The last remaining Twin had been....not a friend, precisely, but a loyal and beloved member of his clan. He had trusted her to perform her role, respected her as the guardian of the Fairfolk - had even enjoyed her company, on a more personal level. But she had perished, and her life's blood had been spilled just as surely as any commoner's. Cyrileth had been spared the bear's fury....but at what cost? The Fairfolk were dwindling. He was the last of his line, and now several seats on the Seven Council were empty. The future was uncertain, and the Eldritch's star remained dim on the horizon. A reckoning was coming, creeping ever further into the present. The fire, the bear....the heavens were rioting, portents proffered like lambs at the slaughter. What new tragedy would taint their earthly reality? What new sacrifice would the stars demand? Oberon slid across the blackened earth, his thoughts turning from the dead unto the living, and adjusting his manner accordingly. Corpses could not play the game; their use was all but spent. But new life, new breath, new souls, could be manipulated, their course adjusted and tuned to better purpose. The living were the King's primary pieces, and he the master of the game board. Oberon would not allow his movements to be spent in vain. King to A5. <div align="center"><div align="justify" style="width:600px; background:url('https://imgur.com/YUTk5ok.png') no-repeat center bottom; outline: 1px; border: 1px solid #ffffff; background-color:#0b1119;"><div align="center" style="padding-top:20px; padding-right:20px;padding-left:20px;padding-bottom:400px"><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, .60); width: 90%; outline: 0px; padding: 20px;font-family:times; font-size: 12px; line-height:12px; letter-spacing: 0px; color:#000; text-transform:none; align: center;"><center>Death and decay held its own perfunctory perfume. The slow rot and ruin of flesh found a fickle foundation in the shade and shadows of the Father's kingdom, creeping from the darkness to contaminate everything it touched. The reek of ash and fire stained the horizon, the memory of flame buoyed by bruises and the injuries accumulated thereof. The King's body protested its rough treatment, but it was sorrow, not pain, that weighed his steps. He had survived the raids relatively unscathed. The bear was dead - but so, too, was Nimue. |
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