Role

Chapter 6

An attractive human woman, bearing ancient-looking heavy armor, silently
appeared and approached Soviatos directly. The surprise of her presence had
long faded but he smiled slightly as he saw her come into his peripheral
view. She asked in a soft uninstrusive voice "Prophet, do you want to return
to the place where silence rules?" With a heavy nod, Soviatos took the
blindfold and was led to Nyathl Ikalith.

In the last few years, Soviatos had taken his research, prompted by his Lord,
to the ultimate of depths in learning the ways of forbidden Silence. Each
clue presented another riddle, each step a calculated risk that sometimes
ended his life. More times than any mortal had taken from him, Soviatos had
fallen to Archmages and their traps... his life beginning to wane. With each
awakening moment, standing alone in the desert temple as his soul fought its
way back, his thoughts pulled inward. He was beginning to question the
purpose of this research, or the reasons he would doing this at all... and
most importantly, on how he had not used his "gift" in ages. The curse and
gift of revelation born to him, he had held back for he knew the path... or
did he?

Removing the blindfold, Soviatos stood before the fated Tower of the
Chronomancer. All of the Thirteen would not be unknown for much longer.
Reaching for the Gates of Silence, Soviatos hesitated.

"When the souls of the Lost come before the Gates of Silence in great enough
numbers as to break them down, Amun'Khur will rise."

Nazmorghuls' writings... could this be those Gates? Had this been the reason
his research had led him here? Grasping the Gates firmly in both hands,
Soviatos pulled upon the gift and tore from the sands of time a vision. He
opened his glazed colorless eyes and saw a reflection. Grasping the Gates of
Silence, it was him... but he was dead... no, he was alive! A cackling black
skull with two pins of bluish light for eyes stared back at him. The bones
twisted to return what looked like a knowing gaze of remembered pain.

Gasping for air, Soviatos released his grip and collapsed to his knees
shaking. Just like Coprophagous Sacer, or the infamous Istendil Val'Malach,
or the dark-elf Nastavnic named the Prophet of Nazmorghul in the Third Age...
or the nameless crazed elven cleric of Eil Shaeria. All of His passed over
life... Ikaal Alaath Yll... Forath Yreth... Nyryl would be his! His mind
flooded with the truth...

In utter silence, he mouthed the words to himself "Time will be my bridge...
and He knew!"