Role

Chapter 4

The cold could not touch Deletemescrio, Elite Imperial Warlock,
half-dead for nearly a century, but frustration could. This was
his mission, on direct orders from the Emperor, who was eager to
have, again, a Lich on the council.

Frostfingers was a ruse. It was believed that the Empire held
the outpost for less than a year before the Giants returned
in force, but it was never their destination. Promises of
Bloodoath for the slaves and promotions for the Blades were as
empty as this forsaken wasteland.

Not far from the one-time outpost was an ice cave. Deep within
dwelt a Greater Ice-Devil whom was rumored to have, in his
posession, the dessicated (and now frozen) hand of the long-
missing lich Bestatter. The Specter believed that this hand,
along with a cetain axe, and a few other hard to obtain
items would be the key to his Undeath.

The problem was that the Devil was presumed to want a hundred
sacrifices. They were down to seventy-eight. Seventy-nine if
he counted the idiot Zorn. There would be more, but he could
hardly help himself when the hunger was upon him. He hoped
the remaining blades would offset the lack of slaves. If there
was any trouble he planned on recalling himself to civilization
and letting the slaves and Blades fend for themselves.

His thoughts were deep in this when the Giants struck.