Role

Chapter 4

You must understand, dear reader, that I hear it always.

When the world grows quiet, in those moments that would otherwise be
peaceful: I hear the Phlegethon roaring. As I slip into slumber, in dreams
that are never silent: I hear it bubbling.

I don't know if I am imagining it. I don't know if it is psychosomatic. I
don't know if when I feel the faintest burning sspray upon my back whether
it is a delusion, for my skin neither blisters or cracks.

But I know I cannot let it have me. To go unknowing to that doom would be a
thing of dread; but now? Now I know, and I cannot unknow.

Undeath is closed to me, and I would not now pursue it if I could. A
temporary reprieve is no reprieve at all, and with my unconventional state
the chance of failure would be doubtless magnified besides.

No.

I need another plan. I need an alternative.

I told you already that I had planned to join the Empire if my
transformation had succeeded. Every necromancer knows the value in numbers,
and the Empire's armies are typically cut from a superior cloth. Doubtless
with my power, we could have imposed an age of order unlike any seen in
generations - but now?

That is no longer enough.

I have felt the touch of the Phlegethon, and no one man can hope to stand
before it.

I need an army.

One that I can take with me when I perish.