Role

Chapter 9

It was late Autumn when the news reached the monestary along with a
delivery from Voralian City.

Two divinities had awoken. The first described lightened the mood of all
but one, for to value life and the natural world would surely be a net
benefit to the world. Some of the more pecimistic monks muttered about how
it would be soon enough that war priests would take up her banner in bloody
crusade, but it was more by habit than genuine displeasure. The alternative
could be far worse, after all.

Unfortunately, the alternative was also manifest. Whispers of a goddess who
reveled in destruction, in consigning the world to fire to see what would
then rise from the remains, of ash daubed priests full of the vilest
intentions wiped away the smiles and good cheer in short order.

The monks wished to hear no more, for they knew the shape of this tale. Of
the boundless wickedness which would be born from such an emergence. Yet
when Ixen offered to help the traveler unload his boat and took the time to
ask more, he knew.

That puzzle, so long fragmented and incomplete was no more. This was what
he had been looking for.

When he returned to his readings that night, it was with the most terrible
of intent, for where once he had been uncertain, now he was resolved. His
long quandary at last broken.

He would need power, and while Zurcon's faith was a path discarded, the
demon God's priests had included other things within those pages.

That night, Ixen set to forging his first pact with the Abyss, thick
fingers turning pages until he found a fitting name, the arrogance of youth
giving no thought to the consequence for stepping beyond his means.

Trallmonnan. He who rots.

The price was high.