[This is a response to the RDI Playable found at this link:
http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php"p=114346#114346 ]
Somewhere in the catacomb-like sewers that flow beneath the slums of Badside, the rats were thriving; there were fresh corpses to eat. The early onset of the plague had ravaged the still-breathing Acolyte population of the Church of Myr'Khul, many of them poor, human magic-users. As the rats flooded the black-robed corpses and nibbled at their discoloured flesh, Mischaelna and the Baron of Dockside, Vanion Knightwood, watched from the nearby shadows.
The vampiress, naught more than a young girl in appearance, spoke first. She looked up to her father and mused, half-heartedly, "Brother Ignatius is studying the disease in Ivan. Ivan is chained to Warehouse Thirty-Seven's back wall, but seems to have survived. Should I work with him to find a cure, Father?" "No", the shadowy elf replied in a strikingly beautiful voice, without looking away from the rats' feast of flesh. "Learn as much as you can without endangering yourself, but make no move to find a cure. There is more power in knowledge than there is in kindness, daughter ....and the devout of Myr'Khul need live no more than do you or I."
Without another word, the small vampiress dissolved into mist and was lost in the polluted steam which rose from the bile of the sewer-river. Vanion Knightwood made good on his word; he quietly incanted a dark prayer, and the rats promptly scattered from the corpses of the plagued Acolytes. One rat, fatter and more dim-witted than the rest, was too slow to get away; the zombified servant of Myr'Khul's hand jerked up suddenly and snatched it. A moment later, dull teeth tore the rat in half, hungrily.
And above, somewhere in the night, was the lost cry of a young boy - mourning the loss of his mother to an unknown disease.
Somewhere in the catacomb-like sewers that flow beneath the slums of Badside, the rats were thriving; there were fresh corpses to eat. The early onset of the plague had ravaged the still-breathing Acolyte population of the Church of Myr'Khul, many of them poor, human magic-users. As the rats flooded the black-robed corpses and nibbled at their discoloured flesh, Mischaelna and the Baron of Dockside, Vanion Knightwood, watched from the nearby shadows.
The vampiress, naught more than a young girl in appearance, spoke first. She looked up to her father and mused, half-heartedly, "Brother Ignatius is studying the disease in Ivan. Ivan is chained to Warehouse Thirty-Seven's back wall, but seems to have survived. Should I work with him to find a cure, Father?" "No", the shadowy elf replied in a strikingly beautiful voice, without looking away from the rats' feast of flesh. "Learn as much as you can without endangering yourself, but make no move to find a cure. There is more power in knowledge than there is in kindness, daughter ....and the devout of Myr'Khul need live no more than do you or I."
Without another word, the small vampiress dissolved into mist and was lost in the polluted steam which rose from the bile of the sewer-river. Vanion Knightwood made good on his word; he quietly incanted a dark prayer, and the rats promptly scattered from the corpses of the plagued Acolytes. One rat, fatter and more dim-witted than the rest, was too slow to get away; the zombified servant of Myr'Khul's hand jerked up suddenly and snatched it. A moment later, dull teeth tore the rat in half, hungrily.
And above, somewhere in the night, was the lost cry of a young boy - mourning the loss of his mother to an unknown disease.