I, Verdanic Blue-eye, now called The Penitent, am putting my history to record at the command of my superior and mentor, High Priest Nomrad Scadalar of Tyr. I do this as part of my punishment for my past sins, for, as the revered Sir Scadalar has said, I can never shed my past, and must therefore learn to face it and accept it.
I was born over thirty years ago on the fourteenth of Nightal (note: exact date later), in the city of Zhentil Keep. My parents were both very well to do. My father Zharth was a captain in the Zhentilar army assigned to permanent duty in the city itself. My mother Jhera was a powerful sorcerous and (as I was to find out later) a member of the Zhentarim, the Black Network. As a boy, I idolized my father, idolized his strength and loyalty to the city which was his home. My mother was often away, no doubt on business for the Black Network. I was initially trained to be a warrior, and I showed great aptitude for it, mastering the art of swordfighting by my thirteenth year. I was on my way to a career in the Zhentilar, just like my father; it was all I had ever hoped for. Alas, it was not to be.
It was the twelfth of Kythorn in the year of my fourteenth summer. My father had been summoned to the Keep proper for a meeting with Thet Blackhand (how his name burns my tongue!), a high ranking priest in the Banite church. Why my father brought me along, I shall never know, but, after he and Thet had concluded their business, I was presented to that evil man. Thet cut a powerful figure that day, his broad frame straight and tall, a mace that glowed black at his side. His coal black eyes seemed to light up when he caught sight of me, and he grinned evilly, running his fingers through his thick black hair. He conferred with my father briefly, speaking lowly so that I could not hear. The conversation visibly shook my father, though; I could see that he was close to tears, which had never happened before. I soon found out why my father was so shaken, found out to my infinite sorrow. At the behest of Thet, and at the request of my mother Jhera, I was to be removed from my father's house and sent to the temple of Bane, where I was to be trained as a priest of that dark god.
My world was shaken; my dreams were shattered. Only the training that my father had instilled in me, the training of a soldier, the training to accept orders from one's superiors, kept me from crying out and refusing (which would have undoubtedly meant my death). I was taken from my father right then, not even allowed to voice my good-byes, and brought directly to the temple of Bane. All of my belongings were taken (and burned, I am sure), and I was given the scratchy black wool livery of an acolyte. I was put in a barracks with over seventy other acolytes, who ranged in age from fifteen to nineteen. I was easily the youngest in the room, though by no means the smallest, my previous training in the soldierly arts having made me strong. As soon as the guards left me, I was approached by a very large man of nineteen; I would later learn that his name was Hekc. He told me that I was sitting on his bed, so I, being a reasonable child, stood up and began to look for another bed. He stopped me with a finger on my chest, telling me that all the beds were his, and that I had not yet earned the right to sleep in one. I sighed, as I knew what was coming next. I told him that he ought to remove his finger from my chest, else I would be forced to break it (I had to be strong; I was surrounded by wolves and had to avoid getting eaten). He laughed at me (he was easily two heads taller than I) and put his hands on the front of my tunic and lifted me a foot off the ground. I smiled at him and brought my stiffened hands down on his collarbone, snapping it. He dropped to his knees, groaning in pain. I knew that, if I had given him any quarter, I would be inviting myself to future attacks. Therefore, I proceeded to give Hekc the beating of his life, breaking both of his arms and his nose before I stopped. I must admit that I truly enjoyed beating that defenseless young man; it gave me a sense of power. Thus I began my descent into depravity.
