The History of Malice

' Five months ago Agtinon Baren retired from public life, renouncing his position as Avatar. The news of his retirement quickly spread across the realm, surprising many.

' Eight weeks later the Avatar was dead.

' The completion of this tome, 'The Avatar', marks the ninth history in the Chronicles of War in Algoron. What began as a biography of the Avatar becomes a study of Power, and the reader may be left with more questions than answers. Perhaps it is the position that makes great men. Or perhaps great men make the position. The author respectfully leaves that decision to the reader.

' {y(signed with a flourish)

' {yTerrance Harpman, Warstorian.

24th day of the Month of Great Evil. 474 A.C.*

* Anno Cataclyse

(In the Year of the Cataclysm. The year the Gods

rendered the continents)

------------------

{y11:00 pm, Day of Freedom, 16th the Month of the Winter Wolf.{x

' The bard first heard the news while playing in Thandon's pub in Shalonest. He enjoyed his trips to the wooded village. While the elves were more reserved than dwarves in Thraxanos and tended to prefer wine over good ale, he found their appreciation for music was generally more refined. A good opportunity to keep his classical skills well-tuned, as it were.

' At the moment, he was halfway through the 'Ballad of Delphine and Gavilan'. He had just reached the part where the two, united, held off terrible creatures against all odds when there was a sudden commotion from the entrance.

' A young half-elf burst into the tavern, winded and out of breath.

"Have you heard! He's gone! The Avatar has left!"

A moment's pause.

' Then a great cheer was heard throughout the old wooden building. Elvish voices, normally calm and level, were excited and strained. The bard raised an eyebrow, his mandolin and the adventures of the late elvish King now forgotten. Rising, he exited the stage and maneuvered his way through the crowd to be closer to the messenger who had stolen the stage.

"It's true I tell you. I was just in Althainia by the crossroads. All of Algoron will be talking about it."

"Is he dead?" asked a well-dressed Shalonesti nobleman.

"No. He lives. I don't know much more than what I've said, sorry. But everyone in Althainia's talking about it."

"Praise Zandreya. I knew this day would come at least," murmured an old wild elf.

' There would be little more work here tonight, the bard thought to himself. It was already close to closing, and everyone would prefer to talk rather than listen. The bard carefully wrapped his instrument in oiled cloth and then strapped the mandolin to his back. Nodding to Thrandon, he quietly made his way out.

There was other work to be done.

---------------------

{y6:00 am, Day of Freedom, 16th the Month of the Winter Wolf.{x

' The bard shivered and wrapped his cloak more closely about himself. The month of the Winter Wolf was bad enough in Althainia. But here in Icewall, a continent known for an already harsh climate, it was simply brutal. The winds tore at him, seeking some weakness, trying to find some handhold or purchase.

' He reminded himself that it had been his choice to meet the retired Avatar at this location. Given the extreme climate, few would be wandering about. Besides. He grinned in spite of himself. The wine they served at the Black Rose in Nordmaar was exquisite.

' Clutching his elbows and bracing against the winds, he traveled the cobblestone road that led into the Highlands of Nordmaar.

The tavern was empty.

' Looking about, the warstorian breathed in the warmth from the fireplace, the scent of fine food and candles. A portrait of Queen Moira was mounted above the flames, staring back at him Through the fine stained glass windows, he noticed snowflakes begin to fall outside on the street.

From the shadows, someone nodded. Agtinon Baren stepped forward.

--------------------------------------------------

The bard looked appraisingly at the retired Avatar.

He appeared to be a very muscular human in his mid-forties. Close cut blondish hair combed neatly forward contrasted with a day's growth of dark stubble. The face was handsome, but troubled and dark. A pair of eyes pierced the bard, which were most likely appraising him as well. A tattoo began at his left ear, curling down to his left lip. It resembled a streak of lightning with red outlining, and the bard couldn't help but wonder whether the warrior had been intentionally marked in some way in his past.

His fists were clenched onto twin blades that glowed with an unholy aura. Blades the bard had encountered before, to his misfortune. He was covered in blue dragon scale from head to toe. A blue fortress.

But nothing could quite describe the sense of death that radiated from the man.

