The Hunted

The Beastlord stalked amid the ocean of departed souls, seeking his prize. Wading in the tide of spiritual essence, unfathomably powerful claws sifted through that which once was, and that which had yet to be. 

Malar found his quarry, feebly bound to the former champion of Mystra, the tethers loosening, dissipating to nothingness.

As if they’d never been.

The Black-Blooded One bore down upon his subject, the Beastlord’s closeness demanding fealty, submission, acquiescence.

What it found was… betrayal.

“The Hunter becomes the Hunted,” a guttural call resonated behind him. The Beastlord turned to face his adversary, his near-equal in stature and power, whose primal utterance crescendoed to a godly roar.

Malar was not amused.

“A priest, abandoned his god at the hour of death—”

Nobanion’s voice was calm, baiting. The Beastlord spat.

“I know well what he would become!”

“A soul that serves no master,” Nobanion continued. “The most wasteful of wastes, what before us you have sown.”

Malar snarled, bearing enormous fangs that glistened with the lifeblood of a thousand worlds, poisoned by the Beastlord’s unyielding malice over a thousand eons. Sentience swirled around them, goading a battle fought thousands of times before, and yet to be waged as many times and more again.

“Claim the soul, then, Firemane.”

All awaited Nobanion’s reply.

“It is claimed.”