Role

Chapter 3

The dark wizardress Ulamette had always set her sights high, so to speak. The
means to the ends she sought were of course the lowest of creatures in the
eyes of the ignorant. Having spent some time slaking her hunger on the blood
and bones of those same fools, she came to understand her path thus far as
having been wise.

Her readings in the library of necromancy within the deepest pits of the
chasm where the coven hold the still inert scepter led her to learn of the
nature and habits of the nightwalkers in depth. She learned that they react
not with words, or broad political gestures she endured and practiced coming
up in the empire, but to things like death, fear, hate, and lust.

Though long since lost to the pleasures of the living, she found the graying
ashen flesh of her face turned upwards in a lopsided grin. It was as if all
she had done to this point was to entice them, and all that she dreamed of
doing in the future would strengthen and call them to join her cause. Or was
it more that she was, by her very nature, coming to join them?

As this thought came to her, she could hear what seemed an audience of
shadows hissing in unison. Her gazed shifted to the shadow minion that
guarded this library within a sepulchre. The source of the unsettling noise
and aura filling the air was always shifting at the edges of her vision.

All she would hope for in the core of her being, though really spoken aloud,
was all that the Ccul'gra know. She arose from her meditations, content in
what she learned, willing the shadows to hear her thoughts, though stating
one aloud:

"Guide me. Show me the path. Our will be done."