Role

Chapter 1

It is late in the evening, and the sun is just going down, but even at this
time the busy streets of Galadon are still filled with people. Crowds swarm
the streets as they try to finish their business in the last light of the
day, all but around one man.
This man walks through the mob as though surrounded by an invisible shield,
some recognize him as the descendent of the Necromancer Vayeth, others see
the tell tale signs of a Battlerager, but most can tell this is not a man to
cross paths with.

For almost an hour he slowly wanders the city, passing his old house, and the
Tribunal Spire, every step causing his blood to boil hotter and hotter.
Finally, he turns down a dark alleyway, it is late now, and only a few people
wander the lane. He comes to a stop outside the Necromancer's Guild, every
inch of his body seething with rage.

To think that all this, everything, was to be his and now... glancing over
his shoulder he sees the pair of guards that have been tailing him since he
entered the city. Now I am followed like a petty thug.

"Guards! Guards!"

The cry rings out through the city street, and the two men that had been
following him glance in that direction. As if the cry was the prompting he'd
been waiting for, Ferrod launches himself at the guards. Silently he runs the
edge of his bone knife across the throat of the first guard. Turning to see
his attacker, the second guard can only watch in horror as the blur of motion
that is Ferrod rams his knife hard up under his ribs. Once, twice, three
times Ferrod thrusts. The guard can only make a gurgling noise as his blood
filled lungs try to cry out.
Realizing what he's done, Ferrod glances about himself, only to see a young
woman step out of the Necromancer's Guild. Her eyes widen with terror as she
beholds the sight before her, and her mouth opens to scream... but only a
choking noise comes out.

Approaching the dead woman, Ferrod reaches towards her throat to retrieve his
dagger, but pauses when he sees it. The hilt of his dagger glares back at
him, the red skeletal fist that was once his house sigil seems to almost glow
under the layer of blood. He did not even realize he'd thrown it. No matter,
it should prove a perfect message for his father. Turning away, he flees the
scene.

The beginning of his silent war against the Tribunal had begun.