Deaths’ namesake cut a chord across the shallow puffs of clouds and ash without his domination, without his supremacy, without the distinction of his callous, heartless wake, without the entanglement of his beguiling vestige. From a distance amongst the gathered shadows, he watched the din circle and shroud the cold, undone victim, wrapped in the murky doldrums of soulless exploitation, and the notions of inquiry flickered in the nefarious ducts of his mind. Machiavellian regime, a hollowed vessel of intrigue and calculation, hummed a rebellious slant, questioned and queried the unraveling eaves of the murderer’s intentions, of the Gods’ concern, of the wayward waltz they all took, fascinated and depraved. His first notion flew to protection, towards his family, towards his brethren, towards his chilling, glacial palace in the distance, aloof and indifferent. If one was taken, why not another one soon after, corrupting, devouring, swallowing with no grounds, with no purpose, with no motivation other than the victory in slaughter? Even when driving and harpooning his villainy, there were reasons, there were motives, there were means and measures (scraping away the inept, flicking away the ignorant, possessing and controlling the ruins of a city, of a temple, of a guarded gate and leaving it decrepit, ruined, destroyed); but this appeared to be inconsequential, a fallen soul dashed and absconded. Was there one, or more, dancing amongst the mist, devils’ blood cackling in the distance, laughing and mocking with each derisive outcry, false lamentations and requiems pervading the scene? His piercing eyes slid over the occupants, the deities, the idols and artifacts of too many collected souls, and not enough clues to render anything useful beyond the traces of the fallen’s mouth: Black hairs, a signature mark that the victim had at least fought back, had composed the attempt to defend her frame towards the attacker. It wasn’t enough, but it would do for now – he would join amongst his comrades, the fierce, fighting, unrelenting force of his Basin pride, and see what they could make of what the world had tossed before them once more.

Team Indignant
Deimos the Reaper
D’artagnan the Nightshade
Thranduil
Zikar-Sin