A Sordid Fellowship: The Beginning

[mcian]

"I am pleased you could meet with me. I am Damian Racsen," he introduced himself to the hooded figure that stood before him at his domain, the Crystal Palace.

"We know who you are. Your name and exploits are well known to us from your past. We salute the name and those efforts," replied the figure in a raspy whisper, his hands concealed within the sleeves of his nondescript monk's robe.

Damian nodded approvingly.

"However, we were very displeased by your actions recently. You intruded into our affairs. It must not happen again."

A brief moment passed. "Let it go this time," Damian said.

The Cultist looked about. "Are you speaking to me?" he inquired, his tone evincing his confusion.

Damian shook his head. "No but I just saved your life."

The Cultist paused. "I do not understand."

"Nevermind. Let us continue. Clearly you mean the subjugation of Lord Thraxas?"

The man nodded once. "He helped us obtain all the Black Rock we shall ever need. We may have had further use for him. Now he is gone thanks to you and your friends."

"He was my enemy. I defeat or destroy my enemies, and sometimes worse. He was powerful and I did not believe slaying him would be enough. He is banished from this realm. Tell those you represent that I do not repent nor apologize for anything," he replied evenly.

A brief chuckle emanated from behind the darkened hood. "Well said. But utimately it is a small matter; his assistance to our cause ended if not the relationship. We now deal with you. What is it you desire of us?"

"Your "friend" stole something from me - a valuable gift. I want it back from those who now have it. They will never relinquish it without a fight. I mean to fight them. I will have it back."

"What is this gift?"

Damian smiled. "That is not your concern. I would not have two enemies that I must eliminate over it."

The Cultist nodded. "Understood."

"I have wine that I tainted with a substance which creates havoc in the mind. I want it dispersed in the well water of Yew. I hear the wells are artesian - deep and pure. Disperse it in them over time. The people of Yew will suffer. I shall tell my enemies this will continue until I obtain my property. I want your assistance in this process."

"What do you offer us in return?"

"What is it you seek?"

"Nothing at the moment but a time may come when we will return and ask for a favor; payment. You will not decline nor defer this payment. Do you agree to this?"

Damian nodded. "I pledge with my word and with blood," he said, drawing out his keen dagger using it to slice across the open palm of his left hand. Blood ran and dripped off onto the floor. "If I refuse, may my blood be cursed and my life be forfeit," he stated.

"We shall get on this whenever you are ready."

Damian wiped the blood from his palm. "I have many crates of the wine but I need more produced. I am sure it will take a lot to corrupt the water of Yew. I shall gather them together in a safe place for dispersal. I will send word when I am ready."

"We know how to get this done. Call upon us when you are." He gave a slight bow and exited via a nearby portal.

Damian watched him. When he was out of earshot, he spoke again, "Follow him but do not kill him."

Zhenika, the wraith, appeared at his right side. "Yes Master."

"Thank you for restraining yourself. You must not kill everyone who slights me."

Zhenika acknowledged the command and vanished once more.

[mcian]

It was time to act. Damian had given his henchmen, and henchwomen, their orders. The deed was to begin today. All was in readiness. The stocks of Jexmir's Deep Wine, processed from grapes grown in the Underdark and mixed with an hallucinogenic, semi-toxic, substance, were in location, hidden from sight. The only delay was the need for darkness and concealment.

The usually drunken assistant at the Abbey Winery, nicknamed "Mugsy the Mule" by his cohorts due not only to the menial tasks he was always given but also his facial features, had worked all night to get things in place.  His given name was Brother Goode which he despised; he had much preferred a name used in Papua for a time, Brother Sy.  He had been contacted by the Cultists and had confirmed to them that preparations had been made.  He was paid handsomely and had kept his mouth shut.  No one knew what was to happen.  Even he did not know the details; only that he was to help disperse wine to the locals as a charitable act, which he thought was a waste.  He nearly opened a crate and drank some of the wine, but he had been strongly instructed to refrain, and a strong prohibition from the leadership meant violent, painful, and sudden death when ignored.

So he waited out the day at the Winery, drinking only moderately this time, nervously pacing and hoping that what he had to do could be finished quickly, unseen.  He knew better.  Nothing ever worked out for him or went according to plan, but his master brooked no failure.  He had to make sure this succeeded if he wanted to live to see another day.