OCC: Character Cyrus Anvil and Maynard Fordham used with the express permission of Largehobbit

13th October - Highholm - Noon

The man sat in his large carved wooden chair looking into the green flames flickering on the hearth that took over great part of the north side of his study.
He ran his fingers against the dark wood of his arm rest enjoying the unnatural feel of the Delve wood against his skin. The weather was turning cold and bitter. Soon it would snow. Huge dirty flakes falling from the Maelstrom staining all they touched. Like rust and ash. He grinned as yet another augury showed them the time for action was now.

Their network of spies reported that enough distractions were in place to ensure that no disturbance would come from that quarter in the weeks ahead. They would have to deal with The Mother and the other Denizens from the pits some other time.
All the signs had come to pass. The prophecy was unfolding in the streets. The great upheaval and onset of revolution, the plague, a female council, the sky devils taking to the streets, it was only a matter of time now. Time for action. Especially after last night and what one would hope was an attempt on the Regent at the Blackthorn Imaginarium. He licked his lips wickedly. He had seen her a few times and could not stop thinking on the degradation he liked to inflict upon her perfect features and body. A shiver ran across his spine as if in anticipation. To ran a blade through her alabaster pretend skin, to score her viciously and make her beg for mercy. He pushed the thoughts aside for another day. The opportunity would eventually present itