Ejomhei Dergine the Consummate Tactician of War, Imperial High Priest

Role

Chapter 6

His flesh seared with pain from the brands as they dug deeply into his flesh.
As the blacksmith stepped back from the shuddering form of Ejomhei you see
three pink scars forming along his flesh. On his chest a rune of fire
emblazed upon his heart. Across his clavicle a graying tattoo with the words
War is God.The look of contentment washes over his face as he dons his
priestly robes.As he leaves the blacksmith he pauses placing his hand at
the edge of the door. Upon it, an incarnadine spiral is tattooed on his
hand.

Walking past the Imperial Graveyard he pauses at a lone tombstone emblazoned
with the same spiral. The name Ezgrint Fleer-Rah is inscribed upon the
stone.

Within the Imperial halls a hush falls over the Divine as Ejomhei assumes his
position at the head of the Sect Hall.Back in in the sleeping chambers of
the Divine smoke billows out from one of the doors, a female priest staggers
out coughing wildly.

At the head of the hall a member of the Shadow sect whispers into the ear of
Ejomhei, a devious smile washes across the face of Ejomhei.

Role

Chapter 5

My face became flushed with the sickening feeling of failure. The ceremony
was held before the Great Imperial Hall, Ezgrint, The Imperial Acolyte, would
become the next Priest of the sect. When the news was brought to my
attention was studying manuscripts in the sect hall with the other Acolytes.
The whispers turned to murmurs and the murmurs to barks and yips of
excitement. I barely remember closing the book on Imperial Doctrine of the
2nd Age before the High Priest arrived in the hall. My eyes took on a glossy
hue and his garbled speech barely registered over the expanding
disappointment.

I quickly turned to the back of my journal, yes, it was there, over 500 gold
to the coffers of the Empire. Last I had checked, Ezgrint had only managed
300 gold. How could this happen? Had I not battled the Marans across the
snowy peaks? Or spilled blood in the forests north of Arkham?My head swam
with sickness and I felt faint.Excusing myself to the back of the hall, I
vomited into the cask normally reserved for ale. Luckily, with the drunken
celebration, few noticed. Wiping the bits of gruel from my cape I quietly
slid to my chambers. Despite the bonfire in the square, I barely noticed its
heat as my own rage grew.

Within my chambers the chair and simple desk splintered like twigs. I howled
in frustration as the drunken reverie rose into the night air. As I lay
against the stone slab flooring, logic set back in and I knew something must
be done to correct this grievous error.

Role

Chapter 4

The crackling of the bonfire echoed off the mountain. Ejomhei lifted the
flag to the deerskin tent and strode before Kalielle a jade-elf who kept her
kins namesake on her skin. Greeting with her a nod he marched directly
towards the fabled dwarf Garwern and towards the stairs of the Faithful.

Repeatedly he tried to climb them, each time his feet failed him sending him
sprawling back to the ground. He burned with anger as the eyes of Garwern
tracked him, watching him rise, then fall. His muscles ached and his body
was covered in scrapes and bruises. After his tenth time, he relented.

As he sat in the stomping ground fuming over his inability to be faithful
enough, she appeared. Her moves were rhythmic, pulsating like the bonfire
itself.Wielding a spear as an extension of herself she approached the
hapless figure of Ejomhei and smiled, her fangs becoming glinting off the
candlelight. She handed him a tankard and thus the conversation began.

For hours they talked, of War, her time as a mortal and of the future. Over
the course of the conversation Ejomheis demeanor varied greatly,
occasionally he was quiet, observant, then other times blustering wildly
about his plans of domination. The War Goddess tracked his moods, noting the
intake of ale and the discourse.

As a yawn overtook the bleary eyed half-drow you see him produce piece of
parchment and a quill.He begins to hurriedly write down a few notes on the
parchment:
1) Ascend to High Priest
2)Recruit more Blades into the Empire
3) Grow your strength amongst the Shadows
4)Destroy the Black Sect
5) Evolve

At the very end of the parchment you see one final point AT ALL COSTS.

Role

Chapter 3

Ejomhei awoke to a chorus of singing accompanied by a lute. A traveling
band of performers ambled by, filled with song and drink they wound their way
through the forest, not seemingly in a hurry to arrive at their destination.
As Ejomheis senses came to him, the voice of the wagoner pierced the crisp
morning air.

