Narzas the Enveloped Adherent of Corruption, Disciple of Zurcon

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Role

Chapter 13

Bones crackled.

Narzas frowned, and did it again. Fingers flexing shut and open again in a
familiar motion. Crack. Crack.

{You're getting old.}

Narzas nodded. It was true.

{Not slow, though.}

"Yes. Not slow."

Narzas stared down at his hands. Scarred, twisted, torn nails crusted with
old and new blood.

"We will die."

{It is what mortals do.}

Narzas nodded. It was. Some more painfully than others, true, but all of
them died in the end.

"Will we learn to see like the dark allies?"

{Perhaps.}

Narzas rubbed at his eyes. They'd been stinging, lately. Not uncomfortable,
but an unnatural prickling sensation ever since the burn of the mark had
settled.

"We asked the Azvameth to teach us to see through the eyes of the damned."

{I am always here, you know.}

"We were making conversation, yes."

{You were always better at making sacrifices.}

Narzas couldn't really argue with that, though he did wonder what the
malicious little imp's price would be for the knowledge, if he would share
it. He would have rather asked the Dithirin, but the breaker of the living
had not emerged from the dark woods in some time.

"Will you be with us, when the final sacrifice comes?"

{Sentimentality?}

"No. But we would like to know the truth, at the end."

The voice fell very silent for a time.

{The truth?}

"We regret nothing. But we want to know what we are."

Silence.

{Very well. For your service, you shall have the truth. It shall be the
last thing I whisper into your ear. A final reward.}

"Good," said the Adherent of Corruption. "This is good."

Role

Chapter 12

It had always ached.

Ever since Narzas could remember, the cold ache in the right side of his
chest had been a constant companion. The skin had always been paler than
the rest. Just one more deformity. One more thing to conceal beneath cloth
and skin torn from the corpses of the Enemy.

Now it burned.

The Brianna had given up, in the end. It was to be expected, Narzas
supposed. Did the Lord whisper to her too? Did he tell her of the
sacrifices Narzas had made in his name? Of Emperors, priests, of the Enemy?
Did the Lord whisper to her of the terror in the hearts of the broken and
the soon to be? There was pride and then there was foolish defiance of the
Lord, and the Brianna had surely strayed closer than she should.

The mark burned. A pain so different to that infernal dull ache. A pain
that beat in opposition to his own heart, a pulsing thrum that swore a
silent eternal promise of desolation. Would it burn when Narzas' own heart
finally stuttered and stopped? Would the mark beat still, a march towards
an end beyond his own?

Narzas felt complete, finally. Satisfied as if he'd just drained one of the
Enemy upon the iron altar of Graznarah and filled the black chalices to
overflowing.

The mark burned, and grafted elven skin turned from pale to black, a
corruption 30 years in the forging finally finalised.

And the last fleck of blue in Narzas' left eye winked out.

There would be no redemption.

Role

Chapter 11

While most people existed to Narzas as a sort of prop in the grand scheme
of things, with evident function but little beyond that to set them apart
or to hold his attention, there were a few exceptions to the rule.

Zodslag is Narzas' favourite orc. Perhaps oddly, he'd really like to see
someone overthrow him though, because if Zodslag could beat him (in the
gauntlet event) then his successor would be even stronger and he thinks a
strong Grinning Skulls is great for thinning the elf population.

Narzas is furious that Mogaz is rumoured to have died. He didn't dislike
the orc (he doesn't really have it in him to hate an orc), but he did want
to sacrifice him for betraying him. He is very disappointed to be robbed of
this opportunity and desperately hopes the rumours prove to be false.

Narzas comes as close to liking Dithirin as he can really with anyone. This
isn't because of anything particularly to due with Dithirin as a person, as
they haven't spoken that much - he just really likes that Dithirin is a
wight, believing they are excellent agents of destruction and much better
than the other kinds of undead from what he has seen.

Narzas is still very careful around Miraja and her imp master, especially
after witnessing her in the gauntlet event. Not much change here, though he
really doesn't like that her imp has learned to see him in the shadows.

Narzas has shared more of his ambitions and nature with Vizgrathol than
anyone else. They've not really had enough overlap to see where this goes
yet, something to hopefully explore more now that he's made it into the
Chasm.

Kira is complicated for Narzas. On one hand, he holds her in high esteem,
having learned that anti paladins are highly favoured by his Lord. On the
other, he's baffled by her being one of those that upholds the status quo
via the law. He is trying to resolve this confusion by seeking her out
whenever he can without seeming obvious about it to try to learn more about
her, though only gets more confused each time. Her being a drow of course
does not help here either. Whichever side he comes down on (ally/enemy) he
will probably double down on quite hard.

