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Vrirkuk Deathknell

*bound in the flesh of human children, taken from their shaven scalps*

I have been in the Underdark two years now, more than half of that time I have been a free orc. Few adventurers can say that, and I've accumulated great wealth here finally. Soon I will earn my reward and retire from conflicts to become a shaman and deathkeener in truth. Only a final task remains.

My time on the surface is nothing but shame. Only a few details are worth knowing, to help others understand how far I've risen.

My mother was an adventurer, a bardicly trained sorceress in the city of Silverymoon. I was raised to be human, civilized. Silverymoon does not show its hatred of half-orcs as most human cities. Its open tolerance of diversity lends it credence, it is strong and powerful. Yet mother never understood me, who I was, what it meant to grow up without a father.

On my sixteenth birthday I ran away from home to find my father. His tribe was rumored to be near Eltabbar in Thay. He was a powerful grey orc, a deathsinger--capable of channeling and speaking to his dead ancestors. He'd captured my mother when she was an adventurer and had his way with her as the tribe watched on. My mother told me this to disway me from seeking him out, it just proved what I'd always suspected-she was too weak to give herself to a man willingly. The strong take what they deserve from the weak.

I just didn't understand the ramifications of that.

I found my father. Croulnar Deathkeener in the mountains above Eltabbar. I'd joined a party of Thayan wizards hiring mercenaries hoping to eliminate father's tribe once and for all, stop their raids against caravans coming to the capital. I betrayed them of course, there is no regret there.

My clan took me in. Father trained me in the arts of the deathkneller, taught me the names of his ancestors during the winter. I learned all I could of the clan, learning quickly they are not as tolerant as Silverymoon was of weakness. They beat me, humiliated me, and I thought it was a test to make me stronger.

It was purely cruelty.

As soon as spring rolled around, my "clan" sold the weak half-blood bastard human to the Thayan slavers. They only taught me out of jest, never believing I'd master their arts.

I learned. Every lesson though they could teach. I learned it all.

The drow bought me from the Thayans. I was a novelty, a passingly handsome half orc that could sing macabre songs and stories. Some of the drow women found me an entertaining fling, far superior to their own males when they wanted someone large and bestial. I was whipped several times for my manners, they wanted me to be a beast not a courtier trained in Silverymoon.

The manners I learned from my "clan" served me well in avoiding further beatings.

I had little desire to escape I thought, I was comfortable. Fed well, entertaining their women brought pleasure, I was beaten less at the hands of drow than my own orc kin. Yet when I had the chance, I took it.

I was on a caravan, brought as entertainment for a minor noblewoman bored with the regular fair of slaves. When the caravan was attacked by a deep lizard, I wrapped my chains around her neck and took the key from her body once she went limp. I left her alive, it is my hope the deep lizard devoured her.

I found my way to Fort Mur. From there I traveled the Dark Lake, I found the Blue Mushroom Traders, Slaal'teesh the festering den, and heard of a cursed city called Dunwarren now inhabited by escaped slaves. I traveled there, hoping to learn more of its curse considering my talent for such things.

Dunwarren, it was called Sanctuary by its prisoners. Mostly pathetic humans, but I shouldn't judge them harshly. I was still too human myself-still too human now but I can't shake the shackles of my blood yet.

I picked up adventuring to make money. Enough to survive, to entertain the women I'd find and to feast. I was still soft enough that I hadn't turned to killing to make money, instead I performed services. Helped people for rewards or hired out as a mercenary.

On one such job, nearly a year ago I was hired to recover some tools left in a haunted crypt beneath the Mausoleum. I went there with a human named Rilo Manansi.

A human had died recently, a former Councilor. I can't recall his name however, but his body was instate beneath the mortuary. Something suspicious, noises; sounds; smells emanated from his resting place. Rilo Manansi and I went to find out what was happening.