"He knelt down before the screaming masses, his body tamed by the rod"
"They grew thirsty for battle and cried 'War is God"
"The blows rung true rending his hide"
"Yet the soldier gleamed outwardly with pride"
"He looked toward the heavens and prepared to die"
"The fela of Fire soon spoke"
"The Child of War then awoke"

The troupe snaked around a bend and were gone, the music fading into the
distance. Ejomhei gathered himself and followed the fading canticle,
discarding his helm and armors that held his lands insignias to the side of
the road, his pointed ears poking out his dirty blonde hair.

Role

Chapter 2

The goblet of wine cascaded upon his silver armor, causing the potent
beverage to splash upon his tabard and temporarily blind him.

"You bumbling incompetent fool!I give you my best spears and heavy
swordsman and you sent them to slaughter!" Lord Wilmok howled in frustration.

"You used them like sacrificial pawns, you foolish boy." The Lord paused
his eyes lit up and he stood straight, the hunch of anger leaving him. He
turned to Ejomhei, the candles flickered as the flap from the tent lifted.
Two of the Lords personal bodyguard strode into the tent.

"Be gone, forever you fucking half-breed."

The words hit him with the full force of failure, his lip quivered and then
his whole body shuddered. He staggered out of the tent as if extreme
drunkenness had gripped him. He wheezed frantically, trying to gather breath
and yet, nothing could assuage the panic that assaulted all his senses.
Falling to the ground he grabbed at the air, clawing for anything that could
stabilize him, yet all he found was the jeering and laughs of his former
advisers their faces blurring as tears welled in his eyes.

Soon the jeering gave way to feces and stale mead. It came from every
direction pummeling him and causing him to increase the pace of his stagger
toward a grove of trees. He cantered aimlessly through the night till his
legs could carry him no further; the chorus of hate seemed to echo off the
forest walls. Finally collapsing in a heap he lay listlessly against the
trunk of a spider willow, its long arms causing the moonlight to dance upon
his soiled armor.

As sleep overtook him, he saw what appeared to be motes of fire dancing
towards him, within the fire was a man, hardened by war. His face weather
beaten and stained a dark brown. Long gray hair cascaded down his face,
stubble covering his jaw. Despite his rugged appearance he somehow held a
familiar stare, one Ejomhei had seen before. The man stepped towards him
flames licking his resplendent armor. "Kneel down before the unruly mob and
succumb to their cries" he boomed. "Now that you have seen the terrible
sight of failure, begin the march anew". The man then vanished, trails of
smoke where his form once stood.

Skill List

Role

Chapter 1

Ejomhei Dergine stood at the edge of the cliff watching the carnage spill out
before him. Disemboweled corpses lay covered in the dust that floated above
the earthen floor. Streaks of blood cascaded over his lips as he ravaged the
piece of mutton in his hand. Below him the figures moved across the
battlefield marching in distinct formations, the smoke and gore filling his
nostrils.

"Signal the right flank to move forward, left flank quarter speed" he called
out to his flag bearer.In an instant five flags began waving furiously,
almost instantly the formations shifted as the troops responded to his
commands. A glimmer of pride surged across his ruddy brown eyes. He took
another large bite of meat, causing fresh trails of blood to cover his
increasingly crimson chin.

"Who said the Arlath tribe could fight?" He cowed, swigging the last of his
wine. The gamble had seemingly paid off, by committing the entirety of his
troops to the early skirmish he could crush the Arlath and move on to pursue
the other revolting villages.

In the distance a trumpet blared. His gaze snapped quickly to the east only
to hear and see a thundering mass hurtling towards the troops below.

"Who the hell are they?" He yelled to his generals.
"The Vensilion cavalry, they have arrived two days early," cried Arlinios,
his most senior general, fear and panic washing across the faces of his most
trusted advisors. "We must sound the retreat!"

Ejomheis gaze darted back and forth, the mass closed in on the battle. The
flags from his brigade began to sag, the cries of panic started to lift above
the din.

"Ejomhei! We must pull back to Felthrion!" Arlinios yelled, his voice
ringing with panic.

His gaze shifted, beyond the battlefield towards the horizon. "Retreat
then" he pulled his horse to the south and began the march to Felthrion.
The Lords wrath would await him.

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