A fireside chat with a Monk of the Long Death

[nael]

(DISCLAIMER: This is a tale of the life of a monk of the Order of the Long Death. As many of you probably know, they are obsessed with the process of death. As such, this tale I am about to give you is not for the faint of heart. There is no profanity as such, but detail of ritual murder, sacrifice, and abuse. If it is too offensive for these forums, I understand. I figured I would give fair warning

Prologue

It is a cold, yet clear starlit night. Before you is a small campfire and a tall, lean man dressed in black robes warming his hands as he sits before the crackling flame. His head is shorn clean, yet white eyebrows remain above two eyes of slate gray. His skin is pale, and fair, but he does not appear sickly. He carries very little with him, only a small pouch possibly containing potions and a ration of food.

As you approach and hail him, he looks up from the log he sits upon. There is not a solitary glimmer of emotion in his face as he intones his own greeting in an even, but monotone voice.

Curiosity and perhaps a twinge of fear strikes you as you learn he is a monk of the Order of the Long Death. Much maligned and feared throughout Faerun, his seemingly innocuous attitude towards you begs you to ask him more about his self.

He stares off into the darkness of the night for long moments, almost too long for your comfort. Finally, he looks to you and holds your gaze, seemingly taking a measure of your countenance and begins...

You wish to hear my story do you? I should warn you that I am no dandy bard, nor am I a wizened old keeper of lore and teller of stories. No harm could come from a telling of my past. Perhaps you may come to understand the true nature of my order, the Long Death, and for that the memory of my old master may be well served and my order as a whole. For this reason I will tell you who I am, and why. But it is not a heroic tale, and it tends to not bring a smile to anyone's face except for those most cruel.

Sit with me a while, and I will show you what it is to know Death so intimately, yet still be segregated here in life...

My first memory. Images clouded in the blue mist of my mind, but the sounds drip vivid red with blood. The blood of my family. The blood that also coursed through my own veins as it does today. The sound of bloody bubbling froth emitted from the throats of my father, my mother, and my sisters as their screams shred my childhood mind. My first memory was born from the womb of these scholars of Death itself. These associates of the Long Death Order.

How had we as a family come to be in the care of these priests you ask? I do not know. I was but a child of 8... or was it my 9th winter? I do not remember, but my life before that night made little difference then, and less so now.

I am told that no mercy is ever found in the heart of a priestess of Loviatar. Especially one of the Order of the Long Death. Pain is a test. Death is the reward. My reward would be different however from my kin. The pain of my family was to be my reward, and the lifelong study of their deaths is my test. The small boy I once was knew naught of this. I had had enough of this reward by the end of the first day of these tortures. But my education had only just begun.

This group was lead by was an old hag who appeared to be more satisfied with doing the work of their Order than her companion. As she tortured my family, she would question them as a student of the arcane would ply an elemental on the nature of their domain.

Accompanying this follower of Loviatar, was a giant of a man named Fargon. He was nearly always clad in his plate armor that was as black as death itself. Across his back were a pair of swords with blades as long as an elf is tall. His voice however did not fit his frame. High pitched as if always on the verge of squeeling in pain and agony. I would later come to learn that the small pendant he wore symbolized his devotion to the deity known as Bane. Never to this day have I ever encountered a being in this realm so consumed, yet fueled at the same time by hatred.

On the fourth night the pair finally opened the cage I was kept in, and bade me over to a rack where either my father or my mother now laid. I could not tell who they were. I did not want to know besides this. To this day I still only see the blue fog of imminent death, and their lungs splayed out upon their chest raggedly drawing their final breaths. Fargon grasping me in his black mailed vices as the hag of Loviatar glanced up from her work:

"Look long upon this, child. Once your keeper. Once your protector. Once your progenitor. I despise their weakness, as should you. Remember this: Only the power of death can silence them here. But their weakness will linger on in your mind for so long as you live. I am the gateway through which this transformation shall take place."

Fargon then lifted my small body by the scruff of my neck as a virile male bear would a small cub.

