Character

The

Awful

Truth

     The man known as Aeric Bannier was born Leonedes DeChevalier, the son of Baron Randal and Baroness Eloise DeChevalier of the Kingdom of Lyonesse. He had three older brothers--Amon, Dargon, and Cedric--and a twin sister named Celfina. As the fourth-born son, Leon stood to inherit nothing, and envied his brothers with intensity that grew in later years to hatred. His relationship with his parents wasn’t much better, either; his father was a cold man who had little time for a worthless boy like Leon, and his guilt-ridden mother smothered him with attention, treating him more like a daughter than a son. In fact, the only one he really got along with was his sister. They grew up together and were very close.
     Leon dreamed of being a knight and played at it whenever he could escape his mother’s watchful eye. Celfina was also the imaginative sort, and was only too happy to play the damsel in distress for him. Leon’s brothers, on the other hand, had no time for the boy. They were not cruel--at least no crueler than any children are to their younger siblings--and were, for the most part, good and noble of character. But Leon couldn’t see that. All he could see were the wooden swords and lances he played with, for he knew that they were the closest he would ever come to the real thing. His world consisted of the manor house to which he and his sister were restricted to, and the endless menial chores that filled their days. He envied his brothers and blamed them for everything. Even Cedric, who was no squire at all but an acolyte in a faraway monastery, had earned his hatred. Leon kept it all buried deep inside him, where it grew and festered until his heart was black from it.
     The circumstances of Leon’s birth assured him that he would hold no mortal power, but he never dreamed that it would also deny him his heart’s desire as well. Such was the harsh lesson of Katejina Atropos. She was the daughter of a nobleman from a neighboring province, who had some years before arranged a marriage between her Katejina and Baron Randal’s oldest son, Amon. The difference in age between the two—over ten years—was never given any thought, nor was either child’s happiness. It was a political arrangement, pure and simple; the baron had clashed with the girl’s father on several occasions, and was eager to appease him with an advantageous marriage. Amon, heir to the barony, was perfectly happy to obey his father’s command in this matter; the fact that Katejina was a fetching young maid helped to persuade the lusty young knight. Katejina herself was of a different mind on the matter. She was an intellectual child, and had no desire to be married to some arrogant landlord, especially one she had never met before. She wanted to choose her own husband, or to never marry at all if she so desired.
     They met in the autumn of Leon’s thirteenth year; her father had brought her to the Chateau DeChevalier in order to finalize the wedding arrangements, for Katejina had reached the minimum marrying age (twelve) that very day. As the lord’s party entered the castle’s inner courtyard, Leon, watching from a high window, took special notice of the young, beautiful girl accompanying the nobleman. As both families dined in the great hall that evening, Leon couldn’t help but stare at her.   Fortunately, he and Celfina spent as much time helping the servants prepare and serve the food and drink as they did partaking of it, so his attentions were not noticed—or so he thought.
     Later that night, Leon was returning from his errands in the horse stables when he spied a slim figure standing atop the castle wall. Curious, he mounted the stairs leading up to the top of the wall and found it was the girl from the banquet. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, Leon’s senses took leave of him for a moment and he dropped the bucket and shovel he had been carrying with a clatter. Katejina whirled on him, a look of fear and surprise on her face. Leon stumbled to collect the things he had dropped, apologizing lamely all the while. After the initial shock had left her, she studied the awkward boy, bemused, and his embarrassment was replaced by anger when he realized that she was laughing at him.
     He shouted at her, angry at being laughed at, and she shouted back, angry at being shouted at. Their anger soon faded, however, replaced by laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. She knew that he had been staring at her, and asked him why; he stutteringly replied that he had never seen anyone as beautiful as her, at which she blushed and said nothing. They stood there for a long time, looking out over his father’s lands, and spoke of many things, and sometimes of nothing at all. Leon fell in love with Katejina that night, and she with him.
