"Journals of Shank Stabspine (Neriak)"
Shank Stabspine
Neriak. Home of the dread dark elves, a subterranean city that has long hidden its secrets from the lands of light and jealously guarded its wealth from the lesser races. The intimate intrigues are only matched by the brazen acts of violence of the city’s inhabitants. Its meandering streets are purposely designed to confuse outsiders and would be invaders, often times leading to blind bottleneck alleys or dead end streets. It is a city none the less and in spite of the obvious danger merchants of other races come here to peddle their goods or perhaps to pry some bit of wealth from the clutching grasp of the dark elves. These foreign merchants huddle together in a small cavern section of the city referred to as the Foreign Quarter, far from the true area of power and wealth of the dark elf city.
In this cruel and unforgiving city was born a child named Isvin. Born to a prostitute in one of the many brothels of the city. She was Nedleyene a comely female with little or no talent except for those of hedonistic pleasures. Her childbirth came as quite a surprise and a major inconvenience to the young whore, but the child still held some value, for this child was conceived by a respected member of the Indigo Brotherhood and Guardian of the Third Gate. In Neriak station held above all other thing wealth and skill were certainly nice amenities but true power and status were the only measure of a dark elf. With the child born of an officer of the Indigo Brotherhood, young Nedleyene sought to trap guard T’Vem into keeping her as his paramour. She raised the child till age of five where upon she sprang her clever little trap on Warrior. The results were not what the young whore had expected in the least. The dark elf warrior callously cut her down in the very streets and cast the bastard child into the gutter.
There amidst the filth and foulness of the gutters of Neriak was a young child, abandoned. Not an uncommon sight in Neriak, for many dark elves cast aside unwanted or unruly children who served them no purpose. It is the way of dark elves for if you outlive your usefulness; you simply cease to live! Small bands of young outcast waifs roam the streets of Neriak, mostly in the Foreign Quarter, living of the scraps of the society. Feral dirty little creatures they scurry through the darkened alleys like rats, eager to pounce upon the weak and quick enough to elude the strong. It was one such group of toughs that came upon Isvin and with sadistic delight they savagely attacked the child. Isvin by sheerest of luck escaped the older boys with naught more than some bruises. He fled into the dreary woods of Nektulos Forest and sought shelter underneath the leafy canopy of the dark forest. He lived simply as an animal for a short time killing small forest creatures for food and drink from the deep cold stream. Here at a tender young age, he learned the most base of survival instincts, kill or be killed. He fashioned himself a crude knife from petrified wood and soon became proficient in it use. With in a year the young boy returned to the caverns of Neriak, this time he came well prepared.
Armed with his crude shank the young dark elf stalked the streets of the Foreign Quarter as a hunter would a deer. He sought of the small gang of boys who cruelly chased him from the sheltering safety of the city and into the harsh environs of the outside world. One by one young waifs’ bodies began to litter the darkest alleys of the Foreign Quarter, their lifeless corpses sporting a vicious and crude stab wounds which flowed freely of blood. His reputation amongst the other waifs on the streets increased and he was knick named Shank, for the crude knife he wielded. In time he came to run his own gang of toughs in the Foreign Quarter, bold and daring these thugs preyed upon strangers to the city, whom the guards had little concern for. Some foreign merchants referred to the boy as Fizzlethorpe’s whelp for his uncanny luck of avoiding capture. If such a deity of luck did shine upon him than the young boy would at least pay him lip service. Shank prospered and soon was reaching the age of young manhood, a time when the streets became to small for a young hood and the notice of guardsmen was harder to avoid. It was again the fortune of Fizzlethorpe shined down upon the young dark elf and offered him rescue from the streets of Neriak.
Salvation came in the form of a tall lithe dark elf that seemed to gather the very essence of darkness about him. All the street urchins whispered his name, for to speak aloud was surely to invite death. He was Nyrital agent of the guild, Neriak’s very powerful thieves and assassin’s guild! It was common knowledge that one of the cites greatest exports was its killers for hire. Masters of stealth, ruthless in nature, and an affinity for poison made dark elves the quintessential assassin. It was often thought that Nyrital was the only contact any non dark elf could have with the guild and thus haunted the foreign quarter frequently. What wasn’t know was Nyrital was also a scout for the guild and often paid close attention to young street urchins who may hold promise as future killers for the guild. Shank was one such urchin. Nyrital cornered the young youth and at the end of a long deadly blade the senior assassin indentured the young street tough to the guild.
Shank was whisked off to the Commons Quarter of town, a part of Neriak that housed the larger population of the cites dark elves. Here no foreigners were allowed, this was the city full of homes and businesses that encompassed the daily life of the dark elves. Here also was the training grounds and fortress like home of the Indigo Brotherhood. The warrior’s guild that was pledged to guard Neriak against all of its enemies. In the Commons the dirty street punk was cleaned and clothed, he was also given housing in a low rent inn. For over a month Shank lingered in the Commons being endlessly tested and interrogated by various agents of the guild, finally it was time and the young fledgling rogue was transported to the deepest and most hidden part of the city.
