Pathetic

For the fifth night in a row, Tanaros Mournblade was caught in the throes of his addiction. He tossed and turned every night, shivering and sweating as the magic worked its way out of his system, and left him bereft. The Blood Knight groaned, and clenched himself into a fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest as he coughed spastically.

A hand searched frantically for the pouch he kept next to his spartan bed, groping for the small cloth object with insane fervor. It contained the only solace to this pain, provided by the Magisters he and his brothers and sisters served, in return for their use of the Light.

Gasping as he found the pouch, the Sin'dorei withdrew three small green crystals, each pulsing with a life of their own. Quickly, he crushed them in his hands, and snorted the powder, shuddering in exctasy as the Demonic magic suffused him. He slept then, through fevered nightmares of his duties as a Silencer of the Blood Knights. Every night was a chance to relieve the horrors of the past day......and to steel himself for the horrors of the next.