Legends of Belariath

Mozenwrathe

Ebon Ivory - Without A Care Are You

When it comes to motivations, trying to figure out what drove the half-breed known as Syndel Voidwalker is as insane as trying to convince a troll to try mediating a truce between warring high human kingdoms. The logic is just not there. His bloody swath would be considered minor as compared to some of the better known warlords of the first and third continents. His atrocities, though, were far more personalized. In his eyes, his victims were not mere footsteps toward a throne. No, for him each person was a dish to be devoured and savoured, an experience to drown himself in if he had the time to. Rape was not an act of power, but a psalm to be embraced and spread to the downtrodden masses. Every time he killed someone outside of combat, threads of joy wove themselves around his veins. Inside of an actual battle, the thrill of ending a life tended to be muted for him. Given an hour or so, Syndel would be just shy of an orgasm from the spilling of blood and the shredding of flesh. If he was injured, Syndel thought it was worth it in the quest for his personal legacy.

"Dragons and demons themselves quake when they hear my approach. "For my touch is soft and my poison great. "Will none I desire stand against me for long "As their will and their strength are mine to abate. "Nothing the light shows or the shadow hides "Is below notice or above my cursed caress. "Know thee now that in time your screams will be mine "Before into mindless little corpse you'll regress"

The best word to describe Syndel was predator. And he could "feast" anywhere groups of people lived. Whether it be some withered hermit in the woods, or a visiting nobleman in a famed keep, the mix-blood marauder made it a point to get to them in a way they could never forgot. Though he was an equal opportunity sort of craven cutthroat, the moriel-blooded monster loved to hunt down men. The stronger they were, the greater the victory for Syndel. Often, there would be small groups of slavers about, hoping to find stragglers from caravans or lost adventurers for a hefty profit. Most of these so-called hunters were clearly spouting the scriptures of Aden`Ver and Ishtar as gospel, but only giving such powers lip service. When the nights were long and the forests dark, Syndel would normally claim one or two from such a party for his own. Doing his best not to kill them immediately, the elf thought himself like a trap spider, pouncing his prey and dragging them into the dark to be consumed at his leisure. Though it was never a literal thing, for Syndel was no cannibal, there had been times he had left a particularly rebellious victim strung up where other predators could reach them. After all, once the Stygian-spirited elf was done with his prey, whether they lived or died was immaterial... unless there was more fun to be had with them in either way. More than once, the elf was struck by inspiration when slowly dissecting one part of a still living and breathing person. But what he would do when such happened was something else entirely.

"Languishing in baths of blood and gore, "Does my frame unwind and rest. "Contemplating the way I'll decapitate your friends "To put your willpower to the test. "And when I rise from this pool of spilled life "Staining my skin with crimson red, "Shall I place my hands 'round your throat slowly "Until I see you at my feet dead."

It wasn't that Syndel did not strike down the weak, but those were everywhere. Shopkeepers and retired farmers, fops from the larger towns and collectors of taxes. Something that didn't have much a challenge rarely held the interest of the bane-blooded bastard for very long. Loving to be entertained, normally those that could take more of a beating were his preference. The infirm and the wounded were glorious for taking away and torturing mentally for a while, mainly as they had such interesting protests and prayers they would utter. The longer he could make some old man scream for long dead relatives and gods that cared nothing for him, the hotter his blood ran. Patriarchs were a metaphysical delicacy, as they were important to generations of people. Why torture one, when you can make an entire village suffer and writhe in guilt and horror? Hermits that were religious outcasts were excellent for such things. The scrolls they often possessed were invaluable sources of apocrypha that he used to find his next place to travel to. Some days he would be tempted to burn everything the person had sought to acquire and accomplish. It took a lot of willpower not to succumb to those desires, which ended up being sublimated into a different "hobby" of his, but such was he infinitely less famous for.

"Sleep is not for the weak or the slow "But you will not escape me in a dream. "The moment your eyes close and reverie takes you "My whispering ways will drown you in a stream. "Leather around your thighs and waist "Hoping to protect you against my knife. "What shall save your tongue and your throat "As I come to cut out your life?"

It has never been confirmed whether or not Syndel ever went to the first or third continent. Mainly as trade between the three land masses has rarely been for information. Slaves and stories do not often come on the same ship, and by the time one of the massive galleons makes it across the vast waters, any tale would be as diluted as the wines in a cheap tavern. This wasn't to say that he hadn't left the second continent at least once. There was a period of just under one hundred years where not a soul heard from him. The lands that Syndel had terrorized to any degree had been free of his diabolical taint for more than three human generations. Towns he had passed through forgot his name, cities attributed his acts of disgusting and elaborate violence to passing through armies or necromancers. It was as if he never existed. At least, that was above ground. Below ground, there is nothing confirmed whether or not the half-breed tried to ingratiate himself into the society of the dark elves. Being male alone would have made things excruciatingly difficult for him. With his impure blood, his chances of even being considered worthy of the lowest rank in a lower ranked House would be pitiful. And the reason why there is nothing solid known about whether Syndel went into the NetherGloom is that most are far too afraid to ask. There are many of the dark elven people who chronicle the comings and goings of random souls who venture into the zhennu che'el of the NetherGloom. Most of those are members of minor or major moriel Houses, and as such getting an audience with them is much like taking your life in your hands. The few "independent" ones are either on the payroll of one of the temples, or an archivist stashed away in a library. Even then, most moriel have never heard of Syndel Voidwalker, so it is unlikely he tried to become a member of dark elven society. (At least, that is the public face most give. There have been one or two who've shown some sign of recognition of the name, but are rather swift to hide it.)

