Blodwyn the Spectre, Magistrate of Galadon

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Chapter 4

Bloated. There was no other feeling to describe her recent indulgence. Bodies
decayed in her wake as even her ravenous mortal hunger could not be sated by
the fleshly vessels that flaunted themselves in her presence. She feasted on
those who refused to pay tribute or compliment to her.

And she feasted upon those who did. She had truly become enlightened with her
own indulgence, the Mother of Vices. With each foul act the darkness inside
her grows, threatening to consume her completely as she had consumed herself
with sin. This growing bleakness pushed forth her vitriol from her past until
it leaked through her greasy pores with disdain. Her anger now fully embraced
against the chaotic she blames for the death of her husband, now blazed like
a beacon of demonfire within the pits of the abyss and banished her slothful
nature, inspiring her to lavish the hunt. A familiar pang of jealously knifed
her stomach with lancing pain as another Magi was given the opportunity to be
a Vindicator for the Blood Tribunal.

His death would come in an untimely manner but his saving grace would reveal
itself in the forlorn message that whispered from the dying breath of her own
precious children. It proved a distraction to her burning desire in the Spire
with the promise of an unrivalled power.

She pressed her ear to the convulsing form of the gorgeous silver haired elf
as breath fled her lungs in rattles of death and despair. As her newest child
lumbered to their feet, just like those in days passed, it whispered a letter
with a dying breath. Resting her hands on the fat knees, she squatted to her
haunches and withdrew a leather-bound tome that she had began to decipher the
hallowed message from the dead.

It had begun to take form. And the message was clear as the damned souls of
the Black Sect whispered the sacrilege of the infernal by the Empire:

LET NOT THE EMPIRE SUBJUGATE THE DEAD. THEY WILL DENY YOUR CLAIM TO UNDEATH.

She snapped her quill as she penned the last letter upon the papyrus. White
with rage she stood with a huff and retreated to the hidden sepulchre within
Hamsah Mu'tazz to formulate her next move. She was Blodwyn Nightwing and none
would deny her what she craved.

To be continued...

Role

Chapter 3

Itzenxilaatl Rubrumstell. The name was like bile in her throat as the undead
Emperor paraded through Hamsah Mu'tazz. She had grown to despise the desert
town, not only for these chance meetings that flared her inner demons as they
basked in shades of envy, but for the heat that flowed from the Araile Desert
to the south. She was uncomfortable. Sweat mingled with sands that blew upon
the winds and covered her in a foul lather. Perhaps this is why she responded
to his questions with such disdain, the irritation of her environment. Though
it was more likely that she just didn't tolerate those whom had achieved what
she herself craved.

"Why haven't you take an oath yet, young scholar?"

Irritated by the fool she lashed out with a forked tongue and proclaimed that
he may serve her if she ever degraded herself enough to join the Empire. What
could a creature bound by the lies of his false deity know about the infinite
pleasures of the flesh? Only a sinner like herself had the capacity to mould
a land of order and bring chaos to kneel. She had affections for the fallen
who indulge in vice after vice seeking to find that intimate part that dwells
deep within themselves. She had become the mother of vices, refusing to part
with anything gave her the clarity to manipulate those whom otherwise present
issues by knowledge of their own addictions. All Therans were addicts. All of
Thera was born to sin. And she loved and embraced them all, sinner and addict
alike.

Just as she had her children.

She had made an enemy this day. Of the Emperor. Of the Empire. But knowing a
creature in Thera claimed something her black heart of covetousness desired
gave her the smallest glimmer of motivation to strive for undeath and pursue
it for herself. There was no other option to the newly promoted Magistrate of
Hamsah Mu'tazz than to have it all. And maybe then, the hunger would cease to
bring her to knees. The physical hunger at least.

An eerie question echoed through her mind and she contemplated a life beyond
the flesh.

"What would your insatiable soul hunger for then, Blodwyn Nightwing?"

To be continued...

Role

Chapter 2

Laboured breath followed arduous movement as slothful muscles protested again
and again against the idea of leaving Aturi and a life she had always known.
She was a widow, her husband merely a farmhand whom had been conscripted into
the Seantryn Patrol to subdue the rising panic from the famine. An angry mob
was all it took to force change upon her and civil unrest became anarchy with
a murderous vengeance against the Throne.

But death was merely the catalyst for her transformation. While she lamented
it, gorged herself in her mourning and shunned herself from the world, a true
transformation was at hand. Pushing down all pretence of the meek and loving
bride she was once, she rotted in her filth and bathed herself in thoughts of
herself alone. Her soul was torn between the stages of grief. Denial. Anger.
Bargaining. Depression. Before finally it landed upon a perverted sense of an
adulterated acceptance. It was not her loss she accepted, but the outlook and
mentality that she would never again be a shivering window, starving alone in
the darkness with sobbing children.

Never again would she want for anything. She ventures forth in the world with
a few goals in mind while refusing to sacrifice her own indulges:

- She will study necromancy as a way to be close to her children whom she was
forced to eat during her poverty. Eventually her ravenous hunger will become
too much and she will seek the path of Becoming to transcend her needs.

- She will punish the chaotic. The widow within her blames the anarchist for
the death of her husband. She also blames them for forcing her to feed on her
children in her own starvation. She will hunt the chaotic without mercy as it
eventually leads her to become a member of the Blood Tribunal and who knows,
perhaps an eventual Vindicator to bind her prey in shackles.

- She fears missing out on mortal pleasures and will indulge in all vices she
can find without remorse. As she grows closer to death the more indulgent she
will become as her covetousness manifests physically and even spiritually.

To be continued...

Role

Chapter 1

"You're beautiful."

A slender hand reached up in the murky mirror and stroked the dark, tormented
reflection of a mourning widow. The vision that stared back was ghastly and
almost unrecognisable from her virgin years. The pallor of her eyes twitched
with a distant numbing as she regretfully acknowledged the unnatural decay of
her flowing virtue now wilted with dark deeds and corruption. She slammed her
weighty fist against the injustice of her past as she protested the fat whore
that had stolen her delicate visage.

The mirror shattered with a deathly promise of blood, slicing deep through an
impossibly thick layer of gelatinous flesh as it swathed stagnant blood about
the dark and dingy room. Shards fell to the floor with a chittering of glass,
before an eerie silence deafened the room. She grasped the mutilation with an
eerie euphoria as her lathered tongue escaped the dark chasm of her face with
betrayal and eagerness. The room was plunged into darkness as the suckling of
her own feedings became frantic, the single candle that radiated light into
the room was knocked free from the dishevelled mantled and onto the floor. As
this strangled light illuminated the room it was reflected upon the shivering
shards of cold glass and cast a stale light upon the room.

It was a small and humble dwelling, that of a housewife in the southern lands
of Aturi and otherwise unremarkable besides the blanked of dust that settled
upon the interior surfaces. In the dull light of the reflected slither, there
was but one ghastly detail that would haunt forever the woman and change her
into the monster of covetousness she would inevitably become.

Skulls. Bones. Flesh.

And whatever partially devoured remains of her children had not yet found way
into the maw of the twisted woman perched upon the straining wooden stool. As
the suckling stopped she gurgled another phrase into the beckoning darkness.

"Come with me now, my children. Thera awaits."

To be continued...

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