Role

Chapter 3

As dawn broke over the Wyrmwood, a widows wail heralded the most chaotic
day the village had ever seen. Ifriq walked out of her house covered in
blood, carrying three heads in one hand and a bloody knife in the other.
There was a madness in her eyes as she neatly set the heads and the knife
down on the ground and calmy stalked back into the home. A few moments later
Ifriq remerged from the house, and in her wake came billows of smoke. She
had turned her home into a funeral pyre, and before this pyre Ifriq sat with
her collection of heads. It took the better part of a day for the fire to
burn itself out, through it all Ifriq sat, watched and sharpened her knife.
She cried quite a bit, sometimes for her loss, sometimes for what she had
done and sometimes for what she was to do next.. through it all she continued
to sharpen her knife.


As the night set over wyrmwood and the embers of her previous life went out
in the steady evening rain, Ifriq took up her collection and stalked off into
the night. The night was ripe with screams of rage and gurgles of the dying,
became the emobodiment of rage that night. As the sun rose over
wyrmwood that morning, the terrible reality of Ifriqs rage became
evident. The king and his entire council had been murdered in their sleep.
The pupils of the school of necromancy had also been butchered, along with
their with their undead scourge.


The village awoke to a macabre scene in front of the school of necromancy.
Decapitated heads of the nights victims had been arranged in a tidy pile
at the gates, the head of her dead husband at the very top. On the walls was
written a dire warning PRICE OF MAGIC HAS BEEN PAID IN BLOOD & RAGE!