"Does the hate burn within you now, young one?" he whispered in my ear. His putrid breath clawed about my head as his breathing became quickened, awaiting my response.

I did not hear him. A mistake I was soon to understand. He flung me with all his might against a stone wall, and with that my body was broken. Yet from the days experiences, I was numb. Awake, but numb. Fargon was on me before I had hit the ground. Lifting me up once again.

"If you would care to act like you are dead, perhaps we could stop playing this game, and make it reality. Now. What do you feel?"

I wished for a quick death more than anything. I did not want to be weak. I did not want to be alive either. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. Only a wall covered in bones. Silent. Proud. Dead.

I felt cold steel claws squeeze my neck as I closed my eyes. My head felt hot. Blue turns to purple, and then I knew why Death was known to be black to the living. There is no expression for it's color, but it is not black. It is quite simply the color of Death.

Somewhere in the distance I heard the hag speaking evenly, and sternly. Then angrier. The last I remember of that dank cell where everything I knew died, was of falling into the sweet relief. That place beyond rest.

Into Death.

(tbc)

[nael]

Chapter 1

Long moments pass as the monk stares into the campfire. It has grown deep into the night, and even the crickets have grown silent. The quiet seems to not be lost upon the monk. His heavy brow casts a shadow over his cold eyes, but you can sense that he is studying you after revealing something of his upbringing. You can imagine that a lone monk of the Order of the Long Death would be wary of prejudice and outright hostility. Although serious, and somber in manner he does not seem to be hesitant in speaking at length of his own philosophies concerning life and death.

He seems obsessed with the subject however, never diverting from it despite your best attempts to do so. If your experience with monks from other orders or those in various priestly professions have taught you anything it seems this monk has not been out in the wide world for long and has likely been cloistered most of his life. There is more to this story you feel, so you remain quiet until the monk finally breaks the long silence...

The first difference I noticed was the cold. I thought it a certainty that I was dead. Flexing my fingers I knew that I still lived however. Where I had awoken after being dispatched by the brute of Bane, Falgon was yet another crypt. In the years to come I would see very little else. But as I tried to sit up and examine my surroundings it became apparent that I was fastly secured to a stone dais.

Glancing as far to the corner of my as I could I witnessed Falgon seated at a table with the hag of Loviatar from earlier, but now another seemed to have joined them. He was a stout, but powerfully built man who looked long on years, but still full of vigor. His trappings were modest, and black as the corners of the crypt itself. A purse sat upon the table between the two parties, and their conversation seemed to be centered on both myself and the apparent coin in question.

"I required all three of the children. You were instructed explicitly to bring me the children and that you could do what you willed with the two wizards. What am I to do with one small boy? It is not adequate, and this is why I give you a third of the agreed upon payment." The dark robed man looked up at the hulking form of the Banite, but there was not a hint of submission or expectation in his eyes. Only cold calculations.

"You will give us HALF, monk. I assure you that the girls were not worth your time. I crushed one of their spines with a mere grasp of her slender neck as she tried to flee. The other died in fright from the sight of Mistress Kxthraxnial I believe..." Falgon cackled in evil glee.

"Now if you would be so kind as to produce the additional coin, we will leave you to your habits, Hanar." The hag rose from her stool and stretched out her gnarled hand to the still seated monk.

"You will take your third and begone." The inflexion in the monk's voice was so steady. So still. So unyielding. So permanent. Even in my young inexperience I could sense his power, and command of almost any situation. In frustration with the monk's stubbornness Falgon squealed an earsplitting screech and unsheathed one of the two claymores strapped to his back and strode towards me with intent.

Secured tightly in my restraints I had already resigned myself to death before. I looked into the helmeted face of my former captor as he sneered down at me.

"Good. You are awake, vermin. I wish to hear you scream as I separate your lower half from the upper." He raised the sword above his head, and I thought for certain he would bring it down and end me. However in the blink of an eye his head was twisted over his shoulder and a hand from behind pulled down his mountain of a frame to the ground. A popping not unlike the sound of a leg of fowl being torn from it's body could be heard.

