Role

Chapter 3

For some, it is love - ridiculous as that may be. For others it is food,
chocolate perhaps. For others still it is drink, fruits of the grape or
grain. The poor fools, they do not know, perhaps have not experienced the
finest of all: the dying gasps of your enemy. The taking of whatever you
want from the body. The complete and utter control, having just defeated
and killed one who would oppose you. It is not merely the taking of the
life itself, though that of course is pleasurable. It is the taking of their
essence, their spirit, their will. Oh, manay will speak strong sounding
words, proclaiming their strength and how they will repay in kind, how they
will never give up, etc. False words coming from false lips, uttered merely
to comfort themselves in their moment of greatest weakness, to cover over the
overwhelming envy and lust for the strength and power of the one who just
proved their weakness. They speak and speak and speak but the words are
ephemeral, as they are, and the corpse is solid, irrefutable proof that they
were overcome by someone stronger than they. This, this is the true finest
of all delights. And Melememelem has grown addicted to this, lusts for it,
yearns for more.

It was not always this way. If she had been asked while still in Teth Azaleth,
she surely would not have claimed any love for violence, beyond the usual of her
kind. Even after leaving she would have felt more likely to fight, but still not
necessarily sought it. But she and her God are a true match. A complementary
synergy that has awakened in her this keen desire. Her unyielding need for
success, to be first and not second, was channeled anew when the Tyrannical Voice
challenged the citizens to wash Thera in blood, to bring the new age in with
the flesh of our foes, promising reward to whomever did so the best. The very
thought of a competition renewed the vigor of her past days. A test! A test she
would not fail! She needs no reward, she needs no payment. She needs to be the
best. To be first among all. And so she began the hunt. Little did she know that
the last dying gasps of her enemies, the last moment watching the life drain from
the body, the light leaving the eyes, would be as music to her ears, wine to her
lips. More she craved. More. With each death her envy and lust grew, not for the
petty things - though she would have them, too - but for the ultimate prize, the
very lives standing against her.