Role

Chapter 1

The halls have been barren of presence these days. Silent and still.
The altar is cold and lifeless. Fitting for the Altar of Death. Yet
I yern to sharpen my skill with the Crone. I raise my scythe often.
Sometimes in a swift motion I cull the weeds and hear ravens caw
oft in the distance. His wings flapping with great acceleration as
he takes the defiler to where it is he goes. The great beyond.

More often I find myself striken in great agony against the defilers.
My life choked. And for a moment I feel myself void and lifeless. Again
the flapping of Ravens wings can be heard. But here, of late, I find silence.


The time of transition has been upon this Temple. The Goddess riding the winds
of change. The time between. Raven's dominion. Even during such I endure, as
the mother of the Circle of Season would teach. The three Aspects are vital to
me as a Black Robed Witch of the Coven of Amaranthe.

While I focus primarily on the Rede of Death. I embrace the Three. And to a
degree, a fourth and silent Aspect. Though that one seems to be mysterious.
As it should be--or so I believe. In such, i continue my hunt and through
experience learn until the Crone might take to my mind and offer what wisdom
she bears. I'll learn as I can as time progresses.

My hunt has been interesting throughout my life. I felt incredibly agile and
offensive when younger. The use my polearms proved excellent for offense
and defense. The greatest achievement I can recall from even before I specialized
was when I was culling the magics and zombies within the Arkham crypts.

While pressing on our rafts to find rest over the Open sea we saw a boat headed
our way bearing a single magician. Though his name was not well known I could
discern he was a Necromancer. Perhaps he was doing the magic bidding of whoever
finds glory in the corruption they cause within the crypts? I knew not. What I
did know was that my polearms unspecialized would do little. I needed full out
offensive melee to cut this one down.


My group got riled. They, too, wished to kill this magician of blasphemious
magics. Two boats darted off faster than me to him. I tried to call them back.
For there is great danger in tampering with a death-mage. Their magics are
designed to corrupt and defile. They ignored me. And I heard pleasure
from the dark being in the distance. Tsvaris was slept. By the time I found
way I could see his body limp and covered in a incredibly infectious scourge.
The death-mage was fast. He tried to utter incantations that would make me
slumber. But I was resistant. I prayed to Amaranthe and was solid in my
stance to face and defeat this great defilement.


His failure to slumber me was greeted by the lashing of my flail in my
mainhand and some cuts from a sword in my ofthand. I felt this would be
the best way to lash and slice at him. And it succeeded. This will remain
that I despise above all. Raven came and then, Raven, flew.