For Love of Pact-Blood

Ilyanas Tomb of Doom


I have wandered far too long in Neverwinter, bumped my head on its ceiling, and now long to feel closer to the ponderless subject of my chosen god, Tzeentch. As a vampire, you eagerly follow the rules and demands of your baron or baroness, however, when you grow past them, see them crumble under the forces of change, you get a taste of the nonstop scheming of Tzeentch. Such a frame is far past even the experience of a vampire who has seen less than a century. In contrast, Tzeentch has seen uncountable centuries, danced unknowable dances, plotted intricate plots beyond the measure of any kin.

Neverwinter’s schemers do their honest best, but yet, they do not know, cannot guess of their own role within the Lord of Change’s scope. Why, you ask? Take any schemer, from any sect, any stripe of good or evil. Good. Now, ask yourself, why…

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