And thus, she told him.
The next day as daylight waned and night time gradually overtook the sky, many would funnel into Dalaranās underbelly to enjoy the festivities that took place. Drinking, card games, fighting, any and all things took place within the Uncrownedās primary headquarters. One person, however, wasnāt joining them tonight.
Rifty, whom had recently endured the laceration of his throat at the hands of Laārow, was busy getting all the rest that he could. As the final caretaker of Rifty left, the shadows crawled towards him, like a spill of ink covering the paper.
Speaking, let alone calling for help, was rather difficult for Rifty right now. As he awakened, and promptly shoved himself upwards, backing further against the headboard of his bed in terror.
It was then that a form rose forth, ink gradually falling away from him as his eyes opened. In one quick realization, Rifty understood who the person was that came to visit him.
The Bogeyman of Booty Bay.
The Wolf of the Sands.
The Moonās Other Half.
āYou decided to push your luck. She showed you why you shouldnāt have.ā
Gargled, muffled sounds came from Rifty, who couldnāt manage anything that even remotely sounded like words. The fear in his eyes, however, said more than he ever could.
āAnd as it turns out, youāre lucky; because you lived.ā
With that, Bruce slowly rose up out of his chair, moving around to the side of Riftyās bed. A lone right hand reached out, placing itself upon Riftyās trembling left shoulder. A clear connection was being made, and eye contact was being held.
āEveryoneās luck runs out at some point, Rifty.ā
He sounded sympathetic, almost. As if pity was something that would save the fearful man in this current moment. Help him turn a new leaf maybe? No, that wasnāt why he was here.
āYou get one chance. People care about you, and because they do - Iām not going to kill you right now. So, I am giving you one chance. Do you understand?ā
Bruceās other hand moved, the left one - claiming Riftyās other shoulder, forcing the man to look at him head on.
āLaārow is mine. Her pain, her joy, her anger? -Mine.-ā
He leaned in, face nearing Riftyās, a guttural growl present within the depths of his throat as the color of his eyes shifted to a animalistic gold.
āBeg her for forgiveness. Because I have none.ā
The words metaphorically clawed themselves into the flesh of Rifty, whom quaked with fear and terror, even after being released from Bruceās grasp. This, however, wasnāt the end, because he still wanted to send a message to everyone else who cared and protected Rifty.
A message that showed that Rifty would never be safe, and neither are they.
Destroying Riftyās house would have to do.
Ah well. Itās not like he was going to need it.
( @larowsexcuseforalifeā )