Role

Chapter 10

With practice born of the last decade, Narzas let his thoughts wander while
the voice raged against the Brianna.

It was puzzling. He had sacrificed many to the Lord, and still she would
not acknowledge the work he did for the great task.

But did it matter?

He had the whispers of annihilation with him. He did the Lord's work. The
Enemy were learning to fear the agents of the Lord once again. Despite this
one setback, things were going well.

Could the Brianna feel... envy?

Narzas mulled that over for a while. It was possible, he supposed. Did
anyone outside her island really fear the Brianna? Perhaps in the abstract,
but Narzas was a far more immediate fear in the minds of many, of that he
was sure.

"She fears us, yes. Is jealous of us."

The voice paused.

{We cannot kill her.}

Narzas felt that might have actually pained the voice. What a novel thought
that was.

"She cannot ignore us forever. Not while we spread the Lord's will across
the land."

{You do not have forever.}

Narzas shrugged. He supposed that was true.

"Then we will make it impossible for her to ignore our work, yes?"

{How?}

"If the Brianna is jealous, then we will make it in her best interest to
grant us the Lord's mark, yes. Others will begin to wonder soon. Perhaps
the Brianna is losing her power? Perhaps she has lost the Lord's favour,
and can no longer mark the worthy?"

Narzas nodded to himself, quite pleased with the notion. The voice cackled.

{More sacrifices, then.}

"More sacrifices," agreed Narzas.

If he had had a mirror at that moment, Narzas would have seen the black of
his right eye utterly subsume the remaining blue.

(TLDR: I think an unfailable quest that autostarted as I explored the area
looking for the Zurcon stuff is preventing me from starting the Zurcon
quest, so while I'll hold out hope, I'll be giving myself some rp
justification for why I'm running around being a Zurcon guy without having
the tat in the meantime.)

Role

Chapter 9

Narzas had made some allies. The orcs were simple and vicious creatures,
and Narzas found their company soothing. Perhaps not something most could
claim, but perhaps like calls to like.

He had also met some mages from the chasm, who had promised to kill some of
the Enemy who were yet out of Narzas' reach if he would help get their
scepter. Beyond that he wasn't sure how he felt about them. They seemed
quite useful, but Narzas had also swiftly realised that their power
eclipsed his. On one hand, the eratic demon with the human familiar
unnerved Narzas more than he would like to admit. On the other, he did not
like feeling inferior.

The imp had suggested that Narzas pledged to join the chasm to help in
'his' work. Narzas new it wasn't a suggestion, though. It was an ultimatum,
and stalling would only get him so far. He wasn't against it necessarily,
but wished to observe for as long as he could. That might not be long
though. Narzas thought the imp was quite mad.

After all. He was rather an expert in such things.

Role

Chapter 8

Narzas had learned a lot in the following years.

The voice would tell him here and there to make sacrifices to the lord, and
Narzas complied. Most he felt nothing for, his emotional torpor unswayed by
the methodical killing. All but the enemy, of course.

It was a strange contradiction. On one hand, Narzas had that ever present
creeping dread that the next one of the Enemy he faced would be the one to
send him back to those early days. To make him afraid again. To make him
bleed again. He hoped for there not to be many of the Enemy for that reason.

On the other, the few times he had faced one had been burned into his
memory. The first time he had broken one and seen the light fade from its
wicked judging eyes an instant he would never forget. The voice had been
right, there. Destroying the Enemy did feel good. Better than any other
pleasure of the flesh Narzas had indulged in, few as they were.

The voice had never outright stated who the lord that Narzas must serve was,
but the human was no fool. The voice was never quiet since that moment of
choice, always whispering. Always crooning. Only when he'd stumbled across
an ancient temple deep beneath the earth had the voice grown truly frenzied
though, and when the high priestess within had ignored him (and the voice
had for the first time ever told him to stay his hand) Narzas had
understood. It did not need be said. Perhaps one final vestage of denial,
while it could last.

He returned to the temple often. Each time a new sacrifice made, hoping and
dreading the priestess' attention, each time another step on the road to
the final sacrifice: the whispered promise of the loathsome Cardinal's
offer of redemption.

Role

Chapter 7

Narzas is what is left of one of three foolish young adventurers who
thought to climb Trothon's tower to challenge Narzoth far before they were
ready. Born under the sphere of destruction, the Death Knight used his
remains while he had not yet died to create an agent of Zurcon to attempt
to stack the deck from within his prison. The process altered Narzas'
features and he is very unnatural looking as a result. He has the name he
does because when the minotaur guards found him in Seantryn's main square
shortly after his rebirth all the young man would repeat was Narzoth's name
(this was the last remnants of who he was before trying to warn people);
the minotaurs tried to translate this to the orphanage they left him at,
and the matron just assumed it was his name.

