He waited patiently at Raubahn's Salute, eyes scanning the horizon for winged beasts. Though the clouds rolled across the skies and the winds gusted through the valleys, there was not a sign of the mythical monster of Alabathia. There was no griffin in sight... nor, he was beginning to realize, would there be. Wisps of black smoke creeped over the edge, beneath the stone railing that safeguarded the Salute. He couldn't help but smirk as he watched the smog gather in a small pool behind him.
Hands emerged, then arms, then a head and shoulders as Ortolf Forgehands clawed his way back into his corporeal form. The undead highlander stretched, then ran one rotting hand up through his hair and glared at his midlander cousin. Each and every motion was short, agitated, and promised untold violence.
"Ansfrid found me."
Osric's grin grew even wider. "I can see that.'
"...spik, bairn."
The smaller man sobered as he turned from the railing towards his mentor.
"It's time. The target wishes t'meet."
A long, hard silence fell between them. Forgehands' eyes searched Melkire's. The old monk paced back and forth as he considered.
"Too soon. Putting aside that your training is incomplete, the others have barely begun their own. Why risk this now?"
"Grimsong's missin'. Not the woman. Rotunda's runner. The runt claims t'have taken him."
Ortolf stopped in his tracks and turned fully to Osric. "...so?"
"So how many o' these bloomin' stones has Ki delivered, eh? You still need him." The sergeant - sergeant f'now, dead man soon, mayhap - stepped forward until he was mere ilms from the Crow. "I can get him for you."
Forgehands frowned. "For this you require...?"
"A doppleganger. I can't leave Thanalan at the mo', I'm bein' watched. Damned Flames are waitin' t'see if I flee, 'n' if I do, they'll condemn me. That's a complication to his plans that's best avoided, no?"
"Bah... Zhwan's best at what you're asking for, but he's not one for playing civil. Gnasher is worse, and I can't be spared."
"Pierre."
"Pierre. I will see to it that he is within the city on the morrow. Recover Grimsong. Kill Epinoch if you can. How long will you require?"
"One sun, perhaps two. Supposed t'be turnin' m'self in come end o' the sennight. That'll be in two suns."
Ortolf turned and walked towards the railing, through the railing. He glanced over his shoulder.
"Then two suns you shall have."
The Crow fell, then fell apart into motes of ash that drifted away on the winds.
Hands emerged, then arms, then a head and shoulders as Ortolf Forgehands clawed his way back into his corporeal form. The undead highlander stretched, then ran one rotting hand up through his hair and glared at his midlander cousin. Each and every motion was short, agitated, and promised untold violence.
"Ansfrid found me."
Osric's grin grew even wider. "I can see that.'
"...spik, bairn."
The smaller man sobered as he turned from the railing towards his mentor.
"It's time. The target wishes t'meet."
A long, hard silence fell between them. Forgehands' eyes searched Melkire's. The old monk paced back and forth as he considered.
"Too soon. Putting aside that your training is incomplete, the others have barely begun their own. Why risk this now?"
"Grimsong's missin'. Not the woman. Rotunda's runner. The runt claims t'have taken him."
Ortolf stopped in his tracks and turned fully to Osric. "...so?"
"So how many o' these bloomin' stones has Ki delivered, eh? You still need him." The sergeant - sergeant f'now, dead man soon, mayhap - stepped forward until he was mere ilms from the Crow. "I can get him for you."
Forgehands frowned. "For this you require...?"
"A doppleganger. I can't leave Thanalan at the mo', I'm bein' watched. Damned Flames are waitin' t'see if I flee, 'n' if I do, they'll condemn me. That's a complication to his plans that's best avoided, no?"
"Bah... Zhwan's best at what you're asking for, but he's not one for playing civil. Gnasher is worse, and I can't be spared."
"Pierre."
"Pierre. I will see to it that he is within the city on the morrow. Recover Grimsong. Kill Epinoch if you can. How long will you require?"
"One sun, perhaps two. Supposed t'be turnin' m'self in come end o' the sennight. That'll be in two suns."
Ortolf turned and walked towards the railing, through the railing. He glanced over his shoulder.
"Then two suns you shall have."
The Crow fell, then fell apart into motes of ash that drifted away on the winds.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
