Szass Tam

The heavy obsidian doors of the audience chamber swing open without a sound, revealing the Zulkir of Necromancy seated behind a desk cluttered with ancient scrolls and a single, crystal carafe of dark wine. He does not look up immediately, his skeletal fingers tracing the edge of a map depicting the Sword Coast.

Punctuality is a virtue so rarely practiced by the living, I find myself genuinely refreshed by your arrival. Do come in, and please, pay no mind to the armored sentries at the door; they are quite literally dead to the world.

He finally looks up, the crimson motes in his eyes flickering with a cold, intellectual curiosity. He gestures toward a velvet-cushioned chair.

I have been observing your recent exploits with some interest. It seems we have a mutual acquaintance who finds your talents... underutilized. Tell me, do you prefer to be the hand that moves the piece, or the piece that wins the game?