Narzas is not a puppet, he is his own person, though very diminished in
many ways. His capacity for empathy and many other positive emotions is
gone (though he is able to fake them quite well), and he has no memory of
life from before his 'rebirth'. The one link to his past he retains is when
he sleeps he often dreams of the moment he was struck down by Narzoth as
well as other Zurcon related nightmares, though has no context for the
memory. He has a manic drive to find something, though initially won't know
what he's looking for.

He hears a very bloodthirsty voice. Whether this is actually someone
talking to him or if he's completely insane due to what was done to him is
ambiguous, though what he will believe it is will likely change over time.

Narzas has a completely irrational and violent hatred for elves and wood
elves. Drow do not provoke the same instinctive reaction, though he'd be
less tolerant of their issues on average. Half elves provoke a reaction,
though a reduced one compared to a full blooded one.

Assassin because he never wants to be put in the position of being slapped
down by an elf again, basically. He probably will not take deaths to elves
well at all.

Zurcon religion and scions is the plan, though not straight away, least of
all because I have to figure out the Zurcon quest. Things might be a bit
disjointed until that happens, as it will be the time he finds his
'calling'.

Role

Chapter 6

Narzas did not go far.

The voice had began by shrieking for his immediate return. To face the
enemy. To kill the enemy. To drink its blood and worse.

It hadn't lasted long, though. The voice had fallen abruptly silent only a
few minutes after he had left. Narzas didn't know why, neither did he much
care in the moment; his eye on the side the creature had struck him was
rapidly swelling shut, and it was not doing anything for his ability to be
ignored. He did not look normal on the best of days, and this was
definitely not a good day.

How had the creature been so fast?

He'd felt such an all consuming dread in that moment. Knowing that he was
facing something beyond him, an oppressive fear so profound that he had no
explanation for it. As if a memory out of a nightmare brought to life,
though he had never dreamed of creatures like the enemy.

{You do not need to be afraid.}

The voice was so quiet. It had never been quiet, before.

It would be nice not to be afraid. For all his brokenness, perhaps a better
man would have resisted the whispers. Would have strived to be good in
spite of his corruption.

But Narzas was weak, and afraid, and empty, and alone except for his own
madness.

He listened to the voice.

Role

Chapter 5

The matron had been right.

Light footsteps on the old wooden stairs were the first sign that another
was joining breakfast. Narzas didn't know what made him look up from his
food. He honestly couldn't care less who shared this accommodation.

Then his eyes fell upon the face of the enemy, and Narzas felt something he
had never felt before. The hollow emptiness fled before it even as the
voice raised to a piercing crescendo.

Incandescent rage.

{ELF!}

The table crashed to the ground as Narzas lunged over it at the enemy. The
pale perfect face blanching in surprise as he stabbed at its hideous eyes
with his butterknife.

The unnaturally graceful creature tilted its head, slapped the knife out of
his hand and backhanded him with enough force that he felt his teeth split
the inside of his cheek.

{ELF!}

Narzas scrabbled to his feet, staring wildly around. The matron's shocked
face, the enemy, so strong, so fast, so close.

Narzas ran, the voice howling for blood even as he fled with the taste of
his own blood in his mouth.

Role

Chapter 4

{KILL HER!}

Narzas plastered a smile onto his face as the matron set his plate down in
front of him, ignoring the voice with practiced ease. She was a half elf in
her middle years, and had only ever been kind to him.

That didn't quash the urge to reach out and wrap his hands around her neck
and squeeze until the light went out, though. It was odd. There were other
orphans here that he genuinely disliked, but he had nowhere near the same
urges to inflict lasting harm to them. The voice didn't seem to care about
most of them, either.

"We had a new arrival last night," said the matron.

Narzas glanced up at her. He didn't really care, but he had found it was
best to fake interest in the boring things. It avoided uncomfortable
questions.

{KILL HER!}

"That is nice," said Narzas amiably.

"He'll be down soon I expect. Maybe you can look out for him until he gets
used to things? He's a little bit far from home."

{KILL HER KILL HER!}

"I will," Narzas happily lied.

The matron smiled, all the time a voice only Narzas could hear screaming
for her messy demise.

Role

Chapter 3

Narzas dreamed of the demon again.

