Blood for Blood or, A Message of the Promising Kind

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Blood for Blood or, A Message of the Promising Kind

Post by Gorth »

17 Dec, 1222
Ebon Pass, Late Night.

A man, dressed in alternating crimson and bone-white armor, charges the pass atop a war steed, leaving a trail of blood and desolation in the wake of his brutal, eficient and emotionless work. Nearing the entrance to the underground portion of the area, he swings from his saddle, leaving the animal to tend to itself for a few short moments. This is not stealth. it is a message.

His heavy, regular stride proceeds him, loud and echoing in those smaller tunnels. He proceeds yet more blood and desolation. A stop at the cell to look down at the desecrated corpse in one corner, tortured in life and death. A faint spasm in the man's scarred face, a flicker of some deep, buried emotion. Now that he's alone, he can let it out a little. Rage. Hatred. Intent. Intent to deliver. To deliver a message.

He continues on, strikes a little less coordinated now, expression a little less controlled, form a little less careful. He reaches the journal after another scuffle, one leaving him rather heavily injured, but even further determined to finish his self-given mission. Blood coats his front, splattered from his face all down his bone colored chest, staining his crimson colored gauntlets to only deeper levels of red. He strips one of those gauntlets off, now, to reach into his pack and almost delicately place a single parchment note down on the desk, next to the journal. After a moment of contemplation, he picks it up and uses it as a bookmark, closing the journal on it. The message marks the seventh page.

Dearest Madam Writer of the Book That This Note Lies Next To,

Please forgive the lack of fanciness to the note I leave, but I admit I have been considering this message a while and I was eager to do it. Your latest journal entry amuses me. I simply wished to state, just as the blood trail I have left through your pass shows, that Judgement is coming for you. Justice only cares about what it is presented, and what is presented is not favorable for you.
Have the Loveliest Day, and Please Hug a Bunny for Me. For it very well may be the last nice thing that you ever experience.

He turns and exits much the same way, though with a little less contest. And he rides home, a little more satisfied, with plans to lay. Plans that involve both stealth and messages.
Speaking to you, XYZ repeats, "Why would you do that? Do you require sanity therapy?"
You say, "What?"
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