Role

Chapter 1

In the heart of the marshy swamps of Ysigrath, where the balance between life
and death holds profound significance, a single egg of pristine white is held
in the clawed hands of the saurian elder of tribe Sra'Akas. He is alone
beneath the boughs of a great tree, one of the many fruit trees his small clan
tends in peace and tranquility, contemplating the egg.

He sighs deeply. This has always been his task. He will allow the rest of
his people to live in blissful ignorance while he suffers the burden of this
sin. With a heavy heart, and the weight of his entire tribe upon his
shoulders, he begins his foul work.

By the light of the full moon, in finest detail, he carves the runes, each
symbol a wound upon his heart as well as the egg, one tiny pattern for each
member of his tribe that sleeps this terrible night away in peace.

When he is finished, he rises, fierce and determined, but his legs tremble
like the branches in a storm. With an effort of will, he calls out to the
open air, and a foul miasma rises from the direction of his village,
coalescing around the egg. Whispers fill the air, they swirl around the
saurian in a maddening cacophony. Bitterness and resentment, distrust and
greed. But he has done this many times before. He will not be swayed. The
egg glows with a sickly light in his claw, and the swirling fog is sucked into
the egg, the sounds vanishing like a lie.

The swamp is silent once again. Not even the chirping of insects disturbed
the serenity of the night.