As I was standing over the beaten Hekc, several priests, attracted by the noise, strode in. I was frozen with a single word and both Hekc and I were taken from the dormitory to the office of Allard Scar, the priest in charge of the acolytes. Scar was, and perhaps still is, an imposing man. Broad-shouldered and totally bald, Allard had frightened many an acolyte, doling out terrible punishments for the slightest infractions. As I entered, Hekc dragged along beside me, Allard turned his terribly scarred visage (some say he had been burned by dragonfire) my way. One of the priests escorting us went up to the man, conferred with him shortly, then suddenly turned on his heel and left, dragging Hekc along behind him. Allard looked at me, his yellow eyes seemingly boring a hole into my heart, into my soul. He looked at me for a long while, searching out the secrets hidden in the deepest reaches of my soul. Finally, he spoke:
"Verdanic Blue-eye, son of Zharth Irongrip and Jhera the Mistress of Lightning, you know why you are here. You struck a fellow acolyte, nearly killing him, and all because he laid a hand on you. You will now pay the penalty." At this point, he produced a long, many-tailed whip. I was forced to remove my tunic and face the wall. I was crying out in pain when he finished, twenty lashes later. My back was a mess, bleeding from multiple wounds; I could barely stand. Allard seated himself behind his desk and continued. "Boy, you were punished because you allowed your opponent to live; you forced others to finish what you could not. If you show weakness like that again, you will be killed and damn what Thet will say about that. Begone from my sight, worm."
As I stumbled back to the dormitory, I realized that Allard had power over me, and over all the acolytes not because of his powerful frame or his cruel whip, but because of the fear he instilled in us. Fear is power. I remembered that lesson above all else in my first year at the temple. To inspire fear is the have power.
I remained unbothered by the other acolytes that night and many others. Having beaten Hekc so easily and having survived a meeting with the dreaded Allard Scar relatively unscathed (losing only a little skin and some blood), I had instilled fear in the hearts of my fellow acolytes. They were too scared of me and of what they thought I could do (whether I actually could or not) to attempt to dislodge me from my position as the most favored acolyte of the priests.
I learned much during my two-year tenure as an acolyte. I learned about the glories of Bane, and how Zhentil Keep, led by the servants of Bane, would soon conquer the whole of Faerun. I learned the rudiments of spell casting, how to heal or harm with but a touch among other powerful abilities. I learned politics, how to claw my way to the top of the clerical hierarchy, as well as how to stay there. I also learned to be utterly ruthless to my enemies and to destroy those who might become enemies. I killed seventeen other acolytes in my time at the temple, often with no reason but to instill fear in those I allowed to live. From my reputation as a cold-blooded killer, the other acolytes began calling me Verdanic the Snake. I allowed that name to remain, as it lent me an aura of dangerousness.
When I look back, I see that the values that my father had taught me, soldier's values, had been discarded in favor of what Bane was teaching me. Before I had gone to the temple, I was a good boy; I defended myself and my friends, but I did not willfully try to harm people. Bane, though, stole my innocence, stole those soldierly ideals and twisted them into something much more sinister. I do not know how it happened, save that the path of darkness is a seductive one, and I must continually guard myself against falling back to it. I believe that the only thing that saved me was the fact that I served Bane, not because I fanatically believed in his cause, but because I wanted power for myself. If I had given myself fully to Bane, I would not be writing this today.
Throughout my training, Thet Blackhand was there, watching me. He never approached me, never spoke to me, but he was always there, planning something for me. The man's cold, dark eyes became a fixture in my life, something always there, always threatening. Despite all I had been taught, I allowed Thet to have control over me; I feared him, feared what he had panned for me.
After two years as an acolyte (a very long time for one of my talents), I was allowed to become a full member of the Banite church. Thet himself oversaw my induction into the church. What transpired during that ceremony was horrible, but I must write of it if I am ever to cleanse my soul of the stain I put there. I performed a vigil the night before the ceremony, drenched in the blood of the sacrifices I had made before beginning the vigil (I ritually sacrificed four orcs to Bane). If possible, the ceremony itself was worse. The priests overseeing the ceremony, led by Thet himself, said many unholy prayers over me, asking Bane to grant me the power to destroy all of his enemies, and asking him to strike me down if I went against the tenets of the church. The culmination of the ceremony came when a prison girl was dragged up to the altar. Doing as instructed, I raped her and then sacrificed her to Bane. The memory of her screams haunts me to this day, and will haunt me forever. I pray for her soul every day, pray for forgiveness. I had become a full-fledged priest of Bane and, may the gods have mercy on me, I loved it.
