Deacon

He liked to arrive early, before his Mancer was ready to make her entrance, at the time when only a few Servi slunk around the council chambers, making certain that the place was...well, not spotless, but certainly free of any distractions such as rubbish or vermin. He would cast his glance around the gallery, where he was expected to stand during the council meetings, and then, with all the confidence of a servant who knows that he is, in fact, supposed to be there, would clamber up onto her Council seat, ostensibly to make certain that it was to her liking. He would pause, basking in the noxious fumes rising, until they threatened to choke him. Then, surreptitiously, he would clamber up to the next level, practice his advocating pose, and then to the next level, where he imagined himself carrying out the duties of the judges.

Then he would look upward at the final two ranks. A few Servi were invariably there already, by right of their own masters' prestige. They would hiss at him, and he would slink down and watch them from afar. It did not matter how early he arrived, they were always there, waiting.

He got the feeling that they never left the chambers.

It occurred to him that those were the types of Servi that he should ingratiate himself with, and so he offered to help in any way he could. They didn't trust his motivations, and sent him back down to the lower decks. Sometimes painfully.

It appeared that the backstage machinations and close-knit camaraderie of the upper-echelon Servi was yet another obstacle he would have to overcome in his journey to power. Well, he would bide his time. One obstacle at a time.

First, he would have to get his Mancer to see that she really wanted more power and influence on the council. Only with her ambition piqued could he ever hope to rise to the top.

~Deacon, Necroservus

Day 18: Power

He'd always wanted power. Always.
It was why he'd attempted the Trials in the first place. And what he had gained was so much more than he had had before--the ability to command disease to leap from his body and infect another was intoxicating.
The fact that he couldn't call it back into himself was a minor detail. Unimportant, really. The members of his former clan would certainly think so. They would tremble in fear before him. If they'd even let him back in.
Why, he had more magic in his hind claw than the old Light mage had had in her entire body! By rights, he should be in charge!
That was what he thought, always. He exercised his power at the slightest excuse--for what was the purpose in having it and not using it? And why shouldn't he be on the Council?
You are a Servus.
Alden is a Servus! And the old fuddy-duddy just keeps mumbling nonsense about how we are all servants of the Plaguebringer and therefore equal in her eyes, blah blah blah.
Alden is different. He never asked for power. He got to his position because of his humility.
These voices were easily ignored. Power is for the taking, the grasping, one way or another.