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Bane had always been loud and arrogant, even as a mortal. Bhaal recalled a thousand problems his ally had caused him when they were still young.
Once Bane had accidentally insulted a Dragonking when they had sought to pass its lands, calling him a lazy lizard growing fat while sitting on his hoard. Myrkul had managed to defuse the situation.
There had been a time in which they had run simple errands, their ambitions put aside, in which Bane had lost three dozen letters because he had forgotten to take them out of his pack before throwing it down a cliff. Why he had done that no one knew, but their wizard had retrieved them with a spell.
Bhaal recalled Bane throwing a temper tantrum because the assassin had eaten the last piece of the stew he had cooked for himself, or the time when Bane attempted to flirt with a young maiden but started to stutter not even five words in.
One time he had set fire to Myrkul's robes in the heat of battle while attempting to use a spell-scroll.
In the past, his ally had even thrown a book at an attacking horde of goblins, claiming that the words within would be too much for them to comprehend. Granted, he had been drunk.
But no matter what Bane had done, even as a god, Myrkul had never once lost his composure. That had been Bhaal's achievement, one he had taken pride in, yet somehow, it seemed, Bane had managed to invoke a rage within the wizard that neither of them had ever seen before.
“You bloody idiot!” Myrkul's hands were around Bane's neck, nostrils flared, while he shook him. Bane grasped at the hands around his throat, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of the situation. “Do you never think? Is that so hard for you? Why are you like this!” The wizard's voice boomed, the power within making the walls of the black fortress shake.
Bhaal had resigned himself to the door, making sure that they remained undisturbed. He also kept Koravis from flying towards his master, thwarting any attempts to help the raven could make.
The tyrant gasped out loud when the wizard summoned an eerie green light that lashed out at him. “Answer me, you fopdoodle!” The meaning was lost on the rogue. Undoubtedly, it was an old word that scarcely anyone used.
He considered pointing out that Bane was unable to answer, yet when a flash of necrotic energy shot through the air, he decided to stay back.
Myrkul seemed to realize that the taller man did try to speak but could not do so. He released him and took a step back. His hands were still shaking, fingers twitching as if they longed to break Bane's neck. Bhaal would never admit it out loud, but he did like the view before him. It was a rare thing to see Bane put in his place. He grinned at the thought, and Bane's eyes snapped towards the smaller man. His thoughts had been to loud. Luckily, Myrkul drew his attention quickly away from him.
“Well? Must I ask again? Speak!” As always, Bane found a way to make the situation worse, glaring down at the wizard, he snarled: “I didn't do anything, you old sack of bones!” The slap across the taller man's face came quicker than even Bhaal's eyes could keep track of. He was sure every creature in the Barrens of Doom and Despair heard the echo of it.
The raven trapped between his hands cawed out loud, furiously beating its wings, as he began to peck at the assassin's fingers.
A few moments of silence passed. Bane held his cheek, surprise written all over his face, before his eyes narrowed and a red fire erupted from his fingertips.
“How dare you lay a-” The second slap was harsher than the first.
Bhaal slowly took one more step into the shadows of the chamber. Even Koravis had fallen still, sensing his master's shock. Bane stared at the wizard in disbelief. His jaw twitched as he prepared to say something again, yet Myrkul cut him off.
“Do not speak.” It was a simple order, Bhaal thought, but their mutual friend had never been good at obeying. The third time Myrkul hit him was with such force that the taller man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet, and fell to the ground.
The wizard gripped the collar of Bane's shirt and pulled him closer, bones rattling as he leaned down. “Do not speak.” He repeated. And Bane did not.
To Bhaal, the scene looked like a father disciplining his unruly child. Koravis cawed in agreement. Myrkul closed his eyes and breathed in.
“You will answer me with one word and only one: am I understood?” A reluctant nod. The necromancer's breath shook. “Good.” He let go of Bane's shirt. The other man quickly scrambled to get back on his feet, bringing a few more meters between him and the wizard. “Why, exactly, did you empty your wine bottle over my spell-book?” So this was it. Bane had broken the one rule the wizard had given him.
When Bhaal turned to leave, wishing to avoid whatever was about to happen next, the raven in his hands gave a loud call and bit him. He cursed, threw the bird into the air, and was more than tempted to fling a dagger after it.
But Bane reacted first. Realizing that his treasured pet was in danger, he lunged forward. “You will not!” His attempt to save Koravis failed when Myrkul summoned his staff and hit Bane over the head with it, before toppling him to the ground. The taller man barely managed to keep himself from falling headfirst into the nearby shelf.
The raven cried out and landed on his master's head, disheveling the blonde hair in the process, while Bhaal kept his daggers floating in the air.
A few moments passed.
Then Koravis, whose greatest wish had always been that Bane remained safe, seemingly abandoned his loyalties as he plucked out his master's hair. Bane jolted upwards, whirling around, and realized that his own raven had betrayed him.
Koravis looked proudly at Myrkul before taking flight and fleeing the scene. Bhaal barely managed to hide a snicker, dodging a book that Bane had pulled from the shelf and thrown into his direction just so.
The tyrant turned with an accusing look to Myrkul. “What did you do?” he cried out. “What have you done to my bird?” It had been a long time since Bhaal had seen Myrkul this pleased.
“I simply fed him. And scratched his head when he desired. And then I told him that your hair would make for excellent nest-building material.” The wizard allowed himself a simple chuckle when he saw that Bane was almost speechless.
“What? How could you! He is my raven!”
“Well, technically, he is Bhaal's.” The assassin in question quickly busied himself with cleaning the blood from beneath his fingernails.
“What? No!” Bane took a step forward. “He is mine! Bhaal gave him to me seven hundred years ago! I raised that blasted raven myself!” Myrkul shrugged.
“The next time, do consider this before you try to steal my Crown of Horns.”
“But I-”
“Did you think I would not notice? Bhaal may serve you, for now, but he and I have always gotten along. As for my book, I suppose we are quit.” Bane turned towards Bhaal.
“Where do you think you are going? Come back here!” The assassin did not, choosing to fly after Koravis in the form of a six-eyed raven.
It took Bane six more years until he managed to stop Koravis from plucking out his hair. He never did forgive his allies for this, and rumor is that Bhaal's betrayal caused Bane to retaliate during the Time of Troubles.
Myrkul, on the other hand, watched the two of them squabble while he himself remained unharmed. Sometimes, when he got bored, he chose to make it worse, pushing one against the other. Koravis sat on his shoulders during those times and was fed by the necromancer, pleased with the attention he received.
