Another Restless Night

In the wee hours of the morning, Commander Fayn marches across the cavernous, torchlit halls beneath the fort, and hand delivers a dispatch to the office of the Marali Scouts, making sure that a copy is also sent to the Vanguard.

First Scout Amadlin Filp,

The outpost on the Poison Island, filled to the brim with the most unholy of undead creatures, appears to have been sheltering a rather long scroll, sealed with dark magics. The well-read Mother Mei suspected that the magics at work are an example of an ancient hex known as a “bloodseal”, and Major Shofaris was able to independently confirm this as well. Only two things can undo such a seal: a sample of blood from the wizard who sealed it, or the death of that same wizard. Ergo, locating any known magical associate of the Creed – scarce as they are – is now assigned top priority.

I am well aware that this is a long shot effort, and that we don’t have the foggiest idea of what might be in that scroll, but the opportunity to learn even the slightest bit more about our secretive enemy is far too valuable to pass up. And though the Scouts are still not authorized to engage without proper clearance, please ensure that all teams are equipped with at least two empty bottles going forward, in case fortune smiles upon them. Only a drop of blood should suffice.

Marali Prevails,
Commander Rydelia Fayn

* * * * *

Elsewhere, inside some dark, freezing, cramped cave, two figures robed in black sit before a blazing fire…

“Bloody hell, Moira,” says the first, in hoarse tones, as shadows dance across the jagged lines of his scarred, haggard face. “Is it really worth risking your safety over? Your life? Is this even all that important?”

“It’s important to me, dearest!” says the other. With a shrill laugh, she tosses back her hair, the flaming red curls glowing like the hot embers of the dazzling fire.

“Damnit, woman…”

Suddenly, the silhouette of a third figure, in heavy plate armor by the sound of it, appears in the mouth of the cave.

The figure clears his throat, and salutes. “Captain Redthorn!” he says, voice cracking slightly. “The reports are in. Ms. Anasima’s missing scroll is confirmed to be in the possession of that dark wizard from Foehan.”

“Very good. Now return to the camp. And I told you, quit it with the salutes. You’re with us now.”

“Sir yes sir!”

The figure marches away. Smirking, the man turns toward the woman, but finds only empty space meeting his gaze. He twists his head back, and sees her standing at the back of the little cave.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

“Out for a midnight stroll, dearest!”

The man starts to pick himself up, but she is already faintly whispering a * Mora Olsa Preldian *. Before he can finish standing up, she is gone.
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