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Message: <blockquote data-quote="papa_laz" data-source="post: 484728" data-attributes="member: 7992">The Church of Hextor in KorvellWhile the centralised and coherant governing policies of the northern land would undoubtably make the acceptance of a deity such as Hextor highly improbable, the southern land yields a more independant and less structured ruling class, providing an easier means of establishing the churchs dominance. At present, the Scourges influence in Narras-Caer is relatively small. However, since the first of the imposing fortress-temples took root in the desecrated grounds of southern Korvell, Hextors power has grown at a steadily increasing rate.It was nigh on ten years ago, in the depths of Korvells harshest winter to date,  that the name of Hextor was made synonomous with calculated brutality and unrivaled military prowess. As the icy gales and devestating blizzards of the winter had reached their peak, the southern towns of Korvell found themselves victim to a seemingly endless onslaught of barbarian raids. From the southern steppe they came, whirling their greataxes with psychotic abandon and howling, like wolves, for blood. The tribes, whos warriors had centuries ago been slaughtered by the merciless forces of Legio, had reformed, grown in strength, and now saught vengeance. They came in the night, unleashing a whirlwind of merciless slaughter upon the populace, before vanishing into the darkness, taking with them many of the towns vital supplies. In their wake the Barbarians left only the smouldering remains of razed buildings and the bodies of their victims, usually maimed beyond recognition.As his own soldiers proved themselves useless against the guerilla tactics of the barbarians, Sario, the head of the Van Zandt Noble House, partitioned the King to send aid in the form of his elite royal gaurd. Unwilling to divert his soldiers from the war, Azar refused the dukes request, leaving him with only one option. Sario had heard little of the dreaded mercenaries whom he was about to strike a deal with, and knew only that they worshipped the evil god of war and massacre, Hextor. He contaced the elusive cleric Dreznar, who he was told, would be able to summon the mercenaries within a matter of days. In exchange for the services of the Firsts of Hextor, Dreznar demanded the construction of fortress temples in the towns of Moraki, Hess and Tsaris. Desperate to end the mayhem that was quickly spreading across the realm, Sario reluctantly agreed to the demands and the contract was sealed with the blood of both men.The next morning a unit of the elite, black cloaked mercenaries thundered into Moraki on massive dark steeds. They numbered only thirty, and the hearts of the people, huddled inside their houses, sank when they realised their saviours would be vastly outnumbered by the barbarian tribes. Into the town centre the Fists rode, and as the representative hurried to greet them, they dismounted. Their leader, Nassar, removed his deathly black helmet, and at that moment all doubt of the mercenaries abilities vanished. He had the face of a demon, his skin pulled taught across a gaunt face that had no doubt seen more carnage and bloodshed than any man should in a hundred life times. His shaven skull was crisscrossed with the ritualised scarring of the Fists' grueling initiation ceremony and several of the townsfolk swore his eyes gleamed a deep and malevolent red. On his back he carried a composite long bow of obvious magical power, and from a scabbord on his belt he drew a long and deadly looking sword. Its serated blade was a dark grey colour, and in his gauntleted hand Nassar swung it, with the casual confidence of a master. Nassar spoke a few words to the representative before donning his helmet and climbing back on to his horse.As the Fists mounted their steeds and thundered off into the wilderness, the representative was left to ponder the solitary command given to him by their demon faced leader. One hundred wooden poles, each 6ft high, were to be hammered into the surface of a nearby plateu that overlooked the town. Fearful of angering the mercenaries, the representative ordered all able bodied townsfolk to set to work gathering the poles and hammering them in. By nightfall the job was done, and the townsfolk gathered round, staring at the bewildering sight they had created. That night they slept in peace.The next morning the Fists returned, bringing with them the spoils of war. One hundered prisoners; men, women and children, were pulled behind the immense black steeds, their arms bound with crude rope. On to the staked plateu the Fists dragged them, screaming and writhing at the realistion of their fate. As the townsfolk looked on, hatred in their eyes, the captives were tied one by one to the poles. "These are the ones who wished to kill you and drink your blood!" yelled Nassar in a deep and booming voice. "The ones who burnt your houses and slaughtered your loved ones. Do you wish to show them mercy, to reward their barbarism?" He paused, looking over the hating, tearful eyes of the townsfolk. "Mercy is for the weak. And weak you shall be, lest you slay those who wish to do you harm." He knelt before a small boy whos tearful eyes betrayed the loss he had faced at the hands of the barbarians, and drew a long serated dagger from his belt. Handing it to the child, Nassar led the boy through the ranks of captives, until he found a child of similar age. The children stared at each other, their eyes filled with terror, and Nassar knelt again whispering into the boys ear. Suddenly, the child, his face distorted by anger and hatred, plunged the dagger deep into the stomach of the captive standing opposite him. The child thrust the dagger again and again into his enemy and his victim screamed louder with each thrust. The blade cut deep into the flesh and the boy hacked and sliced at his victim, rending meat from bone. The victims screams disolved into gurgles as blood began to gush from his mouth, and eventually he died, his own intestines wrapped crudely around his bloody neck.The Fists observed with pleased looks as the crowd of townsfolk began to seeth with fury and vengeful hatred. "Weapons for all!" yelled Nassar, and the Fists quickly began to distribute daggers, swords and axes to the murderous commoners. It was said that upon witnessing this act of despicable depravity, Hextor smiled, and for for the first time in months, rays of sunlight shone through the slowly dissipating clouds of the southern skies. The Barbarian raiders of the southern steppe had been all but eradicated by the Fists co-ordinated battle tactics and combat prowess. The people of southern Korvell, eternally grateful to their saviours, swore allegiance to Hextor and renounced the worship of any other Deity. Hateful of the King who refused to defend his own people, the townsfolk of Korvell declared him a selfish weakling worthy only of death. The Champion of Evil had been the only deity who saught to save the people. And for this he would be worshipped eternally.</blockquote>

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