Afternoon, May 16, 1361 DR.
Anaheim Manor, outside Suzail, capital of Cormyr, the Purple Dragon Kingdom.
Mannacorn Anaheim sat in his office, pressing down a slat of the blinds with one finger to peer outside.
There was no real need for him to do this, but humans naturally enjoyed illicit surveillance and unauthorized entry. It was something etched deep into human DNA.
A ritual offering sacrifices to devils was underway.
Some of his former subordinates had been thrown into a bloody, brutal scene. Around them, like birdsong in spring, the Bane Godspawn heard the crack of whips, the sounds of torture instruments, and the screams, pleas, and moans of the dying. Some desperately begged for their loved ones to be spared.
Mannacorn bit his lip hard. He knew many of these people, and their voices drifted into his ears like the wind in the brilliant spring afternoon.
Many of them had once been the Bane Godspawn's friends and loyal subordinates.
Yes, friends. The Bane Godspawn was surprised to discover that he still remembered that word. Looking back, things between them had once been so wonderful. They had gathered around the same goal, the same dream. He had delivered impassioned speeches standing on bar counters, and these people had cheered his slogans.
Unfortunately, they had ultimately chosen not to stand with him.
That made them enemies.
Mannacorn watched them collapse on the blood-drenched altar, watched the devils disguised as humans gleefully carry out their executions. The devils were not content with slaughter. They preferred to inflict indescribable torment before taking mortal souls.
This was his bargain with the great devil Bael-the pit fiend who claimed to be the rightful lord of Avernus-and this was merely the down payment.
Wounds, holes, blood streaming across the ritual altar, hearts cut out and brains