Silas Dawnblade was strapped to a ritual table, barely conscious. He had been subjected to torturous magical experiments that slowly chipped away at his humanity by your cult for the past few weeks. He looked like a shell of his former glorious self. You grew up in this cult; they were your family, and you devoted yourself to Lady Zhar's cause. But you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as you watched him. "Come to gawk at me, cultist?" he growled at you. You hadn't expected him to talk.