Dreams of an Alabaster Crown (Semi-closed)

[Morgan]

Spring was nigh upon the lands of Terrenus. The winter ice that formed over Ponkapoag Lake melted and its snow waters emptied into Ponkapoag River, running white with foam that cascaded over thawing sand bars. Ducklings followed their mother; seven dots of yellow that zigzagged across the glassy surface while orange fish skittered beneath. Elemental dragonflies fluttered across the banks, emeralds and rubies and sapphires, a dazzling display of winged gems. A blanket of morning dew covered the grass and sparkled like diamonds beneath the sun's rays And, rounding the bend stood the forsaken fragment that was once Palgard.

The alabaster city lingered in ruins; its skeletal remains, gray beneath the spell of time, stood as a bleak contrast against the blossoming background. A child, no more than six years of age, chased after long-tailed butterflies for a short time and her laughter was a waterfall that splashed bubbles into the wind. Silver and blue larkspur tickled knobby knees as she waded through the lush meadow and bright green grasshoppers would bolt from their resting place. She would spin about in circles until her head whirled with dizziness and she tumbled to a heap, seemingly a carefree child, and lay prostrated upon her back to stare up at the golden disc that hung in the sky.

Tufts of cotton floated by and Missy marveled at the shapes they formed; a platypus with an overgrown tail, a horse with one too many legs, and even a bird with two heads. A hand reached up so that she could press the cloud between finger and thumb as it lazily drifted southward until it disappeared behind a Palgard pylon. Missy expanded her fingers around the city as she repositioned her head comfortably in the crook of her other arm then squinted one eye. It seemed so minuscule and insignificant and lifeless; a city in a coma.

‘Wake up,’ she thought as she pinched the city between her fingers.

[amenities]

”Wake up, sleepyhead!”

The tone, while inflecting some sort of excitement, was soft-- definitely too soft to wake up the sleeping puppeteer, who’s mouth just barely hung open. His sleep was as silent as the city he would set foot for come morning. His mind did not quake in tumult, nor did his body writhe in constant longing. He could have sworn he was at ease, in a dreamless and depthless lull, until the female voice repeated itself.

“Wake UP!”

With the blood curdling pitch that overtook her final syllable, Cain’s imaginary alarm clock snapped his eyes open and flooded his senses with consciousness.

For any regular traveler, perhaps the journey that lay before him would seem daunting. The distance was far from meager, and the business behind the trek was not to be trifled with. A sure hand, a steady foot, and a clear head were all required to ensure the success of the venture, for a new world would open up beyond that.

----

A lone figure, swathed in tattered cloak and worn boots, enveloped by listlessness, stood on a rock outcrop jutting firmly out in view of Palgard’s desolation. Foggy white pools cast their rays upon the decay that had wrought that city, and the master of the conduit saw what work lay before him.

In a twirling motion that whisked the puppet’s feet off the ground and caused it to ingest itself into a central point four or five feet off the ground, Cain Rose suddenly appeared in lieu of Poor Joseph. He peered on as his predecessor had-- loathing what he saw, yet for that same reason unable to move back from his perch.

[Morgan]

“Mmm, you have much work before you, little one,” a voice murmured into her ear as its owner’s muzzle pressed against her cheek. It was cold and wet and Missy brushed it away, giggling. Chimchim settled onto his belly and rested his snowy head atop his paws. The ferret’s tail twitched as he watched the lass.

“Work, is that like chores?” she said, rolling over onto her belly. She bent her knees, kicking her feet lackadaisically as she tugged at a wide blade of grass which she pressed on her lips and blew air against. A spluttering sound came and went as spittle bubbled against it until it split in two. Missy rolled her eyes, dropped the torn blade, and plucked another.

“Well, yes,” he answered.

“I don’t like chores.”

“That’s why it’s like chores. Chores are something you don’t have to do. Work, well, you have to work,” Chimchim tried to explain.

“I don’t have to do anything b’cause I’m a princess,” Missy pursed her lips and blew against another blade of grass. This time, a tinny whistle stabbed the air and she snorted.

“You’re not a princess, Missy,” Chimchim countered.

Missy shot a shadowy glare at him. Her eyes narrowed to thin, murky slivers, “Yes, I am. Daddy said I can be whatever I want and I want to be a princess!”

“Being a princess is hard work,” he grinned, an idea already forming in his head.

“Is not,” she sat up, fingers tugging at the torn hem of her dress.