Here then, was Agtinon Baren, Avatar of Malice, Rider of the Storm. One certainly wouldn't know he had retired by the look of him, the bard thought.

The warstorian bowed before the Avatar, a small part of him still wondering whether his blood might yet stain the fine carpets of the Black Rose before the morning was through. As he bowed, he quickly considered his chances of escape should he have to face those blades. Window in the Southwestern wall. Front entrance. All blocked. Not good at all.

"Yes, yes. Without the formalities would be preferred." Baren made a dismissive gesture with a blue gauntlet.

"Have you eaten, Avatar?" asked the bard.

"I am content."

The bard nodded thoughtfully. He ordered a helping of whiskey steak, tipping the waiter to ensure their privacy. The long trip overseas on the Nomad had left him feeling starved.

Agtinon watched the bard break fast in silence, choosing not to join him.

The meal was quickly finished. After a few minutes, the bard reached into a pouch and produced a bundle of cloth. Within the cloth lay a fine quill, several bottles of ink, and a book.

They began to talk.

-----------------

"Will everything I tell you be known to the realm? " Baren looked at the bard critically. The warstorian shook his head. "No. Only those things which you permit me to write about. All else I shall take to my death."

Baren nodded.

'{y Within the Black Rose Tavern, a log crackled {yquietly in a stone-wrought fireplace. Through the

{yexpensive restaurant's painted glass windows, snow fell

{yon the cobblestone streets of the highlands. An inch

{yhad accumulated, and the land would certainly be buried

{ybefore this storm has passed. There would be several {ymore hours before sunset.

{x' The two men sat at a table. One of the men appeared to be a general or a warrior of some sort. Bedecked in blue dragonscale armor from head to toe, he seemed a man not to be trifled with. The other fellow was shaved bald, a hoop earring dangling from one ear. He appeared to be focused on the conversation, a quill poised between his fingers.

"And I thank you for the time. I suspect you are a most popular individual at the moment," the warstorian added.

Agtinon nodded grimly. "Not by choice."

The bard grinned thoughtfully. A story was to be had here. He was certain of it. "I've a few questions for you, Avatar.. But if you should like to begin, I am content to listen."

"I'd rather the questions."

The bard nodded agreeably. "Very well. You are Agtinon Baren, rider of the Storm, Avatar of Malice, bane to Knights and Valor, and possibly one of the most powerful men in your time. And you are retiring."

Pausing for a moment, he drank from his wineglass. Then grinned ruefully, "Have I left anything out?'

-----------------

'{y The Avatar was born to poverty approximately fifty {yyears ago. The oldest son of peasant farmers on the {y {youtskirts of the Althanian border, he grew up with {y {yseveral siblings -- two brothers, Evelar and

{yDrathimar, and a sister, Alira. Life was difficult. A {ycombination of plague and goblin raids left the family {ywith few possessions. Food was hard to come by.

'{y Acquaintances describe the Avatar's father as

'{yparanoid, manic, and an abusive alcoholic. The

'{ymother was too threatened to do anything about it, '{yand the children were constantly abused.

'{y Eventually the abuse went too far, and Agtinon and

'{yhis brothers plotted the murder of both parents. In

'{ytheir eyes, their mother was just as guilty as their

'{yfather because she was too cowardly to protect her own

'{ychildren.

'{y After torturing and eventually killing their father

'{ybefore everyone in the family, The Avatar slit his own

'{ymother's throat. His sister, who protested at times

'{yduring the killing, was tied up and left for dead.

-------------------

The reclusive figure studied the bard intently from beneath a dark cloak. Though he could not see his eyes, the bard could feel them prodding and prying, searching for every small piece of information they could glean. A

shiver ran down the bard's spine.

The figure pulled away his hood, revealing not the gruesome monster he expected but a somewhat handsome and friendly looking face, had it not been for those accusatory, hatred-filled eyes.

The bard tipped his hat gallantly. "A greetings to you, Black Robe. I don't believe we've met before, although I do know you. Your name is Evelar Baren, if I'm not mistaken. I wondered if you had a moment?"

A low voice, nearly a whisper, responded. "Moments are everlasting. Speak your business."

