Role

Chapter 11

Long ago, very very very long ago, one of the original Order Mages, Silvirinili,
argued with his colleagues, and after saying things that could not be unsaid, gathered
all of his household, all of his material and magical belongings, and sought the furthest
possible lands from the others. So far indeed did he go that he was entirely forgotten
by the other tools of the Order Lord and the Forsaken One. The tumult and catastrophe of the
Order wars, the great battles and demons and shadows passed him and his household by, far
away and unseen, unheard. Over time he chose an apprentice, who in turn maintained the
lands and belongings that Silvirinili had laid claim to, and continued his magical studies.
This continued for millenium, new apprentice serving new master, each ruling the same
household and its descendants. Part of this household, of course, were servants, guards,
pets and slaves. Azilaph's ancestors were just such creations, two stolen dwarves, two
dwarves kidnapped from their homes as part of the early experimentation. Two kin to
Boltthrower, he who was to become the dwarven captain. Generation after generation new such
dwarves were born and bred as servants and stock for experimentation. Bred to know nothing
but loyalty and adulation for the mage master, and trained to be a guard against mortal
enemies, Azilaph and his father and his father's father and so on were for centuries the very
pinnacle of steadfast endurance standing a post, protecting the mage.
Until.
Until, recently, explorers, far from the known trails of the usual Theran lands, stumbled upon
the lands Silvirinili had taken, millenia ago. Unlike past visitors who were born and raised
nearby, these travelers told tales of afar, of great cities and lands with people of amazing
powers and talents. The master, quick to understand that after all this time they had been found
by the descendants of Silvirinili's colleagues and people, struck quickly, and painfully.
Most of the explorers were killed. But not all. A few survived, and Azilaph was there.
As they lay, hurt and dying, they told him of the world, of the truth that had been
denied him. And of the potential for freedom. Freedom! The very word sent explosions
through his mind, his heart, his soul. As though the world blurred and then re-focused, he
would never be the same again. Never again would he stand by and watch as mages worked their
insidious bands around others, allow any such power to be used to enslave or enshroud in darkness.
They would pay. And they would pay in blood.