Hanar now stood before the stone table I laid upon, his back turned to me and his empty hands raised before him. He beckoned to the obviously surprised hag as she glanced down at her fallen partner, a final rattle of breath emanating from his lips.

"Come Mistress. I will teach you the Dance of Death." was all he said. Not a trace of menace, or anger, or any emotion at all in his voice.

The hag picked up the purse of gold on the table, and departed without a word.

Now the monk, named Hanar turned about and regarded me with the same emotionless expression he had the two cultists.

"Tell me, son. How do you feel about this one's death?" he asked, pointing down at the fallen Falgon.

Would this monk destroy me if I did not answer? As much as I had resigned my fate days before to perish I felt compelled to answer Hanar honestly. Deception would not serve me. Silence was what seemed to prevail over my senses, but I struggled against it.

"What DO I feel?" I thought to myself. The monk looked on, still expressionless. Full of patience. The eternal patience of Death itself I would learn later.

The answer became obvious as I closed my eyes, seeking out it's truth.

"Nothing." The words formed, almost of their own volition. I opened my eyes to regard my captor, expecting a final judgement and execution now that his curiosity had been satiated.

Much to my surprise, the monk bowed deeply towards me.

"Perhaps I should have paid the hag, and her accomplice double." were his only words for the rest of that day.

The path that I would follow in life, unto my end had opened up. My training had begun.

(tbc)

[nael]

Chapter 2

"Live until death do us part."

It was the way in which I awoke every day. The mantra by which I would understand my place in these realms. As I grew, Hanar raised me as his own. His demesne was secluded in the northern lands of Thay as I learned. Although the presence of our order is strong in Thay, Hanar was reluctant to accept many visitors including those of the Long Death.

I understand my procurement was quite unorthodox for the order. Typically new members are culled as I was from the populace that had suffered loss first hand to dramatic effect. So my sisters and I were to study together as a family founded upon death. But something had gone wrong. Dead wrong.

My earliest memories will always be that of hearing my family tortured and butchered by Mistress Kxthraxnial, the hag of Loviatar, and her henchmen. I can still remember seeing my eldest sister... Strings of barbed iron being threaded through the Points of Pain. The deftness with which the hag worked was both admirable and sickening. It showed a deep knowledge of our anatomy, and the means with which to restrain it in painful reflection.

My youngest sister was actually the first to die in front of my own eyes. The contrast of light and the silhouette of her killer in the doorway is the avatar by which I now know that death does not wait and it does not ever fear. The silent mailed fist of that shadow squeezed what small life she had lived from her in the blink of an eye. It saved no mercy for her fate, and I was to be the sole survivor of my immediate family. I can only be the legacy of their death. And for that reason alone is why you should have no fear of me.

Understand that there are those who deal the End to those they wish with little thought to the course of their actions. I have been told of my own end, and I know what path in life I must walk to achieve my own death. That is the true, and ancient way of my order. The way it was taught to me by my master. The way of The Order of the Long Death.

We dedicate our lives to the study of all death in it's myriad forms. This alone puts us at odds with many in the realms, but only the wisest understand our real potential. The potential to discover a reconciliation between life and death. To no longer fear it, but master that fear, and discover ways to abait it until we know the moment has come. I do not fear death in the smallest way, but on the same hand I do not seek it out or wish it unless it is my True Death. That is the power of our knowledge. These are not mere vague prophecies of doom, and death given by some filth covered shaman. They are succinct, and very specific. Between two monks the personal knowledge of one's own end may be given in a way that no mortal, nor celestial, demon, or devil may scrye. So before your thoughts run rampant you should know that to use this against a monk through torture, or trickery is not possible. And if you would wish to know your end, there is no way for us to communicate that knowledge. If I were a master however, I would know. Some of our greatest masters claim to know the deaths of a great many deities through the coming ages. Now you understand the full extent of the fear that surrounds my order. The greatest of us hold a knowledge that even Oghma would blanch at.

