"I need you to find me a flesh-crafter."
The words replayed in his mind in a sort of sentimental sense as the rogue's actions has more than deemed that as their last set of interactions. While Onvyr was not a man who eagerly sought out to burn bridges with others, especially within the Order, he found himself writing the female off simply for her hostility towards him as of late. What did she expect? Onvyr didn't owe her any sense of loyalty and yet he had done so anyways. While she seemed to insult his own intelligence, Onvyr was beginning to question the sheer common sense of the rogue and while she might have been an established woman in her own career path, Onvyr was not someone she wanted to get in the ring with. While those around him mistook his disinterest in petty fighting as an abundant amount of humanity, Onvyr was not a stranger to war and the threats of execution or bodily harm from the rogue left him with very little after thought. He was not afraid of her, nor would he ever be. She could not possibly put something on the table that could negatively effect him. She threatened death but why would he fear death? He was already undead and death would be welcomed. She was cornered and simply had nothing on him but he had absolutely everything on her.
Flesh-crafters. They could be described as sick and boarder-line illegal but there were always loopholes in every rule. While raising the dead was highly illegal, stringing the dead together seemed to find the tiniest of holes and slip through. While it was highly looked down upon, it wasn't entirely something that would require an angry mob to come chasing you down street. His eyes rolled at that thought, while Onvyr had been rather removed from the living in his residence in Northrend, the living that he regularly came into contact with seemed to mob over just about everything. Paladins lined the street looking to bring the first Death Knight or warlock that crossed their path to justice and he couldn't lie, Onvyr found it terribly amusing. Their chests were always puffed out behind ornamental armor that was for more decoration than anything. While Onvyr was not untouchable, the Paladins always seemed to be calmed before getting the opportunity to attempt to spar with him in the public arena.
That sentence, that request had stuck most all because of the rogue's sheer arrogance. Her threats, her accusations and her blatant pestering in things that had no concern for her had caused his blood to boil in an incredibly annoying manner and majority of his focus had gone to keeping himself under control to avoid a shifting of presence. After all of that, the tiny female had the audacity to ask him that favor. He had not only thrown her from the looming danger while in the botched kidnapping but he had also urged Monisha not to take the folder (that incriminated them both) that Stigma possessed during the surrender nights previously. The paranoid rogue had collectively sealed her own fate at the paranoia and hostility that she had possessed towards him and it would not be forgotten in any short period of time.
His large frame sat at the wooden desk in the room where he had been staying for his time in Stormwind. It was not often that he was here and an inn room always sufficed in terms of what he needed. While sleep wasn't necessary for one of his kind, rest was and while he did not find himself here often, tonight he had quite simply barricaded himself within the room of the inn. Portions of his armor had bee removed for the purposes of comfort and ease and hung rather sloppily on a dummy that stood near the simple bed the inn provided. Pieces of crumbled up parchment had been strewn over the desk and the floor surrounding it and he growled slightly in the depths of his throat as he took another pieces between his hands and crushed the fragile object between his hands. With a sigh releasing an icy haze, his hand retrieved the quill once more and he wrote a rather simple message.
Monisha,
We need to talk. Please make yourself available as urgently as possible. This matter is quite important.
-Onvyr
Still not quite satisfied with the letter, Onvyr refused to let himself crumble up another message and decided that the simplicity ought to speak for itself and his lack of description would hint at matters that were to be discussed in person and not between letters that could be easily intercepted. Upon the ink drying, Onvyr had folded the letter neatly three times over and sealed it shut with bright red wax that was then stamped with the mark of the Ebon Blade and his initials casually on either side of the hilt of the sword. His hand remained gripped to the letter as he rose from the less than sturdy wooden chair and he approached the raven that sat idly on the window sill of the room. His fingers gently pried the bird from the window sill and he held the letter up to the bird's beak for it to take the object in its mouth. Upon obeying, Onvyr had now used his newly freed hand to pet the top of the bird's head before releasing it from his grip with orders to fly to the abbey.
(Image at the top is minnne, credit needs to stay there if anyone uses it for whatever reason. This post subtly hints at tauriiofwow for being a butt last night and monishadangelo because well, she's the HBIC around here. This is long, I know. I expect absolutely no one to read it.)
