Laisren the Vampyre Demagogue of the Mauls, Imperial Dread Lord

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Role

Chapter 5

The thirst was all encompassing, all other sensations pressed into a tangled dull
throbbing mass in the recesses of his mind. Cserlich had said, "Now sleep, surrender,
and be born anew as one of my mindless thralls." Laisren had not given over to the
power of the Vampyre Lord though, the might of his mind, the years of dedication
to the manupliations of negative energy, his faith in the Cross Splitting Mauls had
all proven out in the strength he displayed in overcoming the allure of the Vampyre.
The thirst was all encompassing. The Shadow Lord had accompanied him to the Church,
he spoke to Laisren now and again, his words muted against the excruciating call of
every fiber of his being screaming out to feed.

--But built anew, by blood, we live.-- Laisren remembered the inscription in the
catacombs. The intensity of the moment he had torn through the veil of the Vampyre's
will he had been built anew. As a mortal, he had thought himself superior to all
others, as an Undead, he knew he was superior to all others. His features had
sharpened, and he felt even more affinity for the darkness and subterranean caves of
his ancestors. He had become more nimble and even more commanding.

The thirst was all encompassing. Laisren would leverage his newfound powers to feed
it, to stoke the fires of the Imperial armies, to rule.

Role

Chapter 4

The snow swirled about Laisren and his minions as he pushed his way through the
never-ending assault of the freezing storm back to the high pass. He ignored the
bite of the bitterly numbing winds, his focus rather upon the swingeing thrall that
had been the experience of his first audience with his Lord, Rillan.
Rillan was magnificent, tall lean, muscular, everything about him was without equal,
perfect. Rillan's etiquette was flawless, and his manner wholey immaculate. Each
phrase he had uttered to Lairsen a lecture unto itself. Each moment of the discourse
had conveyed apparent and clear meaning, while also defining the core of the doctrine
of the cross splitting mauls. For the entirety of the engagement Rillan exemplified
every facet of what he expected of Laisren and while each charge had been given in
more than civil fashion, Lasiren felt as if he had been thrashed for a fortnight.
"I can see your true charm, and it is lacking."
"To have those follow us, we must be perfect in every way. They must want to
be us, knowing they can never achieve such."
"You mentioned wealth. That is also lacking."
The admonitions resounded again and again in Laisren's mind. With every reverberation
he had to steady himself lest he literally physically recoil against the striking of
each statement's echo.
Still, what remained of his life had been lain bare before him, the purpose set and
the means detailed. He had attained the Dread Lord's seat. What seemed impossible
was not, not for him. The task Daerkaan had assigned seemed small,almost simple now.
As he stepped down on the north road, Laisren was resolved to prove himself to his
Lord Rillan. Though the burden be as heavy as Thera itself, his faith in Rillan
would bear out the achievement expected, in its entirety.

Role

Chapter 3

No one living knew precisely how old Councilor Daerkaan might be, he simply
was. The backgrounds of the other three council members were well documented
though, and while Daerkaan's servants and stewards through the years had kept
meticulous records of his affairs and dealings the origins of the lich remained
as obsured and concealed as the paths in the swirling fog about the great
citadel. Still, it was considered a great distinction to be awarded a place
as an apprentice among his servants. Laisren it was determined had shown
particular strength of will and went about his studies in a deliberate manner
with a diligence that stood far and away above his competitors. The fact that
filling such a minor role among the many that made up the myriad of positions
in the Tower of Thar-acacia came under the scrutiny of the council was in
Laisren's mind the first evidence of the systemic challenges that kept the
population frozen in place and held progress at bay. Policy and procedures must
of course be documented, enacted, reviewed and inspected to maintain the
productivity provided by order and law, but when they became the goal rather
than the means to achieve the goal corrections must take place. At his first
opportunity, Laisren submitted this notion in a brief well written letter to
his lich lord. The next morning Laisren was escorted from his chambers through
the keep's gates and down the mountain paths to the fog below. The guardsman
handed him a folded piece of paper, pointed to the mists then turned on his
heel and headed back up the trail to the gates. Laisren opened the letter and
read words writtn in a perfect line of script "Go then and learn what Order is"
The page turned into ash in his grip and Laisren ventured out into the fog to
complete his task.

Role

Chapter 2

Laisren's palms came together, and there was the grate of stone, a low rumble of
thunder shook the ground with the hiss of liquid splattering on a hot surface like
oil sizzling as it splashes into a blazing fire. Terror bled through the eyes of the
squires as they stared at the gray earth of the Imperial graveyard shaking beneath
their feet. Spouts of earth sprung upward pushed by countless white hands streaked in
ash and soot their skin split and cracked showing through to chalk white bone beneath
oozing with puss and stained wine red wounds. The foul living corpses forced their
way to the surface toppling granite markers and marble tombstones as they tumbled
over each other. Some were already broken, crawling on shattered knees, arms askew
and rattling in corroded blackened armor. Twisted from the inside out they grasped
broken blades and spewed disease ridden bile from their cracked jaws. The squires
splayed their weapons about, but with each denizen felled the numbers of the dead
only grew. The mud turned red with blood.

A storm paladin champion roared, his pike wheeling, cutting throats with
every pass. His platinum armor streaked with blood and oil, his gauntleted fist
slammed skyward as he uttered a word of wrath. A cold wind blew from the northwest
coupled with a blast of white light turning all before it into a cloud of white hot
ash.

Laisren woke in the Temple of Hamsah Mu'tazz, he was not weaker for his falling in
holding his ground. He was only more determined to prove his strength to his Empire
and to his Lord.

Role

Chapter 1

Laisren attended to his Dread Lord Provuk's armor, ignoring the first drops of
rainfall as he tightened the belts and buckles over the mage's frail frame. His
dark hands worked quickly with the preternatual speed of his drow heritage over the
familiar blackened leather and golden Codex. The necromancer's armor was beautiful
in its perfection, the epaulieres embossed with the symbol of the Black sect.
They stood at the east side of the Imperial necromancer's guild looking out into the
sea of the mass graves before them. The setting sun failing to pierce the gathering
gray clouds falling into fog and twilight. The coming night felt like the pressing
down of unfathomable tons of stone over a tunnel that grew increasingly narrow as it
ended in a bottomless fissure. Laisren inhaled, tasting the damp air and stench of
death rising up from the Imperial tumuli as the raindrows grew larger and smacked
into the dry earth.

The Blades, Divines, and Shadows waited in the Imperial Square, their silhouettes
danced against the walls of the Imperial palace at their backs thrown there by
flickering torch light and scattered flashes of lightning.
"We will meet them here Oath," Provuk barely whispered stepping forward among the
graves, almost a mutter barely caring to give his lessor the validation of any
acknowledgement at all. The Dread Lord pointed a distended index finger at the earth
and willed a black circle into being, ancient dark runes and cyphers twisted against
one another blazing in crimson red and settling into a dark brand embossed into the
ground.

Centurions stationed at the Lane of Victory pummeled the air sounding the alarm, the
raiders had come. A horde of squires and maran crushed the centurions before them
with barely a pause and streamed into the graveyard their silver weapons ablaze with
fire and their warcries rending the air asunder. Provuk uttered a word of recall
and disppeared.

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