Third Gate Quarter was the true seat of power for all of dark elves in all of Neriak. Here resided the grandest temple to Innoruuk in all of the realms. A cruel palace dedicated to the Lord of Hate and all of his misery. Here to was the infamous Lodge of the Dead, home to the most dread necromancers ever to blight the land. The Lodge all housed the Shadow Knights who were feared the world over by all those of good. More importantly Third Gate was home to the Hall of the Ebon Mask, new lords of young Shank. He was brought before the Lord of the Ebon Mask, Tani N’mar, who studied the young lad with the eye of a raptor. Shank uttered a quick prayer for Fizzlethorpe’s luck, for if he did not measure up to the thief lord’s standards than surely his life was forfeit! With a simple nod of the thief king’s head Shanks existence was sparred.
The training of an Ebon Mask was a grueling and demanding academy that consumed fully three years of the rogue’s life. From weapons training, poison brewing, back stabbing, political sabotage, pick pocketing, disguise stealth, and numerous other techniques that made a perfect killer. Shank continually impressed his tutors and was surpassing boys of the same age at an alarming rate, this only bred resentment among his own peers. The young Shank had a true natural affinity for skullduggery and held promise like no other. Soon his training was complete and Shank began his apprenticeship. Working with a senior rogue, a bitter old dark elf named Xyzrrin. The old thief guarded trade secrets like a dragon guards it hoard, but still Shank watched and mimicked the techniques used by the older dark elf. His mentors’ resentment for his young pupil was obvious; Xyzrrin was not in good graces with the current lord of the guild and was given the talented young apprentice as a slap in the face. The embittered old dark elf decided one day that he would even the score by eliminating the guild up and coming new star, but woe the foolish old elf did in fact underestimate the young assassin. That poisoned flask of wine he left for Shank was instead used to cook the last meal Xyzrrin ever ate.
His promotion was completed upon the death of his mentor, in one swift move Shank had secured his full membership in the Ebon Mask. Flush with his new status the young rogue threw himself eagerly into all the task his guild masters set before. Each time Shank proved his cunning and his skill by completing any task assigned him. He also earned the surname Stabspine for his penchant for backstabbing as his preferred method of killing. He proved himself a most valuable tool to the guild hierarchy.
The Ebon Mask held high esteem amongst the dark elves since it was the only guild sanctioned by the royal Thex family to operate outside of Neriak. Such a boon opened many door to the scheming Ebon Mask and the many layers of intrigue it spun. It is such intrigue that soon changed the very life of young Shank Stabspine. Guild lord Tani N’mar, had an especially dangerous mission that could reap the guild huge rewards. In Freeport a dark elk agent of Neriak conducted an illicit trade beneath the foul city of humans. The guild had learned that this dark elf was skimming a large portion of the profits for himself. If the Ebon Mask could assassinate this agent and usurp his role the guild would control almost all of the illegal trade in the human city and be able to extend its control well beyond the caverns of Neriak. The order of execution was handed to Shank and by the hand of Tani himself this treacherous dark elf agent was to die. Shank beamed with pride that such a major operation was entrusted to him, little did the young rogue suspect that the noose of intrigue was tightening about his neck.
Tani N’mar was no fool and he recognized the awesome talents of the young Shank. Such future rivals are easily disposed of while still young and of little threat. The agent in Freeport was Queen Cristanos Thex’s nephew and within royal privilege to take as big a cut as need be from his operations, all in the name of the royals! Once Shank assassinates the royal nephew, Tani would simply disavow him and have him executed as a traitor. At which point Tani had a loyal henchman already to assume position of agent within Freeport! As such Shank skulked off to Freeport only to meet his own demise, at the hands of his own.
The assassination went off to perfection, Shank murdered the royal nephew without even s struggle. The operations supplies, contact lists, and ledgers were all secured and now firmly in the hands of the Ebon Mask. Shank returned all the material to his superior and accepted the praise of his lord. He quickly retired to his private villa in to rest up and celebrate his victory alone. Than he heard the whispers, he was a creature reared by the street and knew well to pay them heed. The Queen’s royal nephew was found murdered in the sewers of Freeport! Shank was smitten as if struck by the club of a hill giant! The royal nephew! Shank bolted for his villa now seeking escape possibly at the Halls of the Ebon Mask itself, what he found when he got home was a trio of guild assassin waiting him! Finally the trap was sprung, he realized he had fallen victim to the guild intrigues, he was an expandable pawn nothing more. Even with this realization Shank was ever the survivor, he battled his way through the ambush and managed to kill off all three of the hit team. What he found inside of his villa was damning evidence that should him to be an outcast rogue from the Ebon Mask who sought to set up operations in Freeport. The conspiracy seemed to encompass most of the guild elders and he was the perfect patsy for the crime, a young and ambitious dark elf rogue. The sounded of booted feet on the hard rock floor jarred him from reflection, Indigo Brotherhood warriors were fast approaching. That could only mean one thing word was given to the Royal that he was the killer. Shank had little time to think, he gathered his equipment and fled Neriak by way of the swift cold waters.