“Yes, it is. First, a princess needs a place to live,” he started.

Missy pointed to Palgard, “I’ll live there.”

Chimchim’s eyes followed the unseen path drawn out by her pointed finger, then nodded his head, “A princess lives in a palace, though. That’s not a palace. It could be but that would require work. And you don’t like to work.”

The tip of Missy’s tongue poked out the corner of down-turned lips. Chimchim’s tail twitched again as he pressed on.

“And, a princess has people who adore her. If there’s anyone there, they probably don’t know you,” a long, pink tongue flickered out to lick his chops before he yawned. Sharp, pointy teeth lined the inside of his mouth and he clamped his jaw shut with a profound snap.

Missy began to chew on her lower lip as an idea began to churn in her mind, “They'll know Daddy.”

“Maybe, but not everyone will remember him.”

“Not remember Daddy?” The thought was incomprehensible to her. How could anyone not remember her father? That simply would not do. A maelstrom of thoughts collided with one another in her mind and the child stood up.

“Come on, Chimchim. Let’s go,” she said as she started towards Palgard.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Home. I have much work to do,” she answered with determination in her voice.

He smiled, then rose to follow her.

[amenities]

Digging hands found a comfortable nest within the puppet master’s pockets. He dreamt of a place where he and those in his company could bask in the fruits of their labor, of a place that would serve as his reprieve from the tireless hours that sanded away at the back of his eyes day in and day out. Even as he stood there, they stung with the urge to close and take him to a more comfortable place. The reason he stood there on that day, however, was that he was losing sight of that precious spot.

As he arched his neck in one craning motion, he took in the whole of Palgard’s ruin. Smote by black ash and smog, the fossilized remains of what might as well have been an ancient society awaited demolition and reconstruction. The schematics, motives, plots, and outcomes all began intertwining themselves behind the worn and dull hues that hid their contents.

He would wring the dried blood, sweat, and tears from those decrepit slums and, with a little elbow grease, Palgard would be up and running on all cylinders.

Slipping from the outcrop, Cain made for the corner that separated him from the city. The same corner, in fact, that a certain little girl and her friend were headed toward.

[Aleksei]

She chewed gently at the ends of her blue hair while throwing some thoughts at the end of the road. There wasn't a single person to stomp on them or even pick them up to give back with a compliment. The day hung down a little lower than needed behind the skeletal form of Palgard. No one had to be a doctor to see it needed some nourishment

Embry had taken a bite from the rumors floating here and there, but every word was so dilluted that they were lackluster once you studied the real thing. Right now all emerald eyes saw was ash being washed down with some tonic. Curiosity had brought her here and now it was just pinning her down to delve a little deeper into this happy history. There was nothing specific to keep her here, just the fact that this was as far as she has ever stepped on this land.

The woman leaned lazily against the wall of a damp building, sighing just to hear herself make a sound.

[vasanti]

[Enter: Storyteller - NPCs]



“I think I speak for everyone present when I say that Palgard is in a state of ruin and needs a powerful ruler to help restore her to the original empire—and I…” A voice began.

“Palgard is struggling, yes, we can agree to that. However, the person who should be chosen to rule--” A second interrupted.

“… Wait justaminute! Who said anything about you being brought to power?!” A third.

“Palgard needs a strong, noble leader… one who will lead the way with a powerful fist and a silver tongue! Not some old, decrepit--” A fourth.

“The city would be better off with that, than an incompetent bitch!” A fifth, and so on until there were several voices reverberating simultaneously throughout the once-majestic throne room.

“Now, now… ladies and gentlemen of the council – we won’t get anywhere squabbling like uneducated children.” A female’s voice sliced smoothly through the hullabaloo and the thick, practically tangible messy tension that strangled the air in what was left of the throne room of the shambled palace. From the mass, unharmonious symphony of raised voices, arguments, and objections came the woman’s words again… this time attempting to pacify and soothe the vicious, gaping wounds the others’ comments slashed into what was left of the palace’s ambience.

“I realize we all want a slice of Palgard, and a chunk of the yummy power that comes along with the role of ruling… and I can give that to all of you. All I ask is to be seen as the ‘Figurehead’ so to speak. In times of doubt and concern, the people of Palgard would look to my face – I mean after all, I am younger and exceedingly more attractive than the rest of you – as something calming and familiar. But in truth, we would all be having our nice piece of the pie, and I can guarantee you each much power and sway over Palgard herself.”