     The following morning, Leon’s sister woke him, for he had overslept and risked a beating if he was tardy in his chores. She demanded to know where he had been half the night, for they shared a room and she had awoken when he finally came to bed. He shyly admitted that he had been talking to the wonderful, beautiful Katejina, and proceeded to sing her praises until he took note of his sister’s pained expression. She told him that Katejina was betrothed to their brother Amon, and were in fact to be wed that very day. Leon refused to believe his sister and bolted out of the room. Finding the main hall empty, he rushed outside to the courtyard to find the stables empty as well.
     He fell to his knees, tears welling in his eyes as he pounded the ground in frustration. When he felt his sister’s arms around him in an attempt to comfort him, he stood, throwing her off.
     “No!” he shouted, “I won’t let him take her away from me too!”
     With that declaration, Leon took off running, out of the castle gate and down the path to the town and the church therein. Exhausted, he reached the chapel just as the ceremony was ending. The doors opened and the noble parties were filing out; last to exit were Amon and Katejina, who looked at him with an expression of sorrow more befitting a funeral shroud than a wedding gown. Before he could do or say anything, however, he was seized by rough hands and jerked around to face his brother Dargon.
     “What are you doing here?” his older brother sneered.
     Then the baron himself approached, and grabbed Leon out of Dargon’s hands. The look he gave him was filled with malice unusual even for him, and Leon knew that his father had somehow learned of his meeting with Katejina.
     Leon was forced to walk back to the castle behind the others. Katejina risked a backwards glance once, but was reprimanded by her new husband and looked no more. By the time they had reached the castle, almost all of Leon’s strength had left him, yet he was commanded by his father to finish the day’s chores. Obeying out of fear, he passed out before an hour had gone by. He was unceremoniously tossed in the dungeon by his father, as punishment for all the day’s transgressions, and although he never said as much, the previous night’s.
     Leon awoke in darkness later in the evening, and was forced to listen to the tortured screams of Katejina as her virginity was brutally ripped from her in the bedchambers above. He pounded on the door of his cell until his hands were bruised and bloody, and his anguished cries matched those of his beloved. Finally the screams subsided, and Leon was left with nothing but his own hoarse sobbing to fill his ears. The next day, Amon and Katejina were gone, returning to the young lord’s own stronghold. Nothing more was said on the subject, but Leon felt as if his heart had been torn out and replaced with something small and black and cold.
     A year passed. Leon, heartbroken and spiritually destitute, grew distant from his sister and only friend. At times he would lash out in anger when she tried to approach him, and so after a while she stopped trying. One night, the twins were awoken by the sounds of argument coming from the main hall of the manor. They peeked down the stairs and saw Father in a drunken furor, pacing back and forth across the room, stopping only long enough to launch a deluge of curses and accusations at their terrified mother. From what they could gather, the argument was about them; apparently the baron had had enough of the “worthless whelps,” and intended to be rid of them one way or the other. The most disturbing revelation of the evening was the accusation that the baron was not the twins’ real father! Confused, hurt, and angry, Leon confronted his parents. The enraged baron struck him to the floor, and when his mother and sister came to his defense, they were beaten as well.
     All the hatred and resentment Leon had kept buried deep inside him erupted to the surface that night. When his father had retired for the evening, Leon sneaked into his room. He stood over the bed for a long moment, his father’s own dirk cradled in his hands, and he looked down at the man who had caused him nothing but pain and grief his entire life. He decided then that if happiness was to be denied him, then the grim satisfaction of revenge would take its place. Leon raised the dagger, and stabbed the baron square in the chest. His tears flowed as freely as his father’s blood as he stabbed, again and again, each dagger-fall accompanied by a flash of memory within the boy’s mind.
     Finally, the violence was over; Baron DeChevalier was dead, and Leon collapsed onto the floor of the bedchamber. He stared at the bloody knife, laughing insanely. He heard a noise at the door, and looked up to see his mother’s pale face, horror-stricken as she saw what her son had done. He leapt to his feet and pushed her out of the way, running out of the castle and into the woods. He ran until he could no longer even stand, finally collapsing in a heap on the forest floor. His nightmares were filled with grinning demons that called him murderer. Chief amongst them was the spectre of his father, who said nothing but pointed a pale, bony claw at his slayer. Leon drove them all away, and felt no guilt the next morning, only an elation at his new freedom.
