Forax the LightSlayer, Imperial Black Magician

Role

Chapter 6

Foraxien was dreaming.

It was not an unfamiliar dream, of late. His litany of sins was only
growing, and where redemption may once have been possible it was now just a
distant memory. The corpses piled up under his feet, and in the haze of a
nightmare that paled beside the waking world he walked on.

One more soul. One more life for Akibaal the great. Once he'd not been able
to bring himself to call him that. That too seemed a distant memory.

The familiar dream shifted, attention summoned by thought or coincidence,
but summoned nevertheless.

His black benefactor. The hand which directed him to do such terrible
things. Foraxien clung to that belief, a single lifeline which yet remained.
He had to believe he was compelled, at least in part.

The benefactor spoke to him of what he was to do. How Akibaal was pleased
by how many of those within the Empire were taking up the prayer to
bloodlust. It was not enough, though. They wanted more.

Always more.

"Bring us more."

The benefactor left. Foraxien had his orders. More would be turned to the
fiend's purpose, and the Empire was the means.

More war. More death. More enemies.

Foraxien felt a spike of profound hatred. He had not forgotten what had set
him on the road to damnation. It had all been the Outlanders doing. If not
for them, he would have never stumbled.

He walked the road of corpses, and despite his self delusion: in this he
was not compelled.

Role

Chapter 5

Forax(ien) was a storm giant champion in the service of the Tribunal.
Crippled in active duty, he retired and took up a job in the Voralian bank.
His fall from grace started off with diverting the funds of the wicked to
serve good purposes and quickly moved into selfish ones, often resulting in
the deaths or distress of good people. For his betrayal of his paladin oath
and code, he found himself in Cocytus when he was slain by a Maran after
his aura turned red for his wicked actions.

Akkabal was slightly intrigued to have a storm giant paladin there (chose
Akkabal due to his relation to lightning), so offered him a deal every
hundred years or so to be reborn as a vessel of his purpose (will take
vessel of the pit fiends edge when it becomes available). Foraxien refused
the first eight times, but finally caved on the ninth to escape his torment,
and his spirit was reborn in the body of a recently murdered guard of the
Udgaardian Bank.

I've left the details of the pact intentionally vague, mostly because of
how I intend on handling it going forward (he'll receive new orders from
Akkabal in dreams or similar). The basic concept is it'll be an inverted
version of how Paladin's work, where he'll attempt to further his Patron's
goals. As a result, I don't foresee religion being a thing as of this time,
unless he thinks it can get him out of his deal somehow.

Sphere: victory. This was his sphere in life and the sphere of the
unfortunate bank guard whose corpse got acquired for his return. Influences
him in that he's very focussed at achieving his goals, even if the possible
implications for doing so aren't great in the longterm (and in fact may
come back to bite him).

Role

Chapter 4

The Udgaardian Bank Manager sighed. Again?

The newest young recruit to be a guard was on his back in the middle of the
bank, a startled expression frozen upon his face and his regulation dagger
(envenomed, good iron) nowhere to be seen.

Hells. He'd only finished the interview an hour ago. This was getting
ridiculous.

Then the giant sat bolt upright, dried blood cracking as he lifted his
hands to stare at them in wonder.

The Bank Manager didn't like the look of this at all. You saw some suspect
stuff around these parts but dead giants don't just sit up after being
shanked a few times, at least not without a necromancer being involved, and
they're usually not amazed to see that their hands are still attached in
that case.

The young giant got to his feet. Wait, had he always been that tall? Why
had he even interviewed this one, loomers just got signed on principle.
Nothing like a couple of extra feet of muscle and misery to keep people
honest.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the giant walked straight out of
the bank without a backwards glance.

The Bank Manager sighed.

"I hate my job..."

Role

Chapter 3

Eight times he'd come before.

If Foraxien could measure time, he'd know it had been around every hundred
years. He couldn't though, so all he knew was that eight times he'd been
spared his anguish for some brief moments.

He awaited those moments with a sick sense of fear and dread. Anticipation,
for the few moments of respite. Dread, for the implication.