After finishing her persuasive standpoint, Miranda Eckers lofted a brow and glanced among the other members of the council in search of telltale indications of approval or denial. Approval would get them all somewhere obviously, and denial…well, Miranda hated to be denied anything.

Members of the council - hungry with the promise of power and drunk off the idea of ruling without having to answer to the common people of Palgard – began to see stars in their eyes; swirly, glimmering stars of domination, issued by no other than the quick-witted, silver-tongued Miranda Eckers, whom they weren’t dissatisfied with for ruling with an iron fist. Murmurs broke out amongst the members in the meeting: first with hushed assurances and nods of agreement, and then louder as they became solid backing and excited compliances of glee.

All Miranda could do was remain where she stood, a sickeningly sweet smile broadening over her countenance; she knew she’d won. No one would dare to deny her anything she wanted, it was too risky to do so. Besides, she always managed to give the multitudes – those who mattered, anyway – what they desired, and for these council men and women it wasn’t hard to imagine just what they thirsted for.

In a very cartoonish fashion, Miranda brought both of her hands out in front of her – looking as if she were about to pray – and proceeded to drum the pads of her fingertips against the respective hand’s digits, before slowly interlocking them. Powerful, manipulative, seductive, conniving, and dangerous… what more could a girl want?

“Excellent… we’ll start planning everything, my fellow leaders.”

[amenities]

As the potential potentates ponderously pondered their poorly panned out predicament and the perfidious pretender wearing panther’s claws warped their minds to her threatening will, the fingers of a far more sinister contender extended throughout Palgard. Just a few more pairs of hands, duets of occasionally murmuring lips, sets of soulless windows casting their empty gaits up and down the city’s streets, would slip easily past whatever decrepitly kept sentinels as regular civilians.

Wandering the streets as beggars and peasants, the undead foot soldiers of a coming revolution set silent siege to the stagnant city streets.

Even as the viper’s tongue lashed her stock in line, a mongoose prowled in wait of the night.

--

The frame of the puppet master, fingers steepled against one another at the ends of his loosely dangling arms, procured itself from a blur of shade that manifested briefly within a crevice worn out of a stone fixture protruding from the ground. His determined attention and narrowed, depthless eyes bore down on the two figures in the distance.

After stepping from that small, dark space that could not have fully concealed him, he cracked his neck once to the side. A cacophonous welter of crackles and pops haled his humanly bound skeletal vertebrae, and he continued on a path parallel with the other two adventurers.

He did not keep particular eye on them, because to one another the two parties were nobody, but as their convening journeys dictated, they continued in the same direction.

[Morgan]

Eyes wide with disbelief, Missy entered the city of Palgard. Several months had passed since the day she had fled the city with her father, Lord Roku, but the memory remained wedged in her mind like a gangrenous splinter. The ghosts of the past replayed the scene she had lived so long ago; here, where she stood, was where she had helped Uncle Coal gather the orphaned children and their caretaker onto the carriage. She stared up at the hollow pockets where the City Defense Shards had once been. Rubble and debris lay strewn about and it was with bewilderment that Missy surveyed the destruction as she cautiously navigated the maze of devastation and made her way towards the palace.

Surprisingly, the palace doors were still intact, though the same could not be said for most of the palace itself. Missy twisted the handle and pushed on the double doors. They opened but only a fraction of an inch, enough so that the child could peep into the great and vacant entrance hall, but no more. With both hands pressed flat against one of the doors, Missy planted her feet into the ground and pushed with all her might, one foot slipping hopelessly across the floor after the other as if she were running in place. Still, the door would not budge. The child turned around, pressed her back against the door, and ran backwards. Again, she could not gain entrance.

“Shall I?” Chimchim asked after watching the girl’s futile attempts. A slight grin spread across his feral maw as he shifted into the Great Bear that towered over men.

“Peas and carrots,” she curtsied, moving aside to allow the colossal beast to lumber forward. Like a battering ram, Chimchim lowered his skull and struck the door, causing it to splinter at its hinges and soar into the room.

“After you,” he backed away to allow the child entrance.

It was with great hesitation that Missy took her first step across the threshold of her former home. Her heart beat wildly like a tiny drum and she pressed a petite fist against it as she swallowed the lump of dread that knotted itself like a tumor in the back of her throat. She wasn’t scared, no. She was terrified.

