A KHARAJYR ENTERS the stonen room, gazing forlorn to the statue before him. The calcified Bokakur. His gaze flicks to the loose note on the ground, and with a furrow of brow and deepening of lip, the Kharajyr's expression changes to indifference.
"With IRE do I bid you farewell, Bodakur. A voice..." He says ambiguously, gazing up from the note to the statue. "But... bad timing." The Herald of Heralds swiftly turns a cheek to glance over his shoulder, but looks back to the statue.
"Your Student has sense." He'd go on, talking to it. "There is War. And I wonder if you'll come back out when the day comes." The Kharajyr takes one knee to speak closer to the statue. "...And that day is near." The Herald of Heralds then rises back to his full height, turning his back to the statue; and leaving the Stonen room. The rattling of his equipment grows fainter as he departs.