"Bottles of wine and casks of ale. "Neither would make me too drunk to savour your fall. "And while your bones break under my hands "Shall I hum as your gods you haplessly call "Villain from without, and villain from within? "Known I both, and carved them each a new smile. "Whispered dalliances of suffering and sin? "Mine do I sing on ramparts, showing off in style."

The half-blooded moriel always had a singular dream: to be known in the eyes and hearts of all those who lived north of Sturntsalise. The legend of the one known as Stormbringer was everywhere on the second continent. He who brought stability through the sword. That was impressive, and also erksome to the carnage-seeking cur of elven descent. Syndel didn't want unity, but anarchy. Where some lived to build things up, he sought to tear them down. Not in terms of buildings and towns, but the harmony so many tried to live in. And it was not for any noble or grand reason, only that victims were a little harder to come by when they were all huddled together like sheep. Sure, it was not as if he had to go without the horrified shrieks of a wife finding their husband laying in their marriage bed disemboweled for very long, but some days he wanted to do more. Bouncing from town to town and village to village was no real hardship, but there were rather lean days and weeks in between at times. Those "lean days" didn't count when he was healing up from wounds and ailments gained from his proclivities. That was just part of the fun for him: basking in his own suffering for a while, going over what he had done to others, occasionally reading through the diaries and journals of well-to-do people he had strung up by their own jewelery and silken bedsheets, things of that nature. The most important thing for Syndel was that there'd be someone that noticed what had happened... eventually. Inside of a city, he wanted a few hours or a few days to pass before someone learned what he had done. Being known for terrorizing citizens was far different than being caught by the local guards for such deeds. Punishment for his heinous acts was not in his schedule. That would only take away from his time to think of whom next to pull down into the darkness.

"Your heroes are mere tales to keep you warm at night. "I am known for my cruelty, and feared for my silence. "The snapping of branches could me by footsteps "While I introduce your grandfather to my violence. "Underneath the world you know and bless "Shall I bury you and snap your frail spine. "Who will mourn your fallen body "As I brand your spirit mine?"

For an elf, Syndel was rather racist. Considering all other races beneath the elves, and all other elves lesser than himself, Syndel was an elitist. He never expressed such thoughts to the masses, only his current victims. The more about himself the bloody-minded bastard told to one, the more likely it was they were going to perish. Of course, he was far too smart to give those in his power all of the truth. Half of it was always lies, saying how he had been a prince of an elven city one day, then a ogre persecuted by the gods the next. (That tale had been particularly inspired. He had almost convinced himself by the time he finished his oration, and let the two men go. Following them back to their camp, Syndel spent the next seven nights slaughtering each one of the adventuring party in a fashion that used stone tools and heavy branches of wood.) His favourite race to ravage and rape? Humans, beyond a shadow of a doubt. There were always so many of them, one could kill off a dozen and there'd be hundred more within a few years. They bred so fast, as if they were replenishing themselves just for his own delights. Filthy, worthless, fat, and ugly, humans were the perfect quarry. Easily duped, and easily replaced. Like low-laying apples for a tall horse, just waiting to be plucked and eaten.

"Replace your spears with swords and shields "Yet all your defenses will I pass with ease. "Will your throats be cut by my ragged blade "Before you may fall in terror upon your knees. "My eyes will gaze upon your bodies "Broken by my heavy boot into your sides. "And then will your flesh be mine to etch "Sweet poetry into your wretched hides."

He often played with his words much as he toyed with the senses: like a cat carefully hooking a lyre's string with a claw. Some days, he would give his "playthings" as he called his captives small hopes, having them engage him in polite conversation. Doing this did three things for the crossbreed: time to figure out how he would afflict new agony upon his prey, learning about other potential victims, and alleviated a little boredom. Never content to do things in one fashion, occasionally he would even release his prey to try to find safe haven. Flipping a mehrial, the dark elf chose whether or not he'd bother to chase after them. Such would his legend grow, in fact. Though there were times he would ignore the coin, especially if it was a sweet-hipped girly-boy. He found they mewled and wept so well if you raped them a second time after letting them believe they were going to be set free. Those tears of anguish and betrayal were so sweet to lick off. Gripping them by the balls, Syndel had to choke down the insane giggling that welled up in his throat as he squeezed, hearing them crying and clawing for freedom that would never be truly theirs.

"Justice and honour have no place "With a world that is born in blood and fire. "Any who believe in either thing "Shall be strung up with a broken lyre. "In this world where my step is heard "May fortune favour my delicate voice. "And know you forever more if you live "Then it was because of my benevolent choice." **

** - Everything in quotes was found on sheets of parchment outside of a burned down burn in the town of Bendith a'Noddir Gan'y. Within, the charred remains of no less than seven people were discovered. It was suspected there were more, but they had all been desecrated horribly. It was the worse tragedy to occur to the town in the one hundred years of its existence. It had actually been signed by Syndel, the ink used suspected to be the blood of his victims. The title for his "masterwork?" Anonymous Musings By The Fireside.

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