"Indeed.." the bard grinned ruefully. "As you may know, I am in process of compiling a work on your brother. It is in essence a biography.. I wondered if you might care to tell me your impressions of the Avatar."

Evelar Baren sneered. "A biography is just a portion of a useless story, and yet you write one…..very well. Ask."

Surprised, the warstorian raised an eyebrow. "What an odd perspective from a mage. In truth, the work is becoming more a study of power than a simple history."

"Then call it what it is. There is no use in dribble. And... clothing is not all that it seems. Ask."

"No use in dribble? And deprive a bard of his tools?" The bard chuckled, then grew more serious. "Could you describe the Avatar as a child? What sort of boy was he?"

"A useless wreck. A target with no more sensibility than that which sought him. Blind to the truth, and blind to that fact, and in denial of what was obvious. Oh, he was not of the masses. The ignorant, pathetic group that are so easily manipulated," the mage responded. Nearby, a robin perched on a low-lying branch. Evelar murmured something, and suddenly the bird vanished.

"Indeed? Were you two close?"

The mage seemed to smile for a moment. "There is no closeness in the sliver of society. Only daggers in each smile."

-------------------

The warrior seemed to stare at the wooden door, the entrance to the building for a moment. "Sorry, was off for a moment..The mind wanders under times of stress," said Agtinon.

The bard nodded understandingly.

Just at that moment, the wooden door to the entrance swung open. Frozen air swept into the room, causing the firelight to flicker in crazy patterns.

A minotaur entered the restaurant. It appeared young, its horns not yet fully grown. Clearly the snow was no obstacle to these half-men native to the ice continent. Indeed, perhaps it considered this to be a nice day. It did not shiver from the cold like the bard did, at least. It did not even wear a cloak!

The creature wore a great axe on its back and the colors of the sailing fleet Armada. Perhaps he was a noncommissioned officer on shore leave.

No matter what the reason, one thing was certain. It was poor timing.

The warrior glared at the minotaur.

The bard raised an eyebrow.

"Do you mind?" the Avatar rasped harshly.

With as much surprise as can be expressed on such a face, the young minotaur protested, "I didn't do anything."

Agtinon snarled. "Then continue doing nothing, in another place."

The minotaur, confused now, and looking somewhat nervous, answered, "Why? I am going to buy some dinner."

---------------------

The bard bowed before Gildwulf, a brooding and fierce warrior…and the current Avatar of Malice. "Greetings, Avatar. I wondered if I might have a moment of your time. I am compiling a work on Agtinon Baren and would like to ask you a few short questions."

"I am not Agtinon," replied Gildwulf.

"Indeed. You are his successor. His ally for many years, and now leader of what has been one of the most powerful organizations in the realm."

"This is true," agreed the warrior, a hint of pride in his voice.

"I am compiling a biography of sorts on his life. Although I confess it is becoming something more," said the bard.

"I am a busy man. I will allow you two questions and no more."

The bard nodded. "Understood. And I am a busy bard." He paused for a moment, grinning roguishly. "My first question, then: What would you describe as your predecessor's greatest strengths?"

Gildwulf sneered in a half grin, his lips resembling the fangs of a wolf for a moment. "He was a real bastard. Rude to his allies, Cruel to his enemies: a man to look up to. He was also an incredibly powerful warrior."

The bard looked up for a moment, grinning, then jotted another note. "My last question, then, is the same, but as to the Avatar's greatest weaknesses?"

Gildwulf chuckled. "He was a selfish bastard."

----------------------

"In your years, what lessons have best prepared you to wield or obtain power?" asked the warstorian.

"There is one rule, that guides all other rules. It is that you should always value your life, your body, more than any other's demise."

The bard nodded intently. "How have you managed to control the force that is Malice? Strength of will? Trusting in lieutenants?"

Agtinon snorted derisively. "Trust is not something I hand out."

The bard raised an eyebrow. He nodded, already beginning to divine the answer.

"To put trust in your soldiers is to put trust in a barrel, and toss it from atop the mountains of Thaxanos," The Avatar paused a moment to reinforce his point. "They will fail. Only I cannot fail myself."

------------------------

"In simpler terms, Evelar.. did your brother love you, do you think? Did he look out for you?"

