Father Draag turned the decisions in his head time and time again, ever so cautiously reason played into being here. For once the volatile train of thought held no rule. Actions and consequences were to far unforeseen here, slowly almost mechanically he recited that passage.
Of the passing 13,6:
“Let the harbinger of the dead dance,
it will be upon the broken backs of the weak.
Within my final hour when I hunt,
tomorrow shall make them serve.
In riteful salvation,
within my kingdom,
eternal damnation.
Oh hear them now as they march towards home,
the screams of congregation.”
The age of wonder crept silently as Helthron Draag looked onward over the city and all of the inhabitants within. The night was heavy with anxiety creeping where freedom once held the day.
The city had begun changing since the church started voicing its' efforts of recruitment. The few temples in the city started banning together in a protective unity, for leaders and congregation alike.
Quiet evisceration had fallen across his neck, just as quickly the Father had woke up screaming. Sleep once again being plagued with the messengers vision. Shortly after waking he heard the knocking at the door as Baterson announced himself in.