What loomed before her was loftier than anything else she’d ever encountered; larger, even, than the discovery of her father’s death. She held fast to the railing that hugged the stairs which led to the upper floors where her father’s room had been as she ascended them. Some of her father’s belongings had survived, though they lay scattered about, forgotten in time. Missy reached the top and stopped long enough to stare down at a forlorn boot. It was her father’s. A pang of heartache gripped her and she fell to her knees and sobbed. Quietly, she grieved, until tears no longer flowed; until the sun’s warm rays rescinded their heavenly throne and the moon’s silvery energy peeked into the windows and cast its soothing light upon her. And then, when she had nothing left to give, she silently slipped her tiny foot into her father’s boot and stood up. A few feet away, she found its partner and slid that one on, too, before clomping her way towards her father’s bedroom.

Her footsteps resonated in the long-too-silent halls of Castle Palgard. Finally, she was home.

[Aleksei]

It was odd to know that crows were capable of looking so pretty and pristine. Their voices calmed and soothed the heaviest of souls with their witchery, and their recent point of views proved their scandal. They spoke nothing of the needs for their ashen home, instead they focused on what they could gain from the broken horse. Embry found it somewhat entertaining to hear that desperation in their voices, but it was equally as sad sad to know they were willing to do anything to get their spotlight of fame.

She whittled away at a ripe apple, cutting a few slices and chewing them slowly. It was cold outside and she had found herself hearing the murder speaking of special plans and the witching hour. They weren't aware she was there, looking down at them from time to time while enjoying her snack. She could have interrupted their little conversation, voiced her own opinion, and then probably smack them all for being dense. Surely it wasn't her place, but she did occupy this land along with everyone else that chose to stay behind.

Apple skins fell to the alabaster floor, black heels clicking softly against the pillars as she continued to lounge. She felt the need to act, to build a city only to burn it down, or maybe just throw a rock at this murder.

[vasanti]

As the murmurs of planning and plotting commenced, Miranda Eckers couldn’t possibly have seen or expected what was about to transpire in the next moments. There was nothing like a skittering, panicky, squeaky little man rushing wildly into her small party of self success and bearing unpleasant news to ruin an absolutely perfect day for a busy, hostile, evil ruler. Who did this man think he was?

Just who the fuck did this man think he was, anyway?

But sure enough, here he was: racing into the throne room with breathless heaves and gasps for air, the panicky, squeaky little man ( had Miranda mention she loathed men like this?... if not, she would soon enough) came on heels of importance and duty. With every gulped intake of air, the man attempted to regain his composure as he took in the meeting of the council, his eyes finally settling on Miranda herself.

“M-m-m’lady…!” he squealed.

Miranda’s eyes drifted skyward as her lips fell agape with an airless sigh. She understood she was undeniably beautiful, but really? All this? The guy couldn’t even get a single line out without stuttering?

“Yesss, what is it?” Miranda’s voice drew out the syllables and letters slowly, almost snake-like in nature and venomously impatient.

“I-I…I’ve just… caught news… !” The small man sputtered and spat out in gasps as he continued to catch his breath.

“Go on…”

“I came….I came straight away! It’s important, you see--”

“Oh, for the fucking sake of Palgard would you spit it out already!?” Miranda’s voice echoed wincingly throughout the alabaster walls.

“Yes! Yes, of course m’lady! I’ve just caught news of a young girl entering the palace and rumor has it that she’s the Old King’s daughter… come back to….to……….”

“She intends to take my throne! My crown! My scepter! My sweet, sweet rule!” Miranda blurted out with lack of control and composure; so much not like her normal self. Glancing quickly around at the other council members that raised brows at her, she cleared her throat and attempted a quick fix to her outburst, “Our thrones…our crowns…our sweet, sweet rule…” she smiled like a Cheshire cat but the members of council seemed appeased.

They weren’t getting their own scepters...or her's. Bitches.

The members of council were already beginning to sway with the ideas of keeping the rule to themselves and not allowing this little girl to come to power. Miranda could only agree; after all, she wasn’t about to let some little brat take her power… and she’d be damned if she got a hold of her scepter.

“Members of Council, obviously this news is urgent and important… we must come together as one and extinguish this … threat… this insect…” and that is exactly what Miranda would look at the girl as; an insect… and she despised bugs.

With a passion.

[amenities]

Insects travel in families. So do wolves.

A short period of time before any of the travelers reached the palace, the man who moved alone became aware that courses may shortly converge. Like a shadow of the death he brought, he became one with the environment and overtook the border of Palgard like a skeletal digit. His footmen were already in place, and a webbed veil of decadence settled over the tumultuous power struggle.

