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A thin, gray hand emerged from the folds of his cloak. The Creature’s telltale scales swayed, held aloft by the crook of a single finger. The Fell stared, jaw clenched. Tail stiff. Fur risen across his shoulders. The outside chill took root beneath his ribs, scouring his bones. He recognized the engraved artifact that weighed the instrument on one side. His shackle.
“Unbalanced,” the Creature lamented.
“I made no bargain with thee,” the Fell hissed.
“You made no bargain with me,” the Creature echoed amenably. “You are the prize he bargained for.”
The Fell Omen's eye is brimming with Grace. Executor saw it, behind the gauzy veil of Night that shrouds his face. A man so blessed by the Crucible does not deserve to be a puppet of the Nightlords. But Executor should be cautious when making deals with a Demon.
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Bookmark Notes:
Last Read: Chapter 14