Role

Chapter 1

The shadow slipped in and out of the torchlights of the mercenary camp and
made its way cautiously by the heads of the defeated, which formed a gruesome
corridor to the mercenary captain's tent. He would complete his task, and be
welcomed into the dark brotherhood he had so long supported in secret. Those
who had mocked him in his youth and weakness would do so no longer, he would
have power, and they would pay. The death of a Battlerager would be his ticket
to greatness. None of the order could deny him a place, he would kill this warrior,
and raise his corpse as his servant, none would stand in his way. He dropped off
the path and snuck around to the back of the tent, none would even know he had
entered the camp until his slave rose from the dead and burst from his tent, hell
bent on destruction of his master's enemies. He carefully lifted the side of the
tent and slipped underneath the sidewall, the sounds of rain spattering the
muddy ground replaced by a gently crackling fire and the pattering of rain against
hide. Across the floor of the tent he could see him, a massive barbarian. His skin
was darkened and scarred, from many years on the campaign, and perhaps he
was also half drow, he could not be wholly sure. A large blanket, probably from
the hide of a bear, half covered the barbarian's naked body. On either side of
him, two woman, beautiful, and equally naked. Seven jugs of what must have
been ale lay on their sides. Perhaps, he could take them as well, though he was
unsure whether they would be more satisfying dead, or alive. As he neared him,
he could feel the magic rising in him, he could feel the Veil lending him power.
Excitement, fear, anxiety, power, all rose in him, mixing with the magic and
adrenaline, he was becoming euphoric. A bony, pale white hand stretched from
black, woolen robes and pointed at the barbarian, he began to recite the
incantation that would release a terrible necromatic power straight into the brain
of the sleeping barbarian. This was it, he would have his power! But something
was wrong, the magic was leaving, the Veil shivered around him and then, the
barbarian awoke.

Something told Eled to awaken, to rise quickly from his slumber. His eyes had
only just opened, and the Veil shivered, and in front of him was a skinny figure in
a black robe, its bony hand pointed straight at him. Magic was on his lips.
MAGIC!! Fury rose in Eled and rage consumed him, and blood filled his vision. He
exploded in sheer hatred from his bedding and leapt at the form, just as a terrible
necromatic power burst from his fingertips. Eled's head flared into a white hot
fire just as he reached the terrified mage. Eled saw the fear and surprise in his
eyes as he bellowed a terrible warcry and his right fist connected with the pale,
thin face of his would-be murderer. Bone and sinew crunched, and blood spit
from the other side of the magi's mouth. The left came across and smashed the
right eye socket of the reeling necromancer. The apprentice fell backwards,
tripping on an empty tankard, and Eled was on top of him. In seconds, the head
of the magic was literally a sack of hammered bone and brain, blood and tissue
seeping from the eye s