We encountered there strange undead zombies, uniquely made from the corpses of some amphibian creature. The necromancer, he introduced himself as Michael and offered us rewards if we helped him take the deceased Councilor out of the mortuary. He had plans for the body.

Rilo tried to stop him, tried to be a hero. I tried to kill Rilo who fled like a coward. Michael thanked me for my aid, said he'd call upon me again if ever he needed me and disappeared. I never heard of him again.

The only information he left me with was the name of a cursed city, a city of the dead that I should seek--Pholzubbalt. A year later, I'd yet to find it.

Rilo apparently became a Councilor eventually. Poor bastard, sought power and wound up dead.

While he was Councilor, I met Skraggit. What a beast, a priest of Shargass. He thought he'd build a new clan of half-orcs in Sanctuary, but that was foolish and naive.

For some reason, most half-orcs are too close to Bhagtru, closer even than any full blooded orc. I admit, humans are more intelligent than orcs, but somehow when orcs mate with humans the offspring are blessed especially strongly by Bhagtru.

Trying to build a clan of such fools is doomed to failure. Only a small minority of half-orcs take the strengths of both parents. I know I'm one, as strong as an orc and as intelligent as any human. If I was inclined to seek power, I could obtain it.

I didn't know then what I wanted. Skraggit proved a good leader for a time, but he fell to the humans. What I learned from him though was the nature of the Underdark; it is not a prison for us like it is for the humans. Shargass blesses his children here, and makes us stronger even than the orcs on the surface. Here we can carve mighty empires; if we're so inclined but I am not.

Skraggit taught me to murder and to kill. I hadn't been inclined to either, I respected strength and power. Since arriving in Sanctuary I'd been a thug, starting fist fights in Upper with anyone who challenged me; most were too afraid to fight with fists and always they pulled weapons fearing my strength.

In Lower I brawled with Tigereyes. Such wierd cowards they all were, thugs that respected only strength and with the strength to rule Sanctuary's slums like kings-and instead of doing anything they just picked fights with me for not respecting their failure to take control with their power.

I forget how many I fought but each and every one I faced has died since. No one lasts long in Sanctuary, makes one wonder why they chose that name at all. The city is cursed, its a death sentence to live there.

It certainly was for the halforcs I encountered with Skraggit. Too many clung to the human faiths they were raised in. My first kill was one alongside Skraggit who refused to accept our gods. He dealt the killing blow himself that time in a wererat crypt.

The next kill was mine though. A halforc sworn to Garagos, a god of war with less intellect than Bhagtru. He refused to swear to the proper faiths even after I struck in a manner fitting to Yurtruss, after I crushed the bones of his fingers, then plied the flesh from his bones he still thought Garagos would save him from me.

I wear his skull as a mask today. I'm most fond of it.

Sewertown is where the dregs of humanity settle in Sanctuary, but they're clever and realize the curse of Dunwarren even if some do not understand what it really is.

I like it there.

Ivander Reynolt, I encountered him for the first time down there. Skraggit had murdered some human in the Pissing Crone; he was important some kind of deputy for the Watch or something-and there was an uproar to catch his killer. I led the humans on a merry chase, telling them to go to the wrong place, the wrong spot, even after the wrong half-orcs.

Eventually, they found us in Sewertown though. Reynolt was another Councilor and thought he could demand Sewertown to hand over Skraggit. Then he and his allies were torn apart by trained rats, the get big nasty rats down there-it was great fun to watch. Afterwards I ran through the dying and wounded to cut down the survivors, Reynolt fled only to return trying to loot the fallen.

I beat him to it, and he demanded the return of armor I stripped from a half-orc who followed human gods and human "councilors" to capture and execute good orc-kin like Skraggit. I outsmarted him and gave my old rusted chain and kept that half orc's plate mail. Eventually though, I had a better idea.

I melted down his plate, and crushed the half-orc Venom's bones to powder. I mixed the bone and steel and had a new suit of armor made. I wear that still today.