This is why it takes the utmost wisdom and power of will to become a master of the Long Death. To see a student's hand in your own death or perhaps your hand in theirs can be a daunting reality for some. But this knowledge gives a master a great power as well. And yet for some they would know this as necromancy. It is true some hungry for power would turn to this as a means to abuse, and sometimes do. That is why few who dabble in necromancy raise to the rank of a master. Necromancy is a parlor trick in the light of a master's premonition. Those of us who are not masters practice and study every death we see to that end.

Only two winters ago I was finally given the black cloth of our order, and taught the silent wisdom from my master, Hanar. Gone were the days of stalking through the mass graves of the slaveyards in Thay. No more gain could I receive from rereading the many texts of our sanctuary. I would spend the rest of my days in meditation, relying upon initiates and learned scholars to bring in more knowledge.

Or so I had assumed.

One moon ago I would learn something that would likely dominate my path in life. For you see: My eldest sister was not truly dead after all. Mistress Kxthraxnial had schemed all of these years, and now my last test for Hanar was to face my own blood.

And until death did we finally part...

[nael]

***I'm changing up the format of my Bio at this chapter, just to give a deeper background. I'm going from the previous "interview" format to a narrative for some history that Kaii as himself would not be aware of***

Chapter 3

A cottage somewhere in the northern reaches of Thay

Cardin Xlavist looked down upon his mate, and his personal cleric Tania with indifference. But upon his newborn son, a small glimmer of deepest emotion seemed to stir within him. He swaddled the infant in his own red robes as one would a fragile and unimaginably valuable parcel. Looking down into it's eyes, Cardin saw an inky blackness wash over it. As quickly as it appeared however, it dissipated revealing eyes like it's mothers, pale and silver. But unlike it's mother there remained flecks of black. Indications that all was going as planned.

"It is a boy, Tania." Cardin evenly intoned, eyes locked with the silent newborn babe.

Rivulets of sweat ran down the face of the young Cleric of Kossuth. She had been in labor for a full day, and finally she slumped down off of her elbows. Her breath came in ragged, but her face remained ruddy if not healthy. A young girl looking very much like the cleric herself: Shock white hair streamed down over her shoulders, and equally pale eyes looked down lovingly upon her mother. She held Tania's head in her lap, stroking her hair, and squeezing water from a sponge into her parched mouth.

Brushing the sponge away from her face, she wearily sat back up upon her elbows and peered at her master "I don't hear him crying, Cardin. What is wrong?"

Cardin looked down upon his mate, uncaring and cold eyes regarding her and his daughter as property.

"The child is a'right. I believe him to be hardy and hale. His breath comes to him as no other newborn I have witnessed, but I believe it to be a favorable portent." Cardin finally nodded to his mate in acknowledgement.

"Rest now." He said, standing up and looking down upon Tania's worried face.

"What shall we name him, then?" the young girl asked, obviously attempting to maintain her composure while glancing warily up at her father, Cardin. But he was lost in thought and unconcerned with the whims of his daughter, Valierie.

"So Kakzakur has made good on his promise." Cardin thought to himself.

"Valierie, tend to your mother. I must take your brother with me, and I will return with his name in the morning. I must contemplate this." was all he said in reply as he strode briskly out of the family's cabin and into the cool air of a Thayan night. A valuable bundle tucked securely under his arm.

---

Upon the Thayan Plateau

Cardin made good time across the plateau to his destination. The night was as crisp and as clear as the night he had been here 9 moons ago. A lonely and ruined stone archway stood in stark relief on the empty plains, bathed in silvery moonlight. The wind whipped dust and debris about, but the babe in Cardin's arms was still swaddled in his spare crimson robes, protected from the elements. Cardin stood stiff and unyielding before the wind. Patient and expecting, he remained for what seemed to him to be an eternity. His newborn son made no sound as well. The Red Wizard's lips curled cruelly at the corners in satisfaction as he looked down at the gray eyed infant.

"You shall make an indomitable zulkir one day, my son. I have done all of this for you..."

Just then, a soft, but sickly green glow touched upon the stone of the archway. As the glowing intensified the wind died down to a calm still. Nothing stirred and the space in which stood the Red Wizard and the portal before him was as quiet as the grave. Cardin held his son tight. Finally the glow arranged itself in a ring within the archway, and through it came a being of blatant planar origins.