     Leon traveled southward and joined the army under the guise of a peasant orphan. Even though he was finally in the position to make his dreams come true, Leon had long ago abandoned his childhood ideals in favor of what he felt was reality, a world where you only get what you take and honor is a lie. He made for a violent and insubordinate soldier, and his behavior landed him in the stocks on many occasions before he finally learned to curb his aggressive tendencies. He managed to behave himself in front of his superiors while continuing to bully and intimidate those around him into fearing and respecting him. He was made assistant to the battalion’s sergeant by the end of his fourteenth year, his first taste of power.
     Over the course of the next two years, Amon and Dargon caught up with him, seeking to bring their bastard half-brother to justice, even if it was only on the end of their swords. They were older than him, and well-trained in the arts of warfare, but Leon was a footsoldier and a murderer, and had seen more killing and bloodshed than both his brothers combined. One by one they came for him, and one by one they died. Even Cedric, driven mad by news of his father and brothers’ murders, came after Leon, and was slain as well. How they were able to find him remains a mystery to this day.
     Leon had lost any sense of morality he once possessed. All that mattered to him now was power. Gone were the childhood dreams of being a knight. His ambition was as limitless as his depravity in the pursuit of it. By age sixteen he had gained the trust and confidence of his captain, a man by the name of Tiepolo, who made him his sergeant and second-in-command. By the age of seventeen he betrayed that trust by murdering the man, using the confusion of battle to hide his crime. He was made captain of the unit shortly thereafter.
     After his promotion, Leon began to look beyond the sphere of the mundane for sources of power. Having been given his first real taste of mortal authority, he found that it was not enough. He began to spend more and more of his off time at the “Philosopher’s School” in search of arcane secrets and shortcuts to mystic power. Gold and threats bought him access to the academy’s library of forbidden knowledge. He dedicated himself to the Black Art, slowly instructing himself in the most rudimentary magicks, all the while searching for a way to call upon even more power.
     During this time, he made the aquaintance of a young apprentice by the name of Varezi Sarabrande. Like Aeric, Sarabrande hungered for power beyond that which he was learning from his tutors in the school. Together they plunged into the darkest of the Black Arts. With the help of his new “friend,” Aeric was able to conjure a powerful demon from the pits of the netherworld. This he did, and as Pazuzu, Prince of the Air, stood before Leon in a circle of summoning, the young soldier entered into a pact of service with the entity. Pazuzu became Leon’s patron and protector of sorts, granting him supernatural attributes and mentoring him in his studies of sorcery. In return, Leon swore to be the demon prince’s agent on earth, performing whatever grim deeds it desired in exchange for the power that he had sought all his life. Leon swore the pact without a second thought.
     With his newfound power and innate ruthlessness, Leon rose quickly through the ranks. Anyone who stood in his way, whether as competition or opposition, was disposed of quickly and discreetly. Those who could sense his otherworldly power flocked around him, and while he was not especially talented in the realms of strategy or leadership, his was a cult of personality that could not be ignored. None of this was lost on the military high council, who approved Leon’s assignment to the elite Death Corps, the most brutal cadre of evil warriors in Lyonesse.
     The Death Corps was comprised of the outcasts of society: bastards, psychopaths, and various “reformed” criminals. The Corps was like a rabid dog, kept on a short chain and unleashed upon the realm’s enemies, both without and within. The officers of the Corps were the kennel-masters, highly disciplined, ruthless in their efficiency, and fanatically loyal to the king, enforcing his policy without question or remorse. Leon fit in well with them, and in time took command of the Death Corps. He ran the cadre with an iron fist, and no one dared question his authority. Leon made quite a name for himself as the head of the Corps. He was made a lord in his own right, and achieved the standard of living he had always desired as a youth in his stepfather’s castle. It was sometimes a precarious balance, serving two masters, but Leon was able to both do his duty to Osric as well as to Pazuzu.