Upon completion of my ceremony, I was magically given the tattoos that I still bear today. When I received them, I counted them as badges of honor; now, they are badges of shame. Soon afterwards, Thet took me as his personal assistant; I was eager to receive such a prized position, yet scared of what he planned for me at the same time. Thet soon told me why he chose me, and his words still chill me to the bone this day.
"Verdanic Blue-eye, the Snake, you have been chosen by Bane himself. Your potential was obvious to him moment you were born. When I first laid eyes on you, Bane spoke to me, telling me that you will lead the Banite church through the next age, into a time of eternal darkness for the Realms. I will make sure that you will be alive to do so."
Bane, a god, had chosen me, or at least so thought Thet. As I began to work more and more with Blackhand, I realized that he was the most dangerous sort of priest, a fanatic, a zealot, equally willing to die or kill for his god. He was also more than a bit mad. I didn't care, though, not then. I was having the time of my life, learning the inner workings of the Banite church, learning dark and fell magics. I was allowed to spend many hours in the dungeons as well, interrogating prisoners at random or (more often) torturing them merely for sport. Oh Tyr, please forgive me for what I have done! Strike me down! This penance is too heavy to bear!
Over the next two years, I traveled all over the Moonsea area, furthering the cause of Bane and Zhentil Keep. I did not see my father at all, had not seen him since I was first taken into the temple, did not even think of him. Surprisingly, I saw my mother much more often. I would see her conversing closely with Thet, often remaining closeted up in his chambers for days at a time. At the time, I believed that they were merely discussing Zhentarim business (by that time I knew that Thet was a member of the Black Network as well as my mother). Now, though, I know that they were involved in cuckolding my father, making a mockery of the loyalty he showed my mother.
I remember one time in particular, just a few months before the Time of Troubles. I was chasing a renegade Zhentilar soldier, a man who had killed his commander and fled the city. I was dispatched to take care of him, with orders to make it painful for him. I caught up with the man about thirty miles outside of Zhentil Keep. When he caught sight of me, he stopped and turned, prepared for his last stand. Before he died, though, he pleaded with me:
"Don't you know what you're doing? Zhentil Keep has become sick; sick men, evil men, lead it. Your master Thet is one of the worst. I know your father, he is a decent man, and I hope that somewhere, deep inside of you, you are your father's son. My commander died because he was evil, because he killed innocent people. I could not stand for that, so I killed him, in fair combat, I might add. Look at the city now; it is not blessed by Bane, it is cursed by all the gods. It is an evil place, Verdanic, and you know it."
My answer came in the form of a spell blocking his movement. I laughed at him, then broke his legs with my hammer. He was many hours in dying; boiling in oil is a painful way to leave this world. Despite my outward show of bravado, though, his words shook me. Was my city cursed? I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, though, and returned to the city to report on my successful job. Oh, would that I had listened to the man! Then perhaps some of this could have been averted.
The Time of Troubles was a turning point in my life. I was near Phlan, looking for some of my brother priests who had disappeared in the area.When I lost my divine connection to Bane, I nearly went insane with grief and anger. Many of my brother priests went all the way, and I was nearly killed twice by fellow Banites, though I managed to defend myself. Thet disappeared, and I feared that he, too, had gone mad, perhaps even destroying himself. However, I soon learned that he had found Bane and was traveling with him. I was instructed to go to Zhentil Keep and remain until I was sent for.
