This is Rosalind again. I had not planned to write a page for each member of my court, but I have recently discovered that although they are all willing to join me in a fight they can be downright insubordinate if I ask them to write anything. In Bane’s case, it might be better to tell his story--or at least to tell the short version. I heard that sigh of relief.
Bane’s first appearance demonstrated his flair for the dramatic with great impact. One night several years ago a spirit appeared in the Tyrangel Healers’ Guild and a young squire named Beowulf (now the Baron of Wulfshire) set about resurrecting it. The body formed under a sheet. When the resurrection was complete, Beowulf, curious as to the identity of the mysterious spirit, reached out to pull back the sheet. The stranger sat up, and Beowulf found himself face-to-face with a masked white face bracketed with huge curving horns. The creature growled that he was Beowulf’s nightmare, and the Squire did what anyone would obviously do in such a situation--he made friends with it.
Later that night Squire Beowulf brought his new friend to the Mages’ Guild, where Baron (now Duke) Daleron sat with Mara and me and a few others, including Foodee the King of the Kobolds, trying to handle yet another late-night catastrophe while Tyr gibbered madly on the floor in shackles--but that is definitely another story. The tension in the room was already sliceable when Beowulf bounded through the door with his minotaur-looking pal in tow. The Baron, who was under a lot of stress that night, looked up and said through his teeth, "Squire, WHAT IS THAT?"
Beowulf smiled sunnily. "It’s my nightmare, my lord!"
The Baron heaved himself wearily out of his seat. "WHO ARE YOU?" he demanded of the stranger.
The horned figure responded in a blood-curdling rasp, "I am the Stalker." As Foodee the Kobold King dove under the couch, the Baron’s green sword flashed out and a second later the Stalker was on the Floor. Beowulf cast a quick Cure Light Wounds on his nightmare and (to return to the short version) he and the Baron worked it all out. The Baron named the nightmare "Wulfsbane," an interesting little pun derived from the fact that the creature was the bane of Beowulf.
That was my first sight of Bane, and believe me, it only gets stranger after that. Bane informed Beowulf that he was here to stalk him, but would save him for last, and decided to stalk me instead. I was less than thrilled, as "stalking" was a term too ambiguous for my absolute comfort, although Bane was careful to inform me that this was a "different kind of stalking" and not necessarily intended to culminate in my demise. He seemed confused about the nature of the stalking himself. A conversation with Jubal Sarducci and a helping of Jubal’s special chocolate pudding (don’t ask me!) seemed to clear up his thoughts on the matter.
Bane spent the next few months following me around and nearly making me jump out of my skin by sneaking up on me at every opportunity. I tried to get rid of him, but he weakened my resolve by giving me presents. Finally he came out with the whole story, which he tells much better than I do--you will have to ask him about it. Behind the stalking was a surreal and tempestuous story that took place in the Dreaming before Bane ever set foot on this plane. It is a stirring romance, a tale of adventure, defiance, and plain weirdness that, thanks to the temporal instability of the world of dreams, all seems to have originated in a bowl of chocolate pudding. It invites one to contemplate the inherent absurdity of romance.
For some time, Bane still had his nightmare form, dead-white skin, strange red marks on his face, and those enormous horns. He was still a creature of the Dreaming despite his constant presence on this plane. At last Dream, for reasons of his own, chose to release Bane and allow him to become mortal, which is a very good thing. Somewhere along the line the Baron of Wulfshire Knighted him. After that I basely stole him from Wulfshire by marrying him. It’s not so bad, really--at least his face is a normal color now. I hope that this will incite him to write his own bit here, if only to defend himself.
Farewell and all of that,
Rosalind