     Early on in his career in the Corps, Leon found himself leading a small unit of men through the northern wilderlands of Lyonesse in search of bandits. It was a miserable and rainy night, and so the light emanating from a tower on the horizon promised the comfort of a dry bed to Leon and his men. The tower was home to the sorceress Myshella, a dark magus like Leon who dealt with divination and the spirit world. Leon was suitably unimpressed by the witch, although he was stricken by her dark sensuality. She, in turn, was attracted to his aura of power and aggressiveness. The two crossed paths on many occasions over the course of the next few years, and they shared a bed on most of them.
     In the winter of his twenty-fourth year, the Death Corps was ordered to destroy a convent in the mountains that had refused to pay the king’s exorbitant religious tax. Only the Death Corps was capable of such a slaughter; statues were smashed, books and scrolls were burnt, and buildings were put to the torch, even as the nuns were dragged out of them to be brutally raped and killed in the street. As Leon oversaw the carnage from horseback, he witnessed an elderly nun run out from one of the buildings, only to be seized by two of his men. Something came over him, and he called out to the soldiers to bring her forward. As he looked down at her soot-covered, tear-streaked face, his blood ran cold, for he looked into the face of his very own mother.
     Sitting up straight in the saddle, he told them to kill her, spitting the words out quickly as if he feared swallowing them. The man to her left pulled a dagger from his belt and raised it to plunge into her heart, when without warning, Leon changed his mind and drew his own sword, savagely chopping the soldier nearly in half. The other man backed away nervously as Leon grabbed the blood-splattered old nun and threw her over the front of his horse, then wheeled and galloped back to his army’s encampment.
     Once there, he guided her through the camp and into his tent. His head was swimming. What should he do? Here was his mother, who was in some part responsible for making his life miserable, and yet he hesitated in destroying her. Why? What did he care for anyone, especially his family? As he closed the tent flap behind him, he stood there staring at her. The light of recognition shone in her eyes, and she fell to her knees in shock. Her body wracked with sobs, and she prayed aloud as her son approached her, sword in hand. Do it!, his mind screamed, but he could not. Amidst the old woman’s sobs and prayers, Leon heard his sister’s name. His heart racing, he grabbed his mother roughly and demanded to know Celfina’s whereabouts. When she confessed that his sister was also at the convent, Leon rushed out of the tent and leapt onto his horse, thundering through the night towards
the flame-lit spot of sky on the horizon.
     Leon searched the ruins for hours, as well as the surrounding countryside, but there was no sign of his sister, alive or dead. He could only assume that she numbered among those bodies too badly burnt to recognize. As he returned to camp, shoulders hunched in defeat, one of his soldiers ran up to him.
     “My lord,” the soldier said, “your...prisoner...tried to run away. We were forced to kill her to prevent her escape.”
     Leon looked past the soldier, who was visibly shaking in fear, to a trio of men standing over the crumpled, bloodied form of a nun’s habit. He dismounted slowly, numbly, and approached the scene. He squatted down next to the body and turned it over, as if somehow expecting it to be someone other than his mother. As he looked at her sightless eyes staring off into oblivion, something deep inside him snapped. His childhood came back to him in a flood of memories, a life with a wonderful sister and a loving, if overbearing, mother. Even his brothers were not so unkind as to deserve their fate. They were all long gone now, destroyed by his hands. He stared at his black gauntlets and could almost see the years of blood covering them.
     He rose from his haunches and stumbled off to his tent, while around him soldiers commented under their breath about their lord’s unusual taste in women. He sat in the darkness of his tent the night through, not even bothering to remove his armor. Over the course of the evening, revelation settled upon his mind like the morning mist upon the earth. He had allowed himself to become a servant of Darkness, seduced completely by his own lust for power. His petty selfishness had destroyed everyone and everything that had ever mattered to him. He shed his armor and sword beneath the early morning sky and walked silently out of the camp, never looking back.
     Leon wandered aimlessly for months. He took on the identity of Aeric the Beggar, for he had been branded a deserter and traitor by the military. Not that he cared, though; he had lost the will to live, and would have ended it all if he wasn’t so afraid of the hell that awaited him. In time, he found himself in Warwick, and after a fateful encounter with a young woman who would eventually become his page sister, Aeric became a page of the Court of Light.
     And the rest, as they say, is history….

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