Long enough after Missy so that she would be well on her way up the stairs by the time he passed over the decrepit threshold her pet had left in ruin, the man who pulled the strings stepped over the door’s remains. His clandestine intent was drawn to the futile attempts that would no doubt stand between him and his success.

His footsteps carried word of his arrival up the staircase riddled with the former inhabitant’s belongings. They were slow, evenly spaced out and altogether deliberate in their auditory presentation. In reality, his feet wove back and forth and made unusual patterns to avoid stepping on anything sacrosanct.

--

Vertical windows of stained glass towered from the floor and came to a point somewhere closer to the lofty ceiling of the throne room where woman swayed man as only selfish vanity can. There were six of them behind the throne, four on each side of the room.

As soon as her perfidious tongue slipped back into its cobwebbed and malicious home, the steeple of the palace’s roof creaked taught and the leftmost window behind the ornate chair shattered. A body swathed in white, pale and froze in a terrified state of rigor mortis, swung idly by the hangman’s noose.

The broken hole it had been cast let in a cool, stale breeze that swept the tears of Palgard falling from the sky into their conference.

--

Cain’s voice came from somewhere behind Missy as he neared her back and her distress became apparent in her discontent with a single boot.

“You just beat the rain.”

The noise of a sudden and unified accolade of raindrops crashed powerfully against the roof over their heads.

If she turned to face him, she would see a man garbed in a long sleeved white shirt, grayish-black slacks, and black shoes. All of these things were complemented by an oversized black nomad's robe that was split down the middle. Through the white clothe, the edges of a realistic looking tattoo shifted into obscurity behind the black overcoat.

The puppeteer himself was leaning his back on one of the columns that framed the top of the staircase while he scanned the rest of the room and its clutter.

[Morgan]

“I don’t know where to begin, Chimchim,” she confessed, “It’s too big and I’m too little.” The child’s thoughts turned to her father’s boots that swallowed her tiny feet. How small her feet were compared to his. How could she ever hope to follow in his footsteps, let alone rebuild his city?

“What would your father tell you?” Chimchim murmured, his face muffled against the little girl’s salted cheeks.

“He would say,” Missy thought hard, her heart searching for answers that eluded her. She turned, agitatedly, and stared up at the ceiling. Long, thin lines had splintered the ornate filigreed tiles and carved web-like fractures that destroyed its beauty. Her thoughts turned to the temple’s orphanage and the little kids who teased her. Missy frowned.

“Make friends,” she finished.

“Indeed, he would,” Chimchim crooned.

A creak in the staircase caught Missy off-guard and she spun her head around to stare into the face of an intruder. Immediately, Chimchim’s soft fabric grew coarse and prickly as he slipped away from Missy’s arms and assumed a lupine appearance. The white hackles of his neck bristled with contempt as a deep, guttural growl bellowed from his throat while corded muscles tensed as he prepared to defend his keeper.

“You just beat the rain,” the man said. He towered over her and Missy took a few steps behind Chimchim as she stared up at him.

Missy wasn’t familiar with fear and, feeling it now, it angered her. The crystallyss shard, Lola, felt it, too as it emerged from beneath the skin of Missy’s forearm and jetted into the area just above the child to flash a subdued display of angry crimson and frightened purple that buzzed its discontent in vibrant sounds. From the seemingly harmless wound the shard emerged from, four thin tendrils of blackish smoke yawned out in barbed ropes that were tipped with murky hooks to snake and coile their way down the child’s body. Fanning out around her, they swayed like deadly serpents waiting to strike. She stared silently at the man, a lump forming in her throat, before she stubbornly balled her hands into small fists and planted them directly on shapeless hips.

“This is my house and you can’t have it!”

Brown eyes narrowed to thin slits as she frowned. Missy’s brows drew taut together, her lips pursed in anger, and those barbed, serpentine wires lashed out at the man, intent on wrapping around his mid-section to sink its hooks into the soft, vulnerable skin of his torso.

[Aleksei]

As entertaining as it was to listen to these birds coo and caw at one another, her belly was full with the conversation. The woman was just a few inches closer to throwing her body on the floor in a tempertantrum. They were all gluttons for her words that declared them all rulers of an already taken crown. At the mention of a girl, a Princess for that matter, had stepped into her long determined home the woman was in a frenzy. Embry continued to watch the murder while chewing on the final skin of her apple. She was chewing it and the situation over with calm.

