#burial.

“That’s a nice spot,” she noted, “you’re able to walk a couple more feet, that’s where we buried Row. It’s right on the edge, there.” 

“Things are happening around here, and it’s only going to get harder for you but, with him getting stronger, we are too.” There’s a hopeful look in the red head’s eyes as she looks over the group fondly.

“oh, I’m Imogen by the way.” she goes to extend her hand only to quickly pull it back to her body. A nervous smile on her features. “I’ve talked to a couple of you. Some of you prefer Wes though, I think.”

“Because I’m Fun,” can be heard from inside the manor, though imo waves him off. “and stupid. that’s for damn sure.” she finished. 

“There’s a couple of things we need to make clear now the games have changed and he’s getting stronger every single time one of you...” her voice fades, “every time someone meets their untimely fate. he can only scare us so many times before we become immune, and that’s where you all come in.”

“please, just stay in the light. I’ve seen the technology you have, use it. figure out how to make it so that light stays in this house every hour of the day and avoid the shadows. the child is the warning. he’ll send him first, if you hear the boy you need to get somewhere safe. there’s a key in ida’s room, it unlocks the doors to the tunnels. use them.”

“there are a couple of rooms we need you to stay away from, but the basement isn’t it. that’s his room. where he came from, and ultimately where I think the pieces to this screwed up puzzle are hidden. but we can’t go down there. I’ve tried, the door doesn’t open and when it does, it’s... bad.”

“I need you to find the tape recorder, they had it recording when they brought him here, it’ll tell us who, what, how... Ida and Harold aren’t bad people, they suffered a great loss and they did the only thing they thought would fix it. They loved their son, and still do.”

As she speaks, Wesley comes to the door and reaches out to grab her. “he’s coming.”

“I have to go. Stay in the light. Use the tunnels. Wesley and I-”

“Imogen. Now.”

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Your muses just buried two bodies and held a ceremony, at the end, Imogen was able to communicate without the board, clear as day. 

She explains you must stay in the light and use the tunnels, that ‘he’ controls anthony, the child, and will send him before appearing to guests so be weary. 

Ninety-eight piles of skin and bone crackled under ribbons of orange and red and blue.  Madras hadn’t arrived at Karadas’ quarter; he was but a league’s distance whence shrills uproared. A fraction of a second was all it took for the elf to realize his premonition’s reality. Varamadras was on the offense. He sprinted across the vast plains, only to greet death upon arrival. He was too late. Fists bawled, he scourged the cerulean skies for a trace of their assailant.

Madras blamed Karadas. The trolian monarch, despite his dire warning, insisted upon a direct approach – it was a folly. The King was an indistinct fool: not a leader, not a soldier, and unfit of his crown. In lieu of heed a man’s word; a man who faced Varamadras on the battlefield, Karadas interjected a directive from behind his parapet. A directive that cost one-hundred lives. Eyes planted on the skirting horizon, a silent curse parted the general's chafed lips.

He rounded up the bodies to commiserate a proper burial. Old-fashioned; a funeral didn’t honor a soldier, fire did that. Removing his sword from its hilt, Madras sheathed it in the ground and watched, solemnly, whilst his comrades slept. Without a doubt they slept in a peaceful world the likes of which, so long as Varamadras slithered about fifth gate, Madras wouldn’t experience. In honor of their memory, and by extension all his comrades’ memories, Madras made a vow never to make another grave mistake. Because this one cost close to one-hundred lives.

Silence enveloped the canopy for miles. There was a time for anger, but there was also a time to embrace a frail nature. Gracefully he sat upon verdant hearth before the fire. It flickered and fluttered, billowing beneath a serene pasture. Its dance was reminiscent of the precarious sway of his emotions – Varamadras ignited an old fire from deep within. He wanted to sheath his sword in the demon lord’s gullet – and swore, on Fifth Gate, that it was but a matter of time.