Role

Chapter 3

Time wears, and for some this means their cherished secrets are
eroded until bare. Others recede from notice, until even the
questions that those secrets answer fade from the memories of men.
Seshaien has met with the patron of the Blessed Lost, or rather
an awkward effigy of His will, and has found Him to be worthy of
dedication. It irks Seshaien that he is reduced to conversing with
a clattering shamble of chipped porcelain, but there is power to
His teachings, so pride must be of secondary concern- at least for
the time.

The work that the Lord requests is satisfying, bringing His gifts
to those fool enough to scoff at them. Not all, though. The
Empire is rife with those who fear losing very little, but for
their name and their citizenship, and fight with the rabid cunning
of a hyena to cling to them. Those are the gifts that He wishes be
delivered. The Emperor, as formidable as he is senile, is chief
among those who sit upon their achievements and refuse His gifts.
An imposing task, to dethrone this Emperor, but how we could swim
in the accolades of his despair. So too within the Empire spreads
a plague, a threat to all Shadows. The quill shaped markings, and
those that aspire towards them seek to expose everything that lurks
in the shade, all secrets revealed in their insatiable thirst for
knowledge. The Lord wishes for these too to feel the sweet caress
of His gifts. Daunting tasks, but not impossible. By keeping his
newfound devotion from the notice of others he may sew the seeds
of discord all the while walking abreast of his enemies.

Time wears, and no longer is Seshaien an initiate, no longer is he
the rash young man that came before Him with demanding expectations.
He still feels somewhat lost on his own journey, but with effort
and instruction draws closer to greater understanding. Perhaps His
offer of information regarding his father, an obscure and cryptic
comment, will offer further perspective upon his path.