The young mage snorted derisively at the question. "To do so would be foolish, and he was smart enough to know that. To look after that which you cannot truly know is disastrous."

The warstorian tilted his head and looked at the brother of the Avatar. "Then trust would also be out of the question?"

Evelar smirked. "It follows suit."

"He said the same himself when we spoke," the bard chuckled.

Eveler nodded. "He knows some things, true."

-------------------------

Making a quick decision, the warrior stood up from the table and beckoned to the bard to follow. Nodding, the warstorian stood from the table and collected his parchments in one fluid motion.

Still uncertain where they were now traveling, he hastened to follow as the Avatar strode unflinchingly into the storm. He wrapped his cloak about him as the winds once again ripped at him. Strange that the warrior seemed nearly as unaffected by the elements as the minotaur had been. Stranger still that the retired warrior hadn't simply slain the young minotaur where he stood. Perhaps this fellow has indeed changed, he thought to himself.

"I've no time for fools," snarled the warrior. It was the only thing said as the two continued to travel in silence. After some time, the cobblestones of the Nordmaar kingdom were well behind them, and the minotaur city of Ganth loomed in the horizon. Night had fallen, and the bard was amazed by the warrior's keen sense of direction.

Not far in the distance, a building became more prominent. A temple of some sort. Robed priests of all races seemed to ignore the two as the passed through the temple gates. Without missing a beat, the warrior led them to a red building. Outside a giant stone sword hung above the entrance. The bard grinned in spite of himself. A much more appropriate location, indeed. The chapel of Raije. The warstorian's patron. The God of War.

----------------------

'{y A cozy and comfortable study. The walls are

{ycovered by tall oak bookshelves which are crammed

{yfully of a wide variety of books. Some of the books

{ylook to be of a magical nature while the others seem

{yto be of a more holy persuasion. In the opposite

{ycorner from the door, there is a small shrine to

{yNadrik. In the middle of the wall opposite the door,

{ythere is a large glass window with a telescope pointed

{yat the moons. The whole room absorbs sound, and it {yseems the perfect place for learning and relaxation.

"So nice to see you again, Lord LaFortinas," said the bard, grinning goodnaturedly to the leader of the Knights of Gareth's Keep.

"Do sit," said the paladin, gesturing to a nearby couch. "Good to see you, as well."

"In truth, it is good to have returned to this side of Algoron.. The food and comforts are much more developed than the northern continent," chuckled the warstorian, taking a seat.

The paladin nodded in agreement. After some small talk, the two began their discussion in earnest. "I tell you what. You ask questions, I'll answer them," said the Knight.

The bard raised an eyebrow..then smiled for a moment. "You know, that is precisely what Agtinon said when we first began."

Jhervais snickered softly.

"Perhaps there is more in common between you both then one might think?" the bard murmured.

Jhervais immediately growled.

The bard shook his head and nodded in hasty agreement. "Agreed. Very unlikely." After a moment's pause, he continued. "As you know, sir, the Avatar of Malice has stepped down from public light."

"Yes, yes, I know why we're here," the paladin chortled mischievously.

"You both have carried your positions for a number of years.. I wondered if you would care to describe the Avatar."

"Describe him?"

The bard nodded earnestly. "Indeed."

"Let's find some adjectives," said Jhervais. "Evil, dishonorable, deceitful...Quite full of himself, though somewhat with good reason."

The bard raised an eyebrow, curious. "Formidable, then, should be added to that list?"

"I suppose, being a creature of darkness tends to make that true," answered the paladin.

-----------------

Sitting down within the confines of the Chapel of Raije, the bard shook his head. "My apologies.. In all my wanderings and quest for quiet spots to write, I had never been interrupted there.. Until now."

Agtinon nodded. "Here is fine. Regardless of the Chapel's dedication, it is confined. Ask away."

"Much more appropriate, I should think," the warstorian nodded in agreement. "As for your title, had I left anything out?"

The Avatar shook his head. "Well, nothing anyone else needs to know. There are some secrets, that I will not confess even to bladepoint." He smirked.

The bard chuckled politely.

"Where were you born, Baren?" he asked.

