#undeadmessiah

In times of strife, of battle stress or resource strain, the people of the Labyrinth operated akin to a machine. Arms lifting over arms that lowered, baskets of bread exchanged for baskets of laundry, coin long forgotten as part of the process. Mercury wove through his people with surprising ease -- less any supernatural instinct of his own, more the people’s understanding for their lord and how he moved.

“In the wake of tragedy,” Mercury began, pausing as a man gently pulled him to avoid some laughing children. He nodded his thanks before continuing. “Those of the maze come together like nothing Metia has ever seen.” The tactician offered an elbow to the other once they were free from the crowd -- he knew his way around from memory, but so much activity usually meant a crate or barrel out of place. “Do you come for aid, or rest on some journey?”

Appearances need to be kept, at least.

“Though I’m not the first, allow me you welcome you to Greenstone....Properly.”

Cristóbal made his approach from his gilded desk, towards the blessed man that was escorted to his study. Residing in the castle at the crux of the river, Bal had excellent views across most of the city, blue sky framing him through the massive windows behind him. Gods chose their mages for whatever reasons they had -- but this one in particular was more interesting than many.

DUCT TAPE JEEP BLESS YOU OMFG

The Highlord doesn’t normally react like this to strangers: Hammer in hand, legs grounded and a frown on his face. The Silver Hand gives away a dim glow as the Paladin prepares for battle, for the unexpected, trying to machinate all possible outcomes from this situation as the other simply stands there, so ominously calm, so confident. “You reek of Darkness” and not in the good way. He’d met shadow priests before and, even though they also dabbled in the arts of the void, their vicinity only made the Paladin cringe, not feel in such danger as this man’s presence did. “You are not welcomed here”.

The instant her body hit the drywall like a limp doll, head smashing back with a crack, anger welled inside her chest. She was exhausted from the fight, both physical and metal as the nightcomers had attempted to attack her mind harder than her body. Collin had been her aide, or so she had thought. With his rage turned on her, she remembered he was not there to help her. He was too selfish for that.

     There’s such an obviously different air to Quentin than the last time he was face to face with Collin. ( news flash -- that’s because it’s NOT Quentin. ) The real boy is tucked away nicely behind the bars that Alice has begun to call home -- now the real fun can begin.

       “ I have a request of you, Collin. ” It’s Quentin’s body that slams a hand down on the desk in front of the new Fillorian Court member, but it’s the twist of his lips that makes it obvious there’s more to this than meets the eye.

“If anyone were to handle men of our…gravity, it would be the High Advisor.”