The city was in turmoil. Bane had been through, taking the cream of the Zhentilar and Zhentarim both, leaving the city to be run by a mere handful. When I arrived, well after Bane had left, parts of the city were rioting. Apparently, some of the Zhentilar remaining in the city had rebelled and were killing every Banite they could find. I reported to my superior, my mother in this case, and she instructed me to take a detachment and put down this little rebellion. It was extremely easy to track down the renegade Zhentilar; all I had to do was follow the trail of hanged Banites. I was leading my troops through a narrow street in search of these upstarts when we were ambushed. My troops were cut down in seconds, a hail of arrows completely decimating them. I was left standing alone in the middle of the street.
I dropped my hammer in surrender, convinced that I was going to die. I felt arms grab me from behind and my hands were roughly bound. A man clad in full plate mail with a closed helm approached me.
"You are convicted of being a priest of Bane. Your kind has made Zhentil Keep the pit of evil that it has become, and you are sentenced to death by hanging."
I was roughly lifted onto a makeshift scaffold (a chair sitting below a tree). A rope was put around my neck, but I wasn't paying attention. That voice, that voice that had condemned me, was very familiar. As the chair was being kicked out from under me, I realized that it was my father's voice. The noose tightened, and I began to struggle for air, trying to plead for mercy, but I could find no breath. In my struggles, my helm was knocked from my head. As my struggles were weakening, I saw my father start towards me, drawing his sword. I feared that he would slay me, but instead he sliced the rope that was choking me. I dropped to the ground, gasping for air, and my father cradled me in his arms, telling me that he loved me and that he could help me become a good man. He dispersed his troops then, told them to leave us, to find other Banites to kill. They readily complied, the scene before them being too heart-rending for them to watch.
My father's hands went to my tunic, no doubt thinking to loosen it to allow for greater circulation. My next action will haunt my dreams forever. Still only half-conscious and feeling hands groping my chest, I reacted on instinct. I grabbed the dagger hidden inside of my boot and plunged it into my father's heart. He slumped back, mortally wounded, and looked at me with a grief-stricken expression. Only then realizing what I had done, I tried to call upon Bane to heal my father, but the god would not answer. I cried over the body of my father for hours.
The next few months were a blur to me. I felt Bane's death, felt the end of the Time of Troubles, but I did not care. I had killed my father and nothing could bring him back. I spent all of my time trying to drink myself to death, trying to drown out the memory of my father's face with the cheapest ale that could be found in all the ports of the Moonsea. When I regained my senses, I was laying in an alley in Phlan, penniless and sick, both in heart and in body. I felt no connection to the gods, felt no power, felt only pain.
Then Tyr found me. More accurately, Nomrad Scadalar found me. Perhaps believing me a beggar, or perhaps seeing beyond that, he brought me to the temple of Tyr in Phlan, where he painstakingly healed my wounds and nursed me back to physical health, though I was still a broken man in my mind. Wanting only to die, I told Nomrad the entire truth of my being, from my earliest memories to my latest crimes. To my surprise and horror, Nomrad did not strike me down. Instead, he began to pray, asking Tyr for guidance. He found his answer quickly.
Thus began my initiation into the hierarchy of Tyr. I was the personal pupil of Nomrad, and he devoted all of his time to teaching me true justice and the ways of Tyr. So intent was he on converting me that we traveled far from Phlan, far from the Moonsea, and far from my past. We went all the way to Cormyr, where we settled just outside of a small village named Eveningstar. I spent many months in service to Nomrad, learning at his feet of the wonders of Tyr. Many of Tyr's teachings aligned with what my father had taught me so long ago. Honor and truth and justice were placed above power and glory. At first, these ideas seemed strange to me, but I quickly warmed to it, remembering the joy I knew with my father so many years ago.
In addition to my theological training, Nomrad trained me in the weaponry of Tyr, mainly the bastard sword. We trained with his shining sword Sky Render, which was a joy to use. These lessons also brought my mind back to my early days, before my soul was stained with all of my crimes. Looking back on it, I believe that things were going just as Nomrad wanted; my healing could not be done immediately. It would take a great deal of time for all of my scars to be healed. Nomrad has, since we moved to Cormyr, called me, not by my real name, but only "Penitent", meaning, I suppose, that I cannot just be forgiven of my sins with the wave of a hand; I will have to work for it.