"I am not sure."

"And how many seasons ago?"

"I would assume, perhaps...50 years ago, maybe.'

"Was there a time in your past that you knew you were traveling a path of greatness?"

The Avatar sat down and thought deeply for a few moments.

"When I was given the rank of Avatar. Before that...nothing," he replied.

The bard tapped the quill to his chin thoughtfully. "There are some things that have already become legend."

"As I would assume."

"I am referring, of course to your ascension to Avatar... And your relationship with the ancient one."

"Jormungander?"

The warstorian chuckled politely and nodded.

"He favors not my decision."

The bard raised an eyebrow, surprised. "If you could tell me something of how you both met?"

Agtinon paused for a moment in thought. "Traveling near his lair, did we meet. I entered it. We spoke. I reminded him of someone he once knew."

The bard nodded, listening intently. "Did he say whom, I wonder?"

"That is not for public ears."

'{y The bard nodded. Outside, the sun was just

{ybeginning to set. He looked out the window and watched {ythe golden orb begin to sink beneath the icy horizon.

"A moment, I must enter a trance for a second." The Avatar seemed to grow distant for a few moments, his breath slowing. {yThe last rays of the sun were eaten by the ice.{x

The bard nodded understandingly. "I would not travel in places unwelcome. What happened after that first meeting?"

"After this first meeting.." the Avatar's words came slowly at first, as if he were speaking from a great distance. "I was asked to test for entrance to the Storm."

The bard listened, himself curious. He raised an eyebrow.

"A test, you say? Ah.. of course, such a thing would make a great deal of sense to become companion to a Dragon."

"The chosen were required to retrieve mystical artifacts, win battles with other members..." The Avatar's words came more quickly, now. Outside, it grew darker.

"I completed the tests successfully. I was entered. My ego supported Jormungander's decision to make me 'The Little Dragon'."

The bard grinned ruefully. He nodded approvingly.

"For what span of time were you allies?"

"Since I entered Gaar Volen," replied the Avatar.

--------------------------

The bard nodded thoughtfully. "It has been said by some that the Knighthood and Malice are the two most powerful groups in all of Algoron."

The paladin nodded sagely. "The Knighthood has a specific purpose. Perhaps we are more 'powerful' because we have more responsibilities." He continued. "Malice epitomizes evil, and I suppose the darkness seeks them for that."

"Then to hold power implies holding responsibility. A public trust, you might say?' the bard asked thoughtfully.

Jhervais nodded sagely.

The warstorian carefully scribed a few notes. "I wondered if you remembered the first time you ever met Baren?"

"He was a peon, I think," replied Jhervais. "I recall him murdering someone and myself attacking him." He shrugged helplessly. "He didnt die, but.."

Jhervais shrugged again.

"And it was shortly after that he was recruited by Malice...I see," said the bard.

"Agtinon and I have rarely fought without some interference. And those battles we did fight, were quite close, though slow."

"In what ways, do you think, the Avatar has changed the course of events within Algoron? Generally for the better....or worse?" asked the bard.

Jhervais shrugged. "Malice was weak when he started. It was strong a time ago. It's weak again. It's embroiled in wars with other evil clans."

The chronicler nodded, listening intently.

"I would think, that, perhaps, better for us, though not for them," concluded the paladin.

The bard raised an eyebrow. "By preventing the darker clans from unifying, you mean?"

The paladin nodded.

--------------

"And following that question, how would you describe that which is called power?" asked the bard.

"The ability to control the masses without even speaking," replied the Avatar.

The bard nodded thoughtfully. "Would you equate it more with fear? Or respect?"

"A mixture."

The bard strokes his chin curiously. He nodded.

---------------------------------------

"An incredible warrior, his greatest strength was in his sword arm. He was also a terrible diplomat," Gildwulf smiled to himself. "He started wars in the Dark Alliance that did not need to occur...he was a troublemaker."

"You know, he said something similar himself when we spoke," the bard replied, chuckling. Then he raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A diplomat, you say? I had not heard this."

"He was a horrible diplomat, at the slightest inkling of disrespect from Black Robes he would threaten war," Gildwulf paused, smiling menacingly. "Of course we are the more powerful clan, but one should NEVER upset mage allies."

