All his life Ashbiroff was hated. Not for what he did, but for what he was.
On Urborg, he was hated because he was born of humans, and even after his ascent into the wicked hierarchy as vampire nobility, he was still resented for him "impure childhood".
Then, upon arriving at Phaema, taking the name of Levin, he was still loathed for being a vampire. And what was oddest about this is that even when he was certain that he gave no impression of his true nature, he could still sense the bitter sting of spite coming from every stare that met him.
And even as his humanity was partially returning to him, as he was spawned as a half demon, he still felt the grip of hate around him. He cursed his "brother" Cain for letting him feel the pain, for letting him care; It was one thing to be hated and apathetic, but completely different to be hurt when you are reviled.
These thoughts rushed back on the fire lord in waves, and his "palace" trembled. Steam jets ripped through the red hot ground, flames whipped through the air in leaping arcs, and the imps and minions who he held dominion over scurried about in anticipation.
And for the first time.... he cried.
Deep Shadow June 18, 795
Deep Shadow was not at peace. The birds, the woodland animals, all were stirred today. Activity was all around, and it was... foreboding. One intrepid hunter was out for game and as luck would have it, spotted a quail in a small overgrown area. He carefully, quietly drew him bow and notched an arrow. As he took his aim... a woman's scream cut the air. The quail vanished as the hunter had looked away for the brief second and he cursed as he replaced the arrow in its quiver.
The screams were indeed of pain, of agonizing pain, but no one was being murdered. No one was being beaten or tortured, not in the sense that the common listener would have expected. Indeed the cry was in response to nature's own torture, which should be seen as a great irony since pain and suffering surround one of the most joyous events of life. Perhaps a sagacious bard would write of it one day. Not this day.
At a clearing in a thatch of trees, lay a small hut, coated in greying pelts and tanned hides. And inside, an elven couple were, the male comforting his mate, while she was in the process of giving birth. An elven healer had been called to the hut and was assisting, though it was normally outside his policy to help those who were not part of a large elven community.
And outside sat a man. Not extraordinary by any means, though he was dressed quite gaudy compared to his forest surroundings. The human also looked as a scholar, something not expected in Deep Shadow.
He tapped impatiently on his knee as he sat, legs folded, floating a few feet from the ground. The makeshift "door" which was more of a hide curtain, tore open and the male elf charged out, enraged.
"What are you doing to her? This is not right, she should have borne the child by now, she should not hurt like this! This needs to end!"
The sorcerer looked smugly at the concerned elf. "I imagine then you would like to think a little more carefully before you make promises to sorcerers that you cannot keep. You could not obtain any of the artifacts or relics I requested, and you could not eliminate my enemy. So it would appear that you have gained all and lost none."
The angry elf lunged at the floating figure in a fit of fury, but an extended fist stopped him in midair; the elf was not punched, but rather hit a barrier of magic, orange energy wrapping around him and pitching him several feet back. He rolled in pain for a moment, gasping as the woman's screams continued inside. He crawled forward through the dirt, weeping.
"Please.... I beg you to end this. Strip me of all the power you gave me, strip me of my life, but do not let this continue." The wicked sorcerer let a broad grin creep across his face, his mustache slightly curling on the end.
"Very well, I will take you offer. You must give your life and I will make her pain end, and let the birth occur. And since I am being magnanumous today, I will even allow you to see your... son, before I take your life." And with that, he slowly extended his legs below him and placed both feet on the ground. He walked to the elf on his hands and knees and grabbed hold of his collar roughly. And with a wave of the sorcerer's hand, the moans and screams inside stopped.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
And in the still air, cries began anew, cries of a baby, and the elf began to weep with joy. But his happiness would be short lived, as the healer came out.
"I-I.... I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do, there were complications when getting the child out because... well, her body couldn't survive the birth. I was able to save the child, but not your mate, sir. Even if the child..."
The emotion was too much. Tears of joy still in his eyes, tears of sorrow surging forth, the young elf stammered and mumbled under the forceful grip of the sorcerer. "Let me see my son." And with a pause the healer himself stammered.
"Sir, I don't think-"
"LET ME SEE HIM!" Tears pouring, saliva hanging in strings from his lips, his nose running to the brim of his upper lip, his face balled up in pain. The healer, reluctant but wanting to meet the wishes of the elf, returned inside the hut.
The last image the elf saw was his walking out with a small baby in his arms, the only disturbing part was that child was a newborn baby satyr.
Wicked hierarchy, woohoo...