The black saviour came a ninth time. He stooped above the ice and whispered
his sweet poison to the damned paladin. Made his offer of twisted salvation,
of a way out.

There will always be tests. Opportunities to do the right thing, despite
everything. Perhaps Foraxien could have even found his redemption, even now.
Perhaps this rejection would've been the one that would've wiped away his
crimes, where the eight times before had failed. Perhaps a defiant no in
this moment would have set him free.

But on the ninth time that Akkabal came to offer his dark pact to the giant,
Foraxien finally said yes. Who could blame him? He'd suffered so much.

It was not for a good cause.

Role

Chapter 2

Foraxien screamed.

Foraxien screamed.

Well, perhaps that's not really accurate. He didn't really stop screaming,
after all. It was more like one scream that had started a very, very long
time ago, and just never really stopped.

After all, when you don't need to draw breath, you don't really need to
suffer interruptions. You can suffer all the other things, and really dig
down and focus upon them. Turn them over, and slice your mind and spirit
bloody on every hook and barb.

Forever.

The ice wasn't that thick above him. Once, he could have measured it from
half way wrist to elbow with some left over. He'd have punched through it
like so much wood, and thought nothing of it.

Now? Now he strained, and it was as trying to topple a mountain with
nothing but breath. Impossible. Pointless. Yet he still strained as he had
ever since that first horrified moment, when the ice had closed over his
face and left him in the freezing dark.

When he'd realised the true price of his folly. Betrayal of his oath.
Betrayal of his code. Betrayal of his faith.

So Foraxien screamed, and the damned choir of Cocytus screamed with him,
the ice of his eternal tomb for his fall from grace a biting anguish which
had not diminished with the passing of the centuries.

Role

Chapter 1

It was a small thing, at first.

It had not been meant to go this way.

Foraxien had been retired from the Tribunal after a particularly bad clash
with a Nightreaver; the drow had taken off one of his hands with his axe
right as he'd called lightning from the heavens to strike him down.
Crippling, for any warrior, but what use was a student of the Champion
dedication with only one hand? He'd tried to convince the Provost that he
could relearn to fight with just one arm, but he'd had none of it.

"You're not a young man anymore, friend. You've served honourably. Retire
while you can."

He'd got a job in the Voralian Treasury. Just enough to pay his rent in the
Knight's Crest, and it kept him close. It remained in the back of his mind
that at least he could still heal his former comrades, if the worst
happened.

All honourable goals.

It had started to go wrong the first time he'd realised that the wicked
banked here too. Not a great problem. He'd made his peace with the harsh
necessities of coexistence during his time in the Spire. But when he'd
heard the family of one of his deceased comrades were struggling a little...

Well, a little diverted funds from one of the Empire's accounts, and the
problem went away.

Who could blame him? It was for a good cause.

Then it was that the local cathedral needed some repairs after the
outlanders set it on fire. A deceased villager had funds languishing in the
bank. She'd not need them anymore, they could go to a good cause.

Then it was that he'd caught wind of the Nightreaver who had taken his hand
still being alive by some miracle. A bounty was serving the common good.
The accounts were all very active at that time, so he had to use one of the
Maran's who had recently fallen in battle - when the human's family queried
the loss, the paperwork all suggested there had never been such an account
opened. It was for a good cause.

Years later, when an acolyte rushed into the bank to withdraw funds to fund
the healing of one of his critically wounded charges from an attempted
recovery of the Crystal Orb, he found his account no longer had the funds.
Despite his furious arguing with the strangely despondent one handed storm
giant who sat behind the counter, the young woman succumbed to the crimson
scourge which afflicted her.

People had been asking questions. He'd needed to replace some of the
contents of previously diverted accounts, and the Knight's Crest had been
struggling with the need to pay for repairs.

It had been for a good cause.

Hadn't it?

It had not been meant to go this way.

One year later, a hard eyed Maran who remembered the avoidable death of a
sister ran the one handed storm giant with the red aura through with her
spear in the Voralian bank, and this time it truly was for a good cause.

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