Nomrad is dead. I do not know how he was slain, for his body lies unmarked in his bed, but I at least know who has slain him. Thet. I awoke this morning and prepared breakfast as normal and nothing seemed amiss. When I went to awaken Nomrad, however, I knew that something was wrong. Normally, he is already awake when I come to his door, but not this morning. I went in after knocking several times, and there I saw a horrible sight. Nomrad was lying in a pool of his own blood. I recognized immediately that he had been sacrificed in the name of Bane; the marks were unmistakable. His face was oddly serene, though. I was in shock; I fell to my knees in prayer, calling out to Tyr for some insight. Insight hit me. Drawing upon all of my inner strength, I called out to Nomrad's spirit, looking for answers.
The room suddenly darkened, and a chill fell over me. I felt Nomrad's presence, though not nearly as forcefully as I had in life. Before I had the chance to ask him anything, he spoke:
"Penitent, the time has come where I can no longer guide you or protect you. You must now rely on Tyr alone to do that; he will do a much better job than I. My time here is short, and there is no time for sentimental good-byes. Know that you have enemies still abroad. Thet Blackhand himself will seek you out one day, and he will try to slay you. He is mad, convinced that you caused the defeat of Bane, whom he still worships. Your mother also seeks your head, not for killing your father, but for the love of Thet. Be warned you may be forced to do battle with her.
"Penitent, take whatever you wish from this dwelling, but know that it is not safe to stay here. Thet slew me, and he will one day attempt to slay you. Go now, go west and seek out a man named Zanthar the White, a priest of Torm in the Western Heartlands. He can often be found in Elturel, and he is traveling with an adventuring band known as The Swords of Torm. Join with them and work with them, for they do great good in the Realms. Perhaps you will at last cleanse your soul of the darkness that hangs upon it. Go with Tyr, my friend, and do not grieve for me, for I am with Tyr fully now. I will watch you from afar, my friend, and know that your father does as well."
Though I felt great grief at Nomrad's passing, I knew that he was right and that I did not have the time or luxury to weep. I shall take up Nomrad's sword Sky Render and his armor and I shall go west, seeking this priest of Torm Zanthar the White. I hope that I will be granted the opportunity to redeem myself before I die.
Verdanic is now a gentle man. He has seen enough death, has caused enough death, to last him ten lifetimes, and he is sickened by it. He will attempt to avoid combat whenever he can, but he will not foolishly risk his companions' lives, though he cares little for his own life. He tries to stay out of direct combat if he can, preferring instead to aid his companions and incapacitate his enemies with his magic. When he does resort to combat, however, he charges straight in with little regard for his own safety. If an enemy asks for quarter, and seems likely to honor it, Verdanic will grant it, though not at the expense of his companions' safety.
Verdanic cares little for monetary wealth nowadays, wanting only enough money to sustain himself in relative comfort. When asked about his past, Verdanic attempts to change the subject, preferring not to disclose his secret pain to others, even his friends. He prefers to suffer in silence, but will show great concern for wounded companions, healing them even at the expense of himself.
The priest's spell selection is normally defensive in nature, and he uses those spells more on his allies than on himself. That is not to say that Verdanic is not above asking Tyr for offensive magics when the situation demands, but he prefers to help his companions rather than hurt his foes. The one exception to this is the Hold Person spell; Verdanic makes extensive use of it, trying to take his enemies alive.
Verdanic is very close to Tyr, and often uses divinations to ask Tyr for guidance. He attempts to follow Tyr's commands to the letter, afraid that any slip will cause him to sink back into depravity. As a result, he tries to act in an advisory capability within the party. He will offer his advice on any situation the party will come across, but will rarely take the lead himself, unless he believes that the party is about to make a mistake, is about to go against the tenets of the Tyr.