Role

Chapter 2

I suppose it all began on the Conservator's slab.

That's reductive, of course. I will not trouble you with the trivialities
at length; I skulked my way through my necromantic training, a Magistrate
without distinction and uninterested in its obtaining. I was going to leave
to join the Empire soon enough, after all. A tried and tested tactic, as
all aspiring necromancers know. Judge me as you will, but I had been
assured at length that upon my success my elevation through the black sect
would be swift and without complication. I had it all planned out, you see.

I believe it began to truly sink in when the Conservator's knife made the
first incision. To this day I do not know if something went wrong so early,
or if rumours that I would slumber for the process had been just that -
rumours. I can tell you though, dear reader, that it was a pain unlike
anything I had experienced in my relatively short life. I felt him removing
my organs one by one. Unable to move, unable to scream, I felt the heat
leech from my limbs and my heart stutter in my chest for the final time.

I felt myself die. For that most fundamental bond, that between the flesh
and the soul to be severed.

I despaired, of course. Who wouldn't? My dreams? My plans? My ambitions?
All for nothing. Yet I had of course prepared myself for such an
eventuality, or so I believed at the time.

I rose from my flesh, a spectre still and a spectre changed. The
Conservator gave me no mind, for surely he has seen it all before a
thousand times.

I waited. It would be Hell, of course. But it wouldn't be so bad, I was
sure. My sins were not so great after all; the legions of the innocent I
had perfected my craft upon not withstanding.

I waited, and prepared for my descent.