game)
lean over and be very close to her, something which had always
given a sickening feeling to Vanakoth.

So instead he placed one of his hands on her beak and then slowly
placed the other around her throat. Then he began squeezing with all
his might.

As she frantically tried to push him away with panic filling her eyes
adrenaline pumped into his blood and for the first time he began to
feel alive. Getting rid of the body Vanakoth decided to chase that
feeling, the one escape he had from the game.

Role

Chapter 5

Arial City. Vast and by most tourists considered odd. It was within its walls
Vanakoth grew up. His parents probably lived there still - baking their famous
scones to this day. Some time had passed when he had found his one passion in
life and though he had carefully hidden it suspicion had risen. The problem was
that the initial surge of ... warmth or whatever it was faded and became less
and less inspiring. He needed new victims. New methods. New ways to kill them.

New ways to harvest the sheep.

The guard were investigating the seriers of murders on the citys youth. And
Vanakoth realised he would be forced to leave the mountains sooner or later.
So it came one day that he simply packed his things and left without a word
to his parents. The game had become so sickening to him any effort to play it
gave him nausea. If he would indeed talk to them again he'd likely end up
trying to kill them.

Far away from the mountains he finally found himself in Hamsah. Floating about
the crowd of people there he eventually found himself outside the brotherhood
of the abyss. As Vanakoth stepped inside he finally felt som of the old warm
inspiration when he beheld the numerous tools avaiable to end a mans life.

And so he started to study in the guild of anti-paladins.

Role

Chapter 4

Rain. Sun. Light. Dark. Vast cities full of life and animation. Dead deserts where all is unmoving.
It was all so irrelevant for Vanakoth. The hunt became divided into motions. Not as predictable
as the game. But all the same. Generic motions. Unchanging even in his boldest attempt to escape
the unyielding laws that govern his life.

Eat. Drink. Water. Beer. Wine. Blood. Nankorf. Legs. Hearts. Pie. Brains. Chicken. Elf.

Breathe.

How can he possibly escape all theese ... objects, all theese defined facets of creation?

Death was an option. He thought about it alot but from what he understood he was still more free
in life than in death. Barely. But then he didn't want to be constrained by feelings. Perhaps he
on some level feared death and that clouded his judgement. Perhaps death was the way.

Perhaps it would kill the silence in his soul.

He thought about killing his parents. What would it be like? It would be such a cliche thing to
do but at the same time the idea had an ever so slight appeal.

He was in theese gloomy thoughts the first time the spear he had blessed finally drank a soul.
Ye gods! The ... warmth! It had returned, though it brought some other sensation aswell. Like
he could feel another entity within himself. Blood and metal it whispered foul and alien words
in a language he could not understand. But they were there.

Vanakoth decided then and there he would focus on gaining as much power as possible and keep
filling his weapons with shards of the wretched fools he came across.

Or maybe the decision wasn't his.

Role

Chapter 3

The Empire. How had he ended up here? Largely it began as an attempt to see if
they would let him join even though he had killed a few of them. That apparantly
was the case and quickly he saw the laws and rules that goverend it.

How dull they were.

He did in no way care at all about the Empire but as always he knew what to say
and how to act to pass by as any of them. It appeared that it was not without
benefits to be a part of it and to feast upon the dead was a macabre action he
almost felt something from. Not warmth but something.

Savarnic. The dread lord was incompetent but Vanakoth had learned of the very
appealing power the fire giant would learn to carve a sigil of pain upon the
chest of his opponents.

It seemed as there was still more to be learned about pain and death.

Role

Chapter 2

So there he was, Dread Lord of the Empire. All contestants dead either by failed
magical experiments or just plain suicide. It did rise the question of what
everyone else noticed that Vanakoth didn't. What is so appealing with ending ones
existance? There must be something.

Perhaps they were on to something Vanakoth had completely missed in his grey, dull
mist of silence and repetitive motion. Was there something he could do to break out
of this prison?

The only thing to interrupt this cycle was the words of a God. The Master of Mayhem
had spoken to him and the words had etched themselves into his brain - though they
had almost been shouts in his minds earlier they were whispers now, comming and going
at their own volition. What did this mean, could there be an exit from this cell
through divine intervention? If there was Vanakoth was desperate for it.

He might aswell keep on living and maybe something interesting could happen.

Role

Chapter 1

In the depths of the inferno one of the fiends of Cocytus had in an
act of boredom slaugthered 99 virgins and some members of the glorious
Fortress of Light from the overworld that had deemed it fit to
journy down to His inferno. Though it temporarily satisfied his thirst
for blood another need took its place. Every now and then he could feel
a tug in his spine from one of his servants in the overworld calling
forth the bloodlust of him and his bretheren. It was curiosity over one
of his servants that made him save some blood from the virgins in a
cauldron in order to do some scrying.

After some incantations the image of the sweet blood turned into an image
of one of his supposedly prominent servants; the Dread Lord of the Empire
was supposed to be a feared man - a slayer of all and in his own way an
enforcer of the Empires meaningless goals not just through pain and sorcery
but through reputation. The fiend recalled the day they had reached into
his soul, still a hatchling the future dreadlord was back then. Whimpering
and new to the world. But they could feel the child had potential simply
beccause emotions were missing. A great empty space they could fill with
their bidding and they had succeeded fairly well. If only the Dread Lord
could grant them more delicious shards of souls but he supposed it would
come in time.

The pit fiend shrugged and altered the image in the cauldron to that of another
of his servants. The chancellor of the Scions of the Eternal Night or Ravon as
some referred to him as was a gainer. Grinning as another corpse hit the ground
followed by Ravons mighty whip howling the pit fiend nodded in recognition.

Why didn't they all turn out like that?

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