I'm still welcome in Sewertown, one of the few places. I take keys from scabs and turn them in for rewards when I can. I almost like the scum there and the rat races-I lose more than I win but its a good afternoon.

Scabs, yes those are fun to kill. Not long ago now, the Tigereyes finally pissed off enough people they should have killed years before and got slaughtered.

Afterwards, I caught some human wizard-a servant of the Spellguard lurking in the city invisibly. I attacked him, and he overwhelmed me with his magics but left me alive.

The predictable fool, went to rest right in the Pissing Crone after that. I cut him down in his room, robbed him blind, and he ran for the streets. His humiliation was compounded there and a few lower folk made him walk to Upper naked. I don't think he ever made it, the stairs were destroyed and he had to go through the caverns--naked.

I hope something foul ate him, I just regret not killing him. I saw mercy twice that day, once when he failed to kill me and once when I let him go. Mercy was the last weakness I shed.

The other lesson though, do not be predictable. When hurt don't run to the closest hiding place, don't do what people expect, do not rely on spells to hide you or clever disguises. You must outwit others to survive and be stronger.

To outwit and to be stronger.

That's when I took up banditry. I'd rob travelers on the roads, I'd mug drunks in the alleys of Lower. It was better than adventuring, and I made a fortune at it. I've enough gold now to retire somewhere, study the arts I've learned perhaps as a seer or shaman to any who can bring me the ingredients for rituals or supplies I need to survive.

Yet that's not nearly enough either. I'm learning now, I'm stronger and smarter than my "clan". The Underdark, Yurtruss, and Shargass made me a killer and a cunning one at that. I outlived Rilo, Ivandur, Skraggit, and even a mad beast they called Maalgor who I followed for a brief time.

What I want is so pleasing. It was the Hoarites that tried to kill me that gave me the idea though. I could take down the bounty I put out on their heads in return, but doubt that'll stop them hunting me.

Damnable Hoarites, they thought I'd helped Maalgor sell some humans into slavery. That started our rivalry, and like all the others I'm sure I'll outlive them too.

The only slavery I ever conducted was Cudwig the Traveler. A mortal explorer, his book made great reading. Cudwig was an undead spirit now though. The wererat Chosen sought to bind him to their service, here in cursed Dunwarren.

The curse caught them in the end, and like so many others they died. I'd found adventurers willing to help "free Cudwig". In the end, they even guarded me as we slew the wererat necromancer and I completed the ritual myself binding Cudwig to my service.

This powerful spirit, such a tool. It slaughtered dozens of wererats under my command, but the spirits that whisper in my ears--the souls of my dead orc ancestors warned me Cudwig would never be loyal.

That gave me an idea, the undead are power. I want that power, but using it is not enough-especially when its disloyal. Enter into this--Thomas.

Thomas' shop of undeath has been in the Underdark for a long time. I'm always curious what his story is, but he's not one to talk. A pale master, he's ascended to the stage of undeath itself while still capable of enjoying the pleasures of living--though not yet entirely at terms with it. His madness in seeking a consort of rotting flesh disturbs even myself.

Yet he knew the secrets I'd require, some of them at least. I sought him out, he does not seek out the living himself. I traded him Cudwig in exchange for the tome that teaches one to master undeath as he has done, and since that day I've followed the path of a pale master for myself.

It came down to what the Hoarites taught me. Vengeance, vengeance best served from a position of strength-and I can think of no position that is stronger than an undead deathsinger descending with vengeance upon the orc clan that sold him into slavery and thought him a weak half-human.

Soon. Now I have a new master though, my master's will is indomitable. I can not escape the Underdark yet, and the spirits of my clan clamour for me to serve for now and gain the rewards my new master can grant. Once this last service is done, I will find the surface and bring all my living kin to meet their ancestors. Once the tribe exists solely in the realm of the dead, speaking through me, I can channel their power and I will be strong.

Then I return to mother. She won't need to understand me, I will force her.