The horned monster stood upon a barren wasteland, arms upraised as thirteen
shadows hovered about its malefic form. There were no screams this night.
Usually there were, but this time it was unnaturally silent. The demon
simply stood there, head thrown back as if in a moment of exultant triumph.

Narzas knew he was dreaming. That was the strangest part about these dreams.
It had terrified him initially. It wasn't normal to dream of such things,
of that he was sure. Bracing himself, he took a single step towards the
demon.

The horned head turned.

Narzas woke drenched in sweat, a cold ache in the right side of his chest.
He'd never seen the demon's face. Every time he woke in that scant instant
before he could see the face of the entity that had haunted his dreams ever
since he'd come to the orphanage.

Sighing, he climbed out of bed. The dull weariness that was his constant
companion was easily brushed aside. He had long since accepted a full
night's sleep was beyond him.

It was time to start the day.

Role

Chapter 2

It had been surprisingly challenging.

The human's body may have been weak and easily broken, but his will had
been surprisingly strong. No match for his, of course, but he had almost
lost the wretch at times; the soul struggling to escape and slip beyond.

But he was Narzoth of the Thirteen, and his subject was born beneath
Destruction's glare. There would be no salvation in death for this one.

He had repaired the body, mostly. He had only stabbed it the once, so it
was not a great hardship, though his methods were rather unconventional,
admittedly. It was fortunate the other two hadn't started rotting yet. They
had supplied material for the grafting, and the subject had not rejected
their flesh.

His Lord had truly smiled upon him to send him one of the wretched elves
this day, and he had made use of the creature's blood before coagulation
could begin. Sigils and runes surrounded the subject. Three circles of
thirteen, with the Lord's mark painted upon the subject's chest to seal the
pacting. Directive upon directive, scribed in the blood of the Lord's
ancient enemy, painted by the hand of one of his greatest heralds.

Narzoth activated the runic array, and Narzas was reborn by the hand of
iniquity. Narzoth felt the soul give one great thrash beneath his
intangible grip, then fall still.

Success.

The mind would take time to assert itself after its traumatic experience,
but the prime directive would guide it at least long enough to determine
the viability of his gambit. To be anxious was beneath one of the Lord's
Heralds, but Narzoth watched with dark anticipation as his creation
approached the wards that had so successfully bound him... and stepped
across them.

It was a perfect prison for him.

Just for him, though.

Narzoth, favoured of Zurcon returned to his enforced vigil.

Waiting.

Role

Chapter 1

Narzoth abided among the latest corpses.

These ones had been pathetic. Three of them, but insignificant even united;
all young even by the standards of mortality and filled with the
foolishness of their years. Those moments when the intrepid and foolish
breached his prison and gave him a target to vent his rage upon were the
few moments of his bondage that had meaning. Those scant hours when his
Lord's wrath could be shown to the wretches from the world beyond these
accursed four walls.

They had broken in moments. Unsatisfying. His Lord's gifts fed him strength
unmatched, and yet they had not even lasted an hour of entertainment.

If Narzoth had lungs, he would have most likely sighed. How long had it
been? The years had rather lost meaning, at this point. It had been a good
trap. Wards to specifically hold him, their magic undiminished by the
passing of centuries.

He had not expected it to get this far. He had been bound before, of course.
The Great Lord had made him eternal beyond even the Lords of the Undead.
The blight of elfkind had long since learned they could not unmake the
Master's work, and so this was their scrabbling desperate resort.

This was perhaps the best trap so far, though. Were the other brethren
bound? They could not be unmade, but had they fallen into similar captivity
to his own? Had he miscalculated, waiting all this time for one to come and
shatter this prison from the outside, as had been done before?

Were they similarly waiting, the ultimate quest for the ivory receptical
languishing?

A choked gurgle broke through the Death Knight's musings. A familiar sound.
One of the wonderful symphonies of prayer; the sound of a mortal seeking
breath but only drawing in their sanguine sustenance.

Narzoth was surprised, but pleasantly so. One of them was still alive. Not
the elf, alas, but the human would still provide some entertainment if he
took his time. Seeing how long a sacrifice to the Great Lord could be kept
upon the cusp was not as satisfying as a rampage, but it would serve.

Then he paused, a dark seed of an idea blossoming. A moment of black
inspiration, so sinister that it could only be a blessing from the Great
Lord Himself.

The dying human was touched by his Lord's dominion. It was always a shame
how few embraced that birthright, who truly let the song of Destruction
rage in their ears and unleashed annihilation upon the world.

But it did make him more pliable to his Lord's gifts.

Perhaps...

As the human lay dying, Narzoth allowed himself an indulgence as his
malevolant mirth filled his prison.

Then he set to work.

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