"And so the Eye is blinded." A putrid creatures, bears no smile. For it lacked the ability to truly express joy. It's putrid, unblinking eyeball turned towards the sea. "Might makes right. The wheel spins. Hallowcliffe wars itself." "Who will fill the void? Will the magi?" "Will they crumble or rise from their ashes?" "Will the survivors construct a towering fort in dark lands?: And so, the creature rises. Hooves meeting the ground, as it scours the over taken home for ink and quill. Offering, a letter in response. By orders of its book bound, Kiel was to climb the political ladder in Hexicanum. What better way, than the soul of the great Flame Weaver.
_________________________________________________________________________ Dear, Lanre Cerusil. In my mortal form. I served the nobility of a northern land. I had witnessed you burning down a church with your allies. What drives you so? Surely it is not kin. For when I buried your own, you were barely around. Are you a creature of self-service like myself? Let us speak. By bird, or by face. Knowledge is power, and you walk the path of Azul. As clear as any Mali I have ever seen. To a dark fort, you would seek to place a flag over, or to the high frigid hills. Sincerely. Kiel