Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [115]
Storm's healing mind would later let her remember only a few of the memories of Bane she'd gone seeking. The first was the spicy taste of his satisfaction as he entered the body of the marilith and possessed her mind, crushing her will forever. He feasted on her memories, and found among them that one of her greatest triumphs was her recent rebuilding of the ravaged body of the mortal Maxer, to be her pleasure-slave.
Bane passed into Maxer, and saw what sustained and drove the risen man: his vivid memories of his beloved Storm Silverhand and her powers. Storm, a Chosen of Mystra!
Bane exulted, slaughtering hapless creatures at random in a wild orgy of death as he celebrated glee. Storm would be for him a road to wounding Mystra and prying away some of her great power!
The Dark God decided that Maxer must be his new mortal form, to protect it fully. He used subsumption to drain the powers of the marilith into this new body.
He became Maxer-or rather, Maxer became Bane, mortal awareness dwindling as the god seized his form. A triumphant Bane set about scheming how to get at Mystra through Storm… and how to corrupt the Harpers to his will, whatever else befell.
Then came the disaster of the Fall of the Gods, and madness. Only the burning goal of regaining godhood kept this abandoned remnant of Bane from utter and irreversible insanity. Still, he was trapped in a mortal shell, with little more than the power of subsumption and the ability to see magic and living things in darkness and slumber.
Though firmly in thrall to the wandering mind of Bane, Maxer remembered Storm and yearned to be with her again. The twisted intellect that had once been a part of Bane, perceiving her powers, wanted to possess her… and so began the long journey and clumsy scheming that had led to Athlan Summerstar's murder in Firefall Keep.
Storm shuddered and surfaced, silver flames blazing briefly from her eyes and then curling away to nothingness. Did anything of Maxan Maxer survive? And how sane would the man she had loved-would always love-be after torment under a tanar'ri and then enthrallment under the awful weight of a god's mind?
No matter; what she must do was clear. Faerun itself demanded it.
“Broglan!” Storm cried, turning to him. “Anchor me!”
The war wizard blinked. “How?” he asked, bewildered.
“Think of me-remember my looks, my voice, the way I move, what I’ve said-only keep remembering!”
Broglan nodded, a grown of concentration settling on his face. He reached out and took hold of her chin gently, holding her face so that he could look into it. Solemnly, he looked her bare body up and down, before nodding, clearing his throat, and saying roughly, “Do what you have to do, and may Mystra be with us both!”
Storm gave him a smile of thanks, and descended again into the darkness that had once been a part of Bane.
This time, madness was waiting for her-and it was desperate.
A sword of hatred stabbed into her, and fear lashed deep its blazing brands. She snarled and drove deeper, battered but determined, hurling silver fire wherever the darkness was deepest.
The pain of his attacks came again and again, always vicious thrusts that struck at what would disgust her-eyeballs and fingernails and worse. The silver fire surged and restored, but her mind grew steadily darker and angrier… and it was in her mind that the struggle would be won or lost.
The foe lurked, almost gloating, and slid away when she tried to smite, only to slash and goad from behind. Storm snarled and spun the silver fire about her like a cloak, bo that to injure her, he must himself be harmed. Against every dark vision of cruelty, she set one of love, or sacrifice, or honor, calling on the long strivings tat peace and justice, and friendship that she and her fellow sisters and Harpers had undertaken.
Those memories made her weep anew for friends gone and their noble deeds done. In answer to her raw heart, the silver fire began