conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Malrone: Veiled by the labyrinthine mists of time, many tales lay yet unresolved. One such is the most recent surge of violence in Eberron, a growing tide of blood fueled by the ambition of Ruber, self-proclaimed king. The berserk warlord began his conquest of Khorvaire in the province of Droaam, and after having charged from town to town, marches on its capital: The Great Crag. His campaign is bolstered by the presence two fellow ex-guildmembers - the necromantic aid of the human arcanist Danzril, and the brutal single-minded efficiency of the orc warrior Gilreath. Their ambitions are their own, however, and only time will tell how great a kingdom Ruber will be able to carve.
  
  For now, the march continues.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Malrone: Danzril stood up from the bare patch he found for himself in the twilit hours of the early morning, tucking away his holy symbol. His eyes found his new familiar, the imp (now a raven) perched on a nearby scrubby tree. They stared at each other for a moment while Dan straitened himself out before the creature spoke.
   "What're you, gay?" 
  The necromancer's brow furrowed.
   "Because, really, poetry? Look, if that's the kind of-" 
   "Silence. And no." 
  Dan turned about and started to walk back to the camp proper, his familiar jumping up to flap along beside him.
   "It's a  queer  way to pray, is what I'm saying." 
   "Your predecessor knew to keep quiet when it came to my practices." 
   "Yeah, well, he's dead."
  ...
  "Necromancers normally go the whole 'God of Death' route. What gives?" 
   "I don't have to explain myself to you. Later, I may elucidate the matter, but for now be content with the situation." 
  He gave a meaningful look to the 'bird.'
   "And that includes your subservience to me. So cease your prattle, and go scout. I don't trust these men to notice a sword in their own abdomen." 
  With an exaggerated flutter and a mumbled  "Whatever,"  Krizzim the imp took to the skies. Danzril continued course to the camp, where no doubt the men were already being whipped to action by their impetuous and now indefatigable 'King.'