Role

Chapter 2

Kareloth rose through the ranks in the guild of dark templars. Meticiously he
dedicated time and effort into weapons and spells to ensure none would doubt his
greatness. As he accepted the bloodoath from the Dreadlord it was with the clear
intention of surpassing him one day. With pride he rose from oathed, to servant
to Imperial Black Magician. When he could he formed allies of various thieves
and bartenders of that pitiful inn of the Eternal Star. Maybe they could secure
him power in the future. Low shot.

One day he came across documented plans to expand the Empire into the Araile
desert, enslaving the locals who had raised him and eventually exiled him.
Strangely a feeling of guilt rose and without thinking he spilled ink over the
maps and orders. Looking down at his meaty hand he could have almost sworn that
it moved by itself. Strange that. He covered up his mistake keen on ensuring
noone noticed.

His first memories were of the Araile desert and how he learned the sand there
was not sand at all. He had been told he was left to the tribe as orphan by his
father, and though he has no memory of the man it seemed an odd choice for
Kareloth. Why leave him with so inferior tribesmen when he was so much
stronger? Though he had to admit they had some resilience and cleverness in
dealing with the harsh desert.

Either way he was close now, close to being taught the secrets of the unholy
blessing and begin the hunt. Voices in his head were thrilled with the
prospect. As long as he brought suffering or was suffering.

MEANWHILE IN HELL
Two devils lean over a scrying pool watching Kareloths actions.

Ilitus the extractor of broken hearts and enjoyer of twisting toenails is
scratching his back using the spine of some lost soul. The living head is
still attached to the spine and it is screaming in endless pain which none
of the devils seem to notice. Ilitus speaks:
"IT'S PROMISING. BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN HE EVENTUALLY LOSES THAT WEAPON?"

The second devil, Rumartich the drinker of tears and self appointed Lord
of Regret taps his cheek with a long claw in a strangely human gesture:
"DEATH BY HIS OWN HAND I ASSUME. LIKE SO MANY OF THEM. IT IS WHY WE DO
THIS AFTERALL. TO GET THE SOULS. THOSE OF OTHERS OR THEIRS."

Ilitus looks up, lowering the spine he was using to scratch his back.
"PERHAPS WE CAN TORTURE HIM WITH HIS FATHER."

They both look and the fire giant head on the spine as it's screaming
in unearthly horror and anguish.