Though the gods have been silent to mortals for some time, they are not stagnant. Innoruuk, the Prince of Hate, still holds a burning hatred for Tunare, the mother of the Plane of Growth, and her disgustingly fair elves. He still fondly recalls how he surprised the meddling Tunare by robbing her of the first Elddar elven king and queen of Takish-Hiz whom he transformed into his own race of dark elves. But when Innoruuk’s own ill-gotten daughter, Lanys T`Vyl, faced Tunare’s chosen champion, Firiona Vie, at the battle in Kithicor Forest and lost her ground, the Prince of Hate was overtaken by a sickening disappointment.
He would not have his child embarrass him a second time. After Lanys was rescued from certain death at the hands of Firiona, she was returned to Hate and summarily chained and locked in a cell.
Having left his concerns with mortals behind, Lanys quickly became Innoruuk’s obsession. He sickened and tortured her, keeping her flesh hovering between life and death, hour after hour, day after day. Innoruuk sought to strengthen her hate, will, and resolve and exact the full measure of his disappointment. In his estimation, he had bestowed a great dark gift upon her and imbued her with an even grimmer magic. She became a more twisted and hateful creature in Norrath.
Innoruuk viewed this time of torment as a rebirth for his daughter. His design was to create the most powerful soldier of Hate and unleash her when the time was right. Lanys would play a unique role in the tides of Norrath’s future, Innoruuk believed. She would be the one to spill the blood of the innumerous good and erode their stronghold on the world. Innoruuk would have the revenge against the gods, particularly Tunare, he so long wished for without having a hand it in himself. Without breaking The Turning Pact that all gods agreed to when Norrathians confronted them in their homes.
Lanys now feared no one, not even her father. All the while she was tortured the one image on her mind was that of Firiona’s determined face — the one that met her in Kithicor Forest. The death of Firiona was her focus; her goal.
Only days ago, Lanys was removed from her chains and carried to her chambers. She knew her father felt that her time had come. She was given the freedom to walk the halls of Hate for a time until she was conveniently sent a letter that detailed the rescue of Firiona Vie at the Tower of Frozen Shadows. Her mind and body lusted for revenge when she read that Firiona was out in the world, alive and well, and not well protected. The perfect prey. In an instant, Lanys saw her path was clear.
Lanys’ plan was simple. She would start with the extermination of Firiona and her friends. Then, someday, she hoped to return to the Plane of Hate to tear the throne from her father.
That same night, Lanys passed into her father’s throne room and took a small flesh-bound box from a locked cabinet. The wickedly nubile dark elven princess waved her hand over the box and it slowly opened. Inside was an ebony stone that drew light from around it. She closed the box with a slight smile and prepared to leave the Plane of Hate.
Lanys shrouded herself in shadow as she quickly moved through Neriak — through the Foreign Quarter, first and third gates of Neriak, and deeper until she found herself facing King Naythox Thex among his warriors, though he could not see her.
Without warning and as quickly as an asp, Lanys grabbed the king’s throat, squeezing it tightly. The king choked and grabbed at Lanys as she came into full view.
“Lanys, you are forbidden. You are nary a child of our father. You are a failure!,” King Naythox chortled without fear.
“No, you are the failure! You let the creatures of light walk freely over you. You have weakened our kind. My father and I will not let it continue,” Lanys hissed, raking her nails across his face, drawing dark blood.
“You . . . will . . . give . . . me . . . all . . . that . . . I . . . wish,” she said and with each word, Lanys continued to gouge at the king’s body with the power and quickness of a lioness, slicing right through his plate armor.
“What makes you think you will triumph where you have already failed,” Naythox said, blind to the pain, but showing signs of weakness.
“I have not suffered to accommodate your brazenness. You will work for my father and me, or you will suffer unlike anything you can dream. I feel I should give you a mere sample, hm?” Lanys said as she raised her hands. They began to glow. Naythox looked into her eyes with utter spite as she brought her hands down upon him, drawing his soul to the edge of his mortal being, pummeling and bruising every bone in his body at the same time.
The king could not contain himself and cried out in agony, a shrill, terrified scream. It was not long before he fell to the floor, barely breathing and unconscious.
With little effort at all, Lanys dragged the king through the city of Neriak as onlookers dropped to their knees in fear and awe, until she arrived at the House of the Dead. And when the princess of Hate called out to Queen Cristanos Thex, it made the walls rumble and dust fall from the heights of the underground caverns.
The queen emerged and bowed to Child of Hate, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.
“I believe this is yours?” Lanys said as she heaved King Naythox to Cristanos’ feet.
The queen smiled wickedly and bowed low once more.
“Oh, Child of Hate. What brings you to this dark home of ours?” the queen asked.
“The time has come to take the victory that should have been ours. I will command anyone I require of Neriak to build an army — even an undead one. We will march upon the creatures of light,” Lanys said with some satisfaction. “And Firiona will not survive this time.”
“The Primordial Malice and, as I’m sure Naythox will agree to if he wakes, all dark elves and those trolls are at your disposal,” Cristanos said.
“I will take anything that can wield a weapon or cast spells. I can train or turn some of them into my bound servants,” Lanys said. “First, bring me your best warrior. Now.”
Queen Cristanos nodded and called to a handmaiden who promptly arrived. Cristanos whispered in her ear and she ran into the darkness. When she returned, a strong, older warrior followed her.
“Stand there. Be still,” Lanys said. The warrior, Vyeer Yi`Traq, stood there motionless with a look of suspicion.
From an ornate, gemmed belt bag, Lanys withdrew a small box. She opened it and took out the dark soulstone, holding it in her right hand. With her left hand, she grabbed the warrior’s neck and closed her eyes. The hand with the stone began to glow and the magic rippled over and up her arm and down the other, and then encased the warrior. Vyeer’s eyes widened and he staggered back and forth while the magic passed through his body. Then, almost as quickly as it began, the magic ebbed.
The guard blinked and his expression slowly twisted into one that was much more sinister.
“Ah, welcome back. Let’s get to work,” Lanys said, with a wicked smile.
“‘Tis good to be back, for certain. I’m rather thirsty for blood too,” Laarthik K’Shin said. When Laarthik, Lanys’ mentor, called upon Innoruuk to rescue Lanys during the Bloody Kithicor battle, his body was incinerated, but his soul was imbued into the stone he held to open a the portal to Hate. She was able to grasp the stone before being drawn into Hate.
“Aye, don’t worry, my friend. You will be well fed,” Lanys said as they left to recruit and train as many dark elves, trolls and even ogres as they could find with their eye on amassing in the Overthere.