went on to possess another. Shapeshifter. . sorcerer … all powers stolen from victims, under the goad of Bane's madness. Who were you, at first? Who will you be, again?'
The flesh of the floating body flowed and swirled, becoming slowly clearer. It was hairy, muscular, and kind- faced. It was …
Tears welled up in Storm's eyes as she looked up at her beloved Maxer. Her cheeks were wet as she whispered, 'I feared this, and it is so. Mystra … oh, lady fair, if you have ever loved me, do this one thing: grant me my Maxer back!'
She felt kindly, unseen eyes upon her-a regard that carried great but friendly weight. She cried out in wordless thanks … and an instant later, by Mystra's grace, Storm knew exactly what she had to do, and how to do it.
She smiled through the tears that streamed from her trembling jaw, and waved Broglan well back. She smiled because there was a way-and because it would not be easy, and Mystra was leaving it for her to take.
'Our choices strengthen us,' she murmured aloud, 'and we are changed by the accomplishments you leave to us. Thank you, Great Lady.'
She bowed her head and bent her will to join with the silver fire surging through her-and rode it into the mind of the floating man, seeking the small, mad part of him that had once been Bane.
It was a long plunge into hot black-and-purple chaos. Her descent slowed as the silver fire encountered deeper and deeper gloom. Wild images of cruelty flashed before her, memories dragged from the dissolving mind of the foe. As she plunged through one after another, panting and gagging at what she saw, the revolting evil of Bane's deeds and schemes nearly overwhelmed her.
Shuddering with nausea, Storm almost lost her will to continue. As she floundered, retching and weeping, she felt a smile of sly triumph growing around her…. The foe was trying to shatter her mind with his images of torture and pain and mutilation!
Her anger almost doomed her again. Bane fed on rage, and could twist it in others to become a subtle slavery to his will. With icy determination, Storm tore free of his strengthening control and called the silver fire up protectively around her. She wrestled her way on into the dark caverns of the foe's mind, forcing it by sheer grim mental demand to yield up certain memories.
She tasted her own blood, and knew she was being hurt by this, lessened and changed forever. It was with her own flare of triumph, though, that a new welter of horrid visions began. The visions of her own choosing erupted around her.
Broglan saw the kneeling, silver-haired woman begin to pant and tremble… and then to whimper and claw at herself with nails that left ribbons of blood behind. He almost broke his determination to keep back from her. Storm's eyes grew wide, and the blood drained from her lips until they became as white as those of any fish. She gasped in tiny whispers, 'Ohohohnonononono …'
Her fingers clenched so hard that her nails drew blood from her palms. Suddenly her hands flew up, growing into talons as if she were a shapeshifter. She raked her own body frantically as she sprang up, drawing blood from deep slashes. She began to dance. Blood rained down around her.
Broglan had no magic strong enough to restrain her if she started to slay and blast in Firefall Keep. White- faced, he went to his knees and shouted a prayer to Mystra.
In that prayer, images of a kinder Storm-images that had once shamed him, even as they lit his night-dreams and made him long hopelessly for her caresses-blazed with sudden clarity in his memory. He remembered more. Too overwhelmed in wonder to give thanks to his goddess, Broglan received new visions, memories that were not his own: Storm Silverhand fighting at Maxer's shoulder, laughing in battle as their swords sang in unison; Storm dancing with her sisters on air, their bare feet well above the waters of a moonlit pool; Storm comforting a stricken Harper and giving of her own life-force to keep him alive; Storm playing with a child orphaned in battle, comforting the young girl as she deftly purged the worst horror from the infant mind and replaced it with the faces of kindly Harpers to be her new parents; Storm leaping in front of a young Harper in battle to take the sword-thrust that was meant to slay him; Storm …
Then the scenes became familiar-his own memories again, yet clearer, more vivid, and longer than he'd recalled them. Slowly, very slowly, Broglan Sarmyn of the Sevensash rose again to his feet as the memories faded, leaving him to watch the swaying, keening woman.
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 his 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 frown 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, so 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 for 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 to burn here and there in the dark caverns that she traversed, brightening the mad mind.
Yet as Storm fought on through the abyss that had once been a part of Bane, silver hair swirling, she felt herself becoming slowly and inevitably as dark and serpentine and cruel as her foe, using her mind as viciously as he was using his-to slash and hack.