It's skin was smooth and hairless, dark and dusky. It held in it's hand a staff crackling with powers beyond elemental in nature. It's eyes were deeper and darker than the Abyss itself, yet reflected something upon their surface that was not readily apparent in their surroundings. It portrayed neither malice nor understanding of anything beyond it's own ken.

"You are prompt, Kakzakur." Cadin nodded to the ultroloth.

The fiend nodded back, seemingly only in acknowledgement of the Red Wizard's presence.

"And you have your son. It's shell contains no soul as promised." Kakzakur spoke with no inflection whatsoever in his voice. Emotion of any kind was wasted upon the yugoloth.

"It would appear so, yes. And I have come to honor my end of the bargain. Where is the other?" Cadin remained solid, but could only mimic the yugoloth's detachment.

"Patience. The Mistress Kxthraxnial approaches." Kakzakur stepped aside deftly, as the portal within the archway crackled to life once again. This time, through it came a hag far more overt in her predilections than the fiend. In her arms she, like Cardin, carried a tiny infant. From 3 fathoms away Cardin was almost leveled by the acrid smell of burning metal pouring out from the hag before him. Small glowing insects writhed through her rope-like hair giving the appearance that it had a life of it's own. Her eyes, streaked with crimson and yellow bulged in their sockets, dried puss encrusted from their corners and caked upon her face. Her body was carcass-like, as her thin blueish skin appeared to be stretched beyond it's limits over her towering frame. And when she spoke it was as if a thousand foul voices from the depths spoke through her.

"So you are the one to care for my offspring?!" Enraged, Kxthraxnial whipped her head about to the yugoloth standing silently to her left.

"THAT is a Red Wizard! You are possibly the most foolish ultroloth I have ever conducted business with, Kakzakur!" The mistress hissed as she stepped back, clutching the child she carried tighter.

"Yes. This one is a Red Wizard. And you would trust me, before him? Perhaps it is you who are the fool, hag. Conclude this business if you please. I am not here to mediate your prejudices." Kakzakur replied, never taking his eyes from Cardin.

Mistress Kxthraxnial hissed, as she whipped her head back to regard the Red Wizard who stood before the pair stoically. Every fiber of his being told him to turn his back and run as fast as his feet would carry him, but he knew better. There was no running from the nightmares of a hag such as Kxthraxnial.

"I am here for business, Mistress. We both have something the other wants. Listen to Kakzakur. Let that bind us to our word, and be done with it." Cardin outstretched his free hand towards Mistress Kxthraxnial, beckoning for her own bundle. She looked down upon the infant she held in a brief moment of longing, foul smoke from her mouth wreathing it's tiny form. She then snapped her head upwards to regard the Red Wizard, her teeth bared in malice.

"This is my offspring, Red Wizard, and you shall raise it for 10 winters as your own, and for 10 winters only. I shall return for her at that time, and she shall join the covey. Should you break this bargain the consequences for you and yours would be most... dire." Mistress Kxthraxnial lurched powerfully towards the Red Wizard. Every movement was quick and deliberate and conveyed a since of other worldliness. The stuff of nightmares. However, in a rare moment of tenderness for her kind, she kissed the tiny babe upon it's forehead before placing it in the right arm of Cardin.

Cardin nodded respectfully to the pair assembled before him, and turned, walking away as quickly as possible into the night. His mind raced, and screamed at him. What exactly had he gotten himself into, he wondered. The time for worrying however was over. He raced with due haste towards his cottage, and behind him the deal was reaching it's conclusion...

"Do not forget our agreement, hag. I know you are well aware of the consequences for crossing one of my kind." Kakzakur finally turned to gaze upon the hag, his eyes coming to life in the night seeming to be newly cast in infernal fire.

"Of course, Kakzakur. Your transformation shall be completed upon the transformation of my own kin. So it shall be." Mistress Kxthraxnial bowed low before the yugoloth.

"Good." was all the yugoloth said in return.