He was now the outcast, no guild, no home, and no friends. Surely Queen Thex’s agent would seek him out, revenge is something dark elves revel in. Shank had little choice but to now live life on the run. He soon began to adopt the life of a mercenary hiding on the fringes of Norrath’s other societies. He hunted orcs and blood thirty dervishes in the commonlands in hope of making wealth enough to get him as far from Neriak as possible. He mostly traveled with other outcasts and miscreants since few wanted any dealing with a dark elf. He soon developed a reputation amongst other mercenaries as a fearless fighter and a skilled combatant. In time his battle prowess even earned him a small measure of respect from the City of Freeport since he was called the scourge of the Deathfists. Even as word of a mysterious dark elf spread through the commonlands again Shank felt the weight of the bounty on his head. Many other dark elves sought him out for the bounty on his head.
Shank had traveled a full season with a fearsome Shadowknight name Dayne Shadowreaver. A disciple of Innoruuk who took well to the skilled prowess of the rogue. The two made an unusual but very effective blend of fighting styles. Shanks speed and lightning attacks proved to be an effective compliment to the shadowknight’s brute strength and insidious spells. They spent many late nights sitting around the camp fire weaving tales of adventure and mayhem. It was through Dayne that Shank finally came to know his calling. Dayne referred to it as “The Syndicate” and it stretched across the expanse of Norrath a guild, but like no other Shank had ever seen or heard of. Shank wary at first having tasted the bitter bite of betrayal at the hands of his own, but the shadowknight’s feverous rhetoric intrigued him. He spoke of a league of all races and professions who came together united in their cause. No self serving politics or intrigue just simple camaraderie between fellows. A hidden army that moved within the shadows that sought to guide and protect those who needed. A cabal that sought only to protect the balance and keep the very essence of freedom and individuality in tact. This "Syndicate" seemed more of child like fantasy than an actual entity, but Shank never voiced his doubts to his steadfast comrade.
Fate seemed once again determined to test the meddle of Shank, this time on the western end of the commonlands, while travelling with Dayne. The two were making the journey to High Hold Keep when in the distance the glare of the sun reflected off a shining metallic statue. To their dismay they soon realized that this “metallic statue” was moving and no statue at all. It was the fully armored Dragoon Xttyl dread sword of the Indigo Brotherhood! Xttyl was perhaps the most feared warrior of the Indigo Brotherhood and many an enemy of Neriak fell before his blades. With a blood curdling cry the dragoon charge the pair and death took the form of a steel clad dark elf, with little choice the pair ran and sought refuge in the ruins of Befallen, for not even Xttyl sought to face the horrors within this necropolis. It was grim for Shank and Dayne, they escaped sure death in the form of Xyytl on to find it within the tomb like dungeon of Befallen. Survival is a very powerful instinct and the two battled hordes of undead. Skeletons, zombies, and mummies came at them in droves, all spurred on by their necromancer masters. The stench of death threatened to suffocate them and bony claws sought to drag them under, it has come the favored son of Bristlebane was destined to die. A unearthly roar issued forth from the very soul of the shadowknight, his cry seemed to reverberate through the crumpled halls of the crypt. Shank thought it to be no more than Dayne’s death keen, but instead it was his cry of victor, for no sooner had the echo of his shout faded when the tide of battle began to turn. Suddenly the sound of splintering bones and snapping sinew was to heard. Score of undead horrors began to crumble, their ghastly mouths locked in silent screams. The undead horde began to shift and it dawned on the rogue, someone or something was assaulting the mob from behind! Salvation came in the form of a wood elf, nimble and quick his blades flashed like lightning. He hacked a swath through the undead as a scythe would through wheat, the undead sensed his power and presence and began to fall away. In short moments the wood elf ranger had all but dispelled the threat of the undead. Shank stood dumb founded. Where could this man have come from and why had he come? Answer came as a hug, an embrace shared only but brothers as Daynes wrapped his burly arms around the compact frame of the wood elf. They exchanged hearty greetings and a few verbal jests as carefree young lads. After the playful exchange the shadowknight simply turned to Shank and said “Friend I would like you to meet Azifar Sev’Lenus, leader of the maelstrom squad of The Syndicate.” Again the rogue was taken aback but this incarnation of “The Syndicate” and had little words for his savior. Instead Azifar offered words, “Greeting and well met Shank Stabspine. My brother Dayne has spoken in great length about you and your trails. We have watched for sometime now and the words spoken by Dayne ring of truth. You would have gladly perished here in this infernal crypt beside your friend than flee to the safety of shadows. We of The Syndicate seek souls such as yourself to take up our banner and fight for our cause. Trust is no easy thing nor should it be, but here in The Syndicate you will find a home like no other. A home with no walls, ceilings, or floors. A home where you are always welcomed by friends who are happy to see you. A home that travels with you down the darkest of path that you may chose, keeping you warm and safe. I offer all of this to you Shank, but the decision is yours alone”. There in the darkness of the dungeon of Befallen Shank Stabspine contemplated his future, he was moved by the words of the ranger and by the sincerity in which they were spoken. It seemed that destiny had indeed laid a plan for this bastard rogue and he would be a fool to ignore. With a beaming smile the rogue and ranger clasped hands and so goes the tale of Shank Stabspine and The Syndicate.