[PK] They Say He was GRAND

[PrimnyaQuorum 1054]

"...So he doesn't know."

 

The once-Watcher mutters, admist a field under the night sky. It feels much further to him, now that he cannot wander beyond it. He reads over the letter that's made its way into his hands again, before he stows it away and simply stares, skyward, thinking.

 

And then he laughs, like a lunatic to the stars. He wonders if the Grand King can hear him, wherever he is - tears rolling down his face between heaves of laughter as he rolls in the grass, wholly alone. 

 

Razad never lived to know if he was right, Haus wonders, but he finds odd solace in thought the old man though of him as trustworthy, loyal; a friend. How far he had come, from telling the man he would never bend his knee to him to going to such lengths to to slay the Apostate for him.

 

Yet still - it is another he has outlived. Even severed from the primary source of agony in his life, the ache in his soul never seems to cease. He pours a glass out into the dirt when his laughter has ceases, as he stargazes - and he wonders if he will ever live to see himself returned home.

[Morigung-oog 2493]

A note had reached the current safehouse of Valindra Nullivari-Atmorice, the First Watcher, First Magister of the District of Paradox. It was handed to her by a servant as stood in a basement, carving a series of peculiar runic images into the wooden flooring. A pause was taken from her work, and she rose, reading the message within. Her head lulled from side to side as her mind digested the final message left to her by her once-boss. 

 

"... Too little too late."

 

The Watcher spoke out in lamentation, though there were no tears, no anger and oddly enough no satisfaction. Valindra was a vengeful woman, known to chase her foes over centuries only to surprisingly, if human, and miraculously, if elven, outlive them.

 

".. People like us know no peace in death..."

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

In a far away corner of Aevos, an armoured, ancient lord floated in secret chambers surrounded by murals of their faith, the sect which they captained so dutifully. A collective of spectral figures and stone behemoths alike paced beneath, carrying forth candles, incense and crystal balls.  Barrowlord Fornotos, Herald of Strife sunk onto their throne, the first they had felt truly content being sat upon, a tattered missive resting between their fingertips.

 

"... How brazen of one to think they can escape repentance through something as negligible as death. His insolence knows no bounds."

 

Spoke forth a a chorus of voices, a cacophony of three beings, all merged into one long-suffering husk. Fornotos glanced to the lump of ancient, cracked stone, imbued with fel energies of the elysian, their tongue clicking thoughtfully as they mulled over the implications of their future actions. Alas, it seems to truly weigh little on the Lord's psyche. as though it were simply meant to be..

 

"You will repent. You are not afforded the liberty of choice."

 

 

 

 

[Skelepathic 69]

No funny quip or any shout for the man, only dead silence from the undead surrounding "Todd" as he explained the news to his comrades. "Todd" didn't seem enthusiastic either, 
"A mad mage has fallen before he could join Iblees' hand in becoming a great warrior. We lost a good rival and a great chance.. Let us bow our heads for the mad mage and find out who managed to dispose of our puppet.."
The undead seemed to bow their heads in silence, "Todd" wandering off to armor himself to hunt for something.

Soon.

[Cheese 2420]

"Now, we can only hope this one stays dead," Juniper mused upon hearing the news. She was both happy, and irritated.