With that the hag returned to the portal behind them, disappearing into it's green haze.

"So it shall be..." the yugoloth thought to itself.

A small shimmering light appeared before Kakzakur, illuminating his dark features. Within the sphere could be seen a tiny human child. The soul of an infant human: Forever bound by the word of it's foolish kin. Forever to pay for the sins of it's father.



EDIT (***Spoiler alert***):









((If anyone is actually reading this, and is wondering Kaii actually DOES have a soul IG, and NO it's not a god or a yugoloth or anything ridiculous. I'm not gonna spoil anything past that however

[nael]

Chapter 4

As I awoke to this new existence my self-awareness dwindled. My name was lost to me. The name given to me by my father, and my mother. The memories I had were replaced by the red sheen of horror. My name, unknown. My past, lost. Hanar would fill this darkness with the light of knowledge, and swaddle my newborn spirit with the cloak of Death.

The day after I was brought to Hanar's abode he came and unlatched the clasps that held me to the table that had been my bed.

"What is your name, son?" Hanar's eyes searched mine almost knowingly, but still looking for clues.

"I do not remember." I replied.

"Do not remember, or do not want to remember?" Hanar's searching gaze did not waver. He was as a golem before me. Unmoving, unmoved, and without demonstration of intent.

"The first lesson I shall teach you will be to concentrate. To meditate, and to find answers from within yourself. Close your eyes, and focus upon any sensation you may interpret as my breathing."

I closed my eyes and tried to detect Hanar's breath. There was no sound, no feeling of breath upon my face, but as I remained quiet and let the darkness envelop me I could feel him breathing. Not a physical sensation mind you, but primeval knowing of his breathing. I focused on this and stepped into it's rhythm.

Slowly my mind wound itself down and past the veil of consciousness and of memory. The crimson fury of murder raced towards me, and as I approached it left behind my back with greater speed. I spiraled into an even greater darkness, and for what seemed a millenia I was gone from this plane. Then I slowly became aware once more. I recognized the lands I had come to as they were the Plateau of Thay. The sun above appeared to have been devoured by a pit, and it's fiery ring was all the light that fell upon the ground, washing it in the dim color of rust. In the ground before me was a pool filled with red liquid. Was it blood? Whose was it?

DO NOT QUESTION YOURSELF!

"Hanar?"

DO NOT QUESTION!

"Where am I?"

YOU ARE DEAD!

I sensed a familiar presence behind me, but try as I might I could not look. Instead my mind would scream in fear and in agony. I felt the presence placing its hand deep beneath the skin of my back holding onto my very being deep within, and towed me down into the pool. The warmth of a womb enclosed about me, and seemed to feed me as I nourished it in turn. And now I felt as if the presence and I had merged to become one. Yet while I lay within it's center it surrounded me and buoyed me against a dark tide. As I gazed out into this blackness I could see a multitude of shining white teeth. Chattering in unison, their meaning slowly began to take shape.

COME! YOU ARE BETRAYED!

Eyes began to open all about me accompanied by their infinite teeth. Eyes of fiery hatred for all living things. The teeth began to whirl about, nipping me at first. Then they began to rend my very spirit, devouring me en masse. The shell of the womb was gone and I was alone and vulnerable. I could not scream. I could not resist. I was forever theirs.

And it was finished.

I awoke to witness a look upon Hanar that I would never see again. He regarded me as most would their own death. Unabated horror washed over his face as perspiration beaded upon his forehead. He shook his head violently, closing his eyes as if washing a foul thought from his head.

"Never again will we venture here. You deserve only True Death, and if you are willing I will show you the way. It is perhaps the only peace you shall ever have. I was correct in my prior assumption however. I have as much to learn from you, young one. As much as you will learn from my tutelage." Hanar rose and extended a hand to me.

"Walk with me into death. May it favor us in time. From now until your end you should remain a quiet memory to those you will ever meet. I give you the name that I have seen: Kaii Wama."

I took his hand and walk the path I remain upon to this day. Yearning to be forgotten, and fearing a memory that is not my own.