The woman started to descend Jacob's Ladder, keeping within the correct shadows to remain out of sight. These people were willing to threaten a child just for stepping into her rightful home, the gods only knew what they would do to her if they knew she had been listening in. They were all just so willing to attack the first thing that moved, she was suprised that the man who had brought news was still in one peice. His stuttering words still hung on their minds and hearts.

She landed on the same level as the rest, leaving them behind her in their hurried thoughts. At this point in time she felt the need to wander, find this girl everyone was so scared of and perhaps see if she should be as well. Embry personally had no need for a crown and ivory throne, so she wouldn't demand either from the child. Knowledge was another thing.

[vasanti]

No sooner had the words left Miranda’s lips, than did a loud, crashing sound of splintering and shattering glass came from behind and a little above them. Shards rained down harmlessly, sprinkling the marble floors with sparkly jewels that caught the pale light that filtered through. If it hadn’t been such a threatening and confusing occurrence, the spectacle might have been found beautiful.

Immediately at first, Miranda thought it to be an unhappy uprising of the commoners from outside the palace walls… come to intrude upon her shambled palace and throne and snatch up her scepter! It would be their undoing if it had been though, for Miranda was unforgiving of thoughtless people who intended to interrupt her scheming and she thought that much less of people who believed their happiness to be more important than her own. Miranda spun on her heel in anger and startle – we’ll just call it surprise – and lifted her hard eyes to the broken window… and the dangling, lifeless corpse that hung through its edgy shaped opening from a noose.

A noose, really? Who used those anymore? Siiigh…

An impatient, temperamental – and childish – anger bubbled inside Miranda as she felt a familiar heat spread through her cheeks and down to the tips of her fingers.

“Who the fuck just broke my window?!” She bellowed, her voice hinging on the verge of hysteria. “And a dead body… really?” She sounded tired, but restless; impatient, but eerily calm given her prior outburst. A hand rose to rub along her forehead and attempted to ease some of the early-wrinkle creases she was beginning to form. First it was the bratty child – who she hadn’t even come across yet – threatening to take her crown and scepter, and now it was broken windows and dead bodies? Miranda was pissed that anything dared try to give her early onset wrinkles to her immaculate countenance. “Someone get up there and retrieve the body and whatever… now!”

With a skitter of panic, the messenger that had entered previously, now fled on the tips of his toes out of the throne room and into the direction of somehow… someway completing Miranda’s bidding.

[amenities]

His hands clasped immediately, and the tiny pinpricks of light in each iris wavered when tears washed over them and gathered in the corners of his gleaming eyes. Shifting his momentum momentarily away from his pillar perch, his feet began to trace a circle encompassing Missy. Clasped hands broke apart only to reunite behind the walking puppeteer, who had already developed an intimate knowledge of the room around him and was focused on the small girl who played with her threats. Militant in manner, stern yet expressionless, and composed of stone from the inside out, the man’s retort would not come gently.

“Cute pet, and all that,” Resonant tones bounced off one another to make his short phrase sound somewhat longer in their enclosed conference room. His waving gestures in their direction, paired with his light pitch, would hint at amusement more so than fear.

“But I’m not here to play, and neither are any of the people who want to steal this. . .” A pause as Cain regarded the shambled room with a splay of his arms, “wondrous abode from you.”

Finally, when he had reached a point roughly ninety degrees through his formation, he came to a halt and turned to face her, heels together, body straightened.

“If you would put your pointy toys away, though, and join me” His upward inflection almost left the girl hanging on the edge of a poorly stated question before he continued, “you’d already be halfway to the throne room to stay.”

Concluding with a pointy-canined grin, the string master’s demeanor suddenly grew malicious toward the entities who sought the fall of a monarchy. A peer out the window to their side would reveal the towering pyre within which the serpents gathered. A broken window, a hanging body, an angry woman; all of the details were so far away. They were, however, weaving together nicely.

Meanwhile, the frothing carcass of a broken entity bore down upon the crooked diplomats with soulless, grey hues. It would be a matter of time before the messenger was able to cut it down, but not as much so for it to begin speaking. A monotone droll one might be most accustomed to hearing from the guttural, bulging throat of some abandoned bar’s keeper groaned out loudly with for all of the disheveled sheep to hear.

“Cease your plotting. Death awaits disobedience.” So full of bass it would be painful to hear, but so crystal clear that it could not be helped, the ominous message of the man who was watching them would be left for their interpretation.