Chapter 3.1 - Passion's Curse
Paal the butcher finished cleaning his cleaver and held it up to admire it. Its smooth surface reflected the moon across the dark kitchen. Delicately, almost tenderly, he placed it on the strip of soft leather with the rest of his knives. He folded up the implements and placed them on a table near the door. Next, he went into his bedroom. It was a disheveled mess, save for a corner where a black book lay open on a table. He closed the book and walked back to his front door, placing it next to his tools. He turned to look around at his living room, and was glad to be leaving again. His two sons had not done their chores in several days, and his wife was useless. As a result, the house was disgusting. It didn't matter that Paal himself created most of the mess.
Paal placed his tools, book, and a few supplies in a small rucksack and and slung it over his shoulder. He reached down and pulled up a very large, sturdy cotton bag. With a grunt, he lashed it to his back and shoulders with leather thongs. The weight settled comfortably, he reach for his staff and headed out the door, ducking awkwardly to get the tall bag through the door. Before he left, he stuck his staff into the doorway and nudged over a small oil lamp. He crashed to the floor and within moments the entire floor was ablaze. Satisfied, he began walking east. Past his flocks of sheep, sleeping soundly in the warm night air. Past the curled form of the family hound near the sheep's pen. Past his fields. He left it all behind. He merely continued east.
The dreams had stopped. Ever since the woman had kissed him, ever since his passion flared and he had known joy like none other, he had been suddenly cruelly cut off from them. He became short tempered with his children and wife, and his farm began to suffer as a result. He fired his workers, and after beating a helpful neighbor for sticking his nose where it didn't belong, no one visited the Paal Farmstead anymore. But he didn't care. Nothing mattered but the girl from his dreams. And soon, in a few weeks time, he would be with her again.
He would travel all night and make camp during the day. He always had a fire, and the large cotton bag was always carefully placed near it. Paal never risked leaving his sheltered spot to look for food, but his supplies lasted him a long time. He knew his trade well, and always had a bit of meat to eat every day.
The longer he traveled, the more desperately he wanted to dream again. He would awaken angry, feeling cheated once again, and would rage until he was able to satisfy his passions. He followed the same pattern each day, traveling by night and hiding during daylight.
Finally, he arrived. The tainted land crunched under his feet. The ground had been turned to black sand, dead plants flicked and danced in the sea wind. In the distance, the low sun danced off of the red sand's of the sea cliffs. Paal hurried his pacing, and as he approached the cliffs broke into a run. He could see figures dancing in the twilight that had fallen now. He stopped where the flames of so many years ago had turned parts of the sand to blackened glass. He hesitated and rubbed his chest absently. After all this time, he was finally here. What would he say? He could hear a woman's laughter come drifting out of the darkness. Paal took an involuntary step toward the sound.
The woman from his dreams stepped out of the shadows, looking perfect, standing defiantly before him with a smile. "You came for me, beloved?" she said mockingly. "All the way out here?"
Paal, unafraid, began sweating with anticipation. "I said I would do anything for you."
The woman's eyes flashed mischievously. "Perhaps you will."
"I've brought you a gift, my love," Paal said. He began untying the large cotton bag from his back. It feel to the ground with a muffled thud. Paal picked it up in his arms and approached the woman. He came close to her, his eyes hungry. The amused look did not leave her face. "I hope it will show my... dedication to." Paal smiled, staring into the woman's eyes.
The woman, looking suitably flattered, took the large bag with ease. She began picking at the knot holding the top of the bag closed. Paal watched her work with an expectant look on his face.
The woman peered down into the sack, and a genuine smile touched upon her lips. She shook the bag, still peering into it.
"What do you think, my love?" Paal asked.
"It is a wonderful gift, beloved," the woman said, still looking happily inside the bag. "But I don't think your wife approves of us."
CAMULOS - God of War 
![[pissed]](/images/smilies/pissed.gif "Pissed [pissed]")
Mulcarn, god of winter
