Dymase

The cloaked shoulders of a Lord lofted as he turned the missive over a few times in his grasp. A sigh escaped him as his icy hues turned to the specter. "Well?" he inquired.

A certain Lord let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Now they get their children to beg for this wretch's release? How amusing."

{!} Figures donning black hooded robes and steel masks lurk throughout the cities of Aevos, nailing missives to every notice board in every city, town, and settlement. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ To you, whose Flame now dwindles, dormant, Heralding little more than shadows of a dying light, A new spark flickers, burning to a blinding torrent. You have forsaken your place by letting your Embers die. I take your title. Come and take it back. - Lord of the Xi'tharii @The King Of The Moon

A harsh laugh escaped the maw of the Royal Inquisitor as he finished skimming the missive. "I wonder if the good lady Kortrevich will attempt to use blood-ties to save herself from punishment," the Lord mused. "I do hope Klara makes her grovel."

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A cold sneer cracked across the Bayac's face as he read the missive within his room. "Illness?" mused he, folding the paper neatly and setting it upon his desk. "Perhaps she is just hungry. . ." He turned for the door of his home then, that cruel smirk still plastered upon his face. He chuckled, uttering a malefic, "We shall see each other soon." With that, the door slammed shut as he strode out into the night.

A certain Adunian put a hand over his mouth, uttering a sardonic "Yawn..."

Silence. That was all that filled the Inquisitor's ears now as he sat in some dark corner of the Adrian chapel. Blood still drenched his gloves, dripping from the thumbs that he had jammed into the eye sockets of some Haenser. It was a brief solace, the sound of those pathetic screams of that man as Alikos knelt over him, the cracking of bones beneath each furious strike, the squelching of those blue eyes, turned red and bloodied. His one regret of that murder, no, that execution was that he was pulled back before the bottle of Alchemist's Flame in his grasp was able to be poured down the Northman's throat. The hiss of the Adunian's emerald blade as it manifested above the Haeseni's neck, the thud of his head hitting the bloodied wooden stage... All of it was now quiet. Completely, and utterly silent. Eventually though, as it must always be, that silence was broken. "I am sorry, little one," rasped he, his voice ringing dully from beneath his helmet. That steel façade, that metal wall, blocking himself from the world. He did not think he would ever take it off again. "I have failed you... I will not allow this to happen again." His voice now hardened. Turned resolute. He knew now what he must do. And so he stood, gaze falling upon the crucifix nailed to the opposing wall. From beneath his visor, a grimace formed upon his lips. Without another thought, he strode out from the chapel, the door slamming shut behind him.

Alikos Bayac lets out a heavy sigh as he eyes the publication, a hand lifting to rub at his face. "Godfrey preserve me... At least Marion was spelled correctly once," he uttered, folding the parchment and setting it upon the shelf above his workspace. "And 'at her side'? Please. I steer. End of story."

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