In the dark depths of her stagnant and decrepit lair, a pallid woman with long black hair, fair complexion and a set of too black eyes sat on a throne made of bone covered in thousands of strands of white thread. Around her throat, she wore a black choker inset with a single blood red sphere. She bowed her head in contemplation, and the sphere at her throat began to glow a bright red, filling the cavernous room she sat in. In her hand she held several rune inscribed bones, without opening her eyes, she tossed them into the air in front of her.

The runes clattered to the floor, the symbols on their surfaces glowed with the same red light as the sphere. “Inconclusive. They must be using the power of The Master to block my scrying.” She purred, her voice melodic and seductive. She held a slender, clawed hand out and snapped one time sharply.

The goblins had called her “Nar’Skekah”, The Devourer, before fleeing their warrens. The human natives of the warm jungles above prayed to her as “The Night Queen”. She’s gained many names over the ages, and with them came followers waiting to bask in her beauty and grace, she reveled in their mix of fear and adoration. She was duplicitous by nature, and while she enjoyed the privilege and stature of being worshipped as a god, she also enjoyed the rush of fear and terror when she left her lair to hunt herself.

Following the snap, a tall, lithe figure appeared next the throne, head bowed in supplication. He spoke with a voice steeped in awe and worship, as only true zealots can. “Praise be to you, oh Night Queen. Out of fear for you does the sun set each day as you wake. You, who are the mother of darkness and shadow, whom even the light cannot escape. In three strides you can circle the world, and by your whim do all who live continue to do so. Praise be to Shekah, mightiest of all the gods.”

“I have heard what you have said and find it all true.” Said Shekah, her voice tinged with the boredom of dogma and expected responses. “I task you with a holy mission Quassek. You, who are my most skilled and cunning child, find which of my brothers opened the Living Tomb. Once you find them, return to me.” She said, her voice dripping honey, dragging a lone claw seductively up the neck of her servant, leaving his bulging neck muscles with a hair-thin line of blood. “Do not be discovered, Quassek, even should you fail, you must not be captured at any cost.”

The man grunted acceptance, unfazed by either the pain of the scratch or the tone of seduction used by his god. She waved her hand, dismissing him as she would a dog. In an instant the man vanished back into the shadows. He was her best, she knew, and she would need her best if she was going to break The Oath and spy on her brothers. Although, she though, one of them had broken it first by taking The Master’s Phylactory. Each of them had agreed to divide his power equally, though not all could be taken.

Breaking The Oath they each swore, stating that the Living Tomb would be left alone, untouched by any of them, and that none would interfere with the plans of the others, was a death sentence. The remaining Disciples would quickly turn and destroy the upstart before they took too much power to be stopped. Each plotted ways to destroy their rivals without being caught however, and two had already fallen over the eons through plots and deceit, their assailants never being discovered.

The one who opened the Tomb was most likely the one who’d destroyed the Lizard and the Snake, expecting that the power they’d stolen enough to save them from the reprisals of the other 4. The punishment would be swift, and the one who destroyed the overreaching rival would be rewarded with even more power. “Time to do what I do best…Well, second best,” She thought to herself with a coy smile, she began making plans and counterplans to entrap and ensnare her prey.