The bard nodded, fascinated.

"He had the diplomatic skill of the Gold Wyrm: poke him, and he'll destroy you."

--------------

The warstorian tapped the quill to his chin, nodding thoughtfully. "What, in your estimation, is Baren's greatest strength and weakness?"

"They are one and the same," Jhervais grimly replied. "His vampirism."

----------------------------------------

"What things or persons have been your greatest enemies? Your greatest obstacles to power?'

The Avatar seemed to ponder the question for a moment. The bard nodded understandingly and took advantage of the pause to drink some rose wine.

"I could not explain, at least in trying to keep my mind," he answered.

The bard nodded. "Such things are instinctual to you, it seems."

"Perhaps. None know me better than my mentor Ericka. Only she holds true secrets of mine."

"What moment in your life would you qualify as your greatest victory?"

"All have been sweet, to place one event...no, I cannot."

The bard looked thoughtful. "And the greatest defeat?"

The Avatar sighed. "Just recently...perhaps some will say it is my reasoning for leaving the violent life, though it is not. A wooden shard, driven through my flesh, my heart..."

The bard raised an eyebrow, frowning in spite of himself.

"The Slayers?" he whispered.

The Avatar shook his head. "One acting on his own. She, so jealous of the power, failed to finish me completely."

The bard shook his head, incredulously. "In the decades to come, there will be whispers..rumors of a darker power.. What do you say to those future generations?"

"I say to those future generations...nothing. It is best the past be left in the past," answered the Avatar.

"..And the future to those brazen enough to take control of their destinies?" asked the bard.

"Good luck, it doesn't happen," replied Baren, looking amused.

The bard grinned for a moment. "What will you do now?"

"Watch, acting is unnecessary. The action is taken place through watching."

The bard quietly spun his quill thoughtfully. "Indeed. I cannot do justice putting to paper the many things that have passed in your life.. But your time in answering these questions has helped, Avatar."

Baren nodded.

"I still have many questions.. But I've learned in my profession that it is perhaps best to leave an audience wanting more," the warstorian chuckled politely. "I ask you now.. Is there anything I have missed? Any statement you wish included?"

"I leave with one last statement, however," said the Avatar. "Those who feared me, those who will come to fear me...they are not safe from me, regardless of the colors I wear or the actions I take."

The bard put down his quill. "There is one other matter.." he whispered.

"And that is?" asked the Avatar, raising an eyebrow..

The bard answered, continuing to whisper, "A personal question, only.. Which, like many other things I carry, will never be passed again."

From the shadows, the Avatar nodded.

[Several pages have been deliberately removed from the book at this point.]

----------------------------

The Avatar rose from his seated position. "I thank you for your time, Terrance."

He shook the bard's hand. Whispering a word, his form faded into the shadows. Within seconds, the bard was alone within the Chapel of Raije. Or at least, believed himself to be.

The bard rose, stretching stiff legs. He looked around the room as if for the first time. A gleaming firestone altar stood in the center of the room. Flickering

candles filled the room with light.

Looking thoughtful, the bard mused to himself. "Quite a story." A faint noise sounded in the distance.. He froze

for a moment, then shivered uncomfortably. The initial meeting in the Black Rose had been a day and a half ago. And still, there was much work to be done.

He looked forward to a long sleep and a good meal, but there remained a few more things to do before he would allow himself such luxuries. The bard sat back down and tapped his quill to his chin thoughtfully. Producing fresh sheets of parchment, he began to scribe in earnest.

On the first page, The bard wrote the word, 'Avatar'.

Moving to the second page, The bard penned, 'Chapter One: Ascendance.'

He shivered again, the words coming slowly at first.. And then with increasing speed. Soon, the bard was lost in thought, the ink flowing freely from his quill.

'{y * * *{x

'{y He will write long into the night, he knows. As {y {ythe shadows in his room lengthen, he pauses for just a {ymoment. He rises and walks to a nearby window. The

{ylight is dimming, and on the horizon, he sees a {y

{yfantastic wash of yellows and oranges. Then sun sets {yover the western horizon of Algoron.

{cNight falls on the Shattered Lands.