the city consumes him and his attention even at the best of times, so it's already a wonder that he's able to excuse himself from the Gate and linger at Moonrise the way he does. [ Then again, Caelor remains his eyes and ears when he's not present, if only as a skulking figure that accosts every corner of the city in search of his next victim. ] There's also the fact that sometimes, one ought to take in the fruits of their labor with their own eyes or in this case, Ketheric's labors. Copies of letters and "shipping manifestos" have made their way to him, and so Gortash is kept duly appraised of most if not all arrivals to the towers. True Souls, ready to serve. And serve they will, as part of the biggest act of deception of the current decade.
one among Ketheric's ranks fancies herself a shepherd of sorts, the witch now welcomed in the embrace of the Lord of Bones, for she figures in many a recounting of caravans and scouting parties being fruitful because of her. The more help, the better and she herself looks to gain nothing from it. The look of disinterest she's said to carry often and that indeed she carries now says as much. Gortash still decides to poke the metaphorical bear: Rue is most certainly an unknown, and he won't abide that for long.
❛❛ Some say the dead are the fortunate ones, for no mercy will be shown to survivors, ❜❜ he prompts as she ascends the stairs, and then he dismisses the pair of Priestess Gut's volunteers that had made their way here with the last caravan. And then he turns, black eyes meeting vibrant green. ❛❛ Would your master agree with that, I wonder? ❜❜
@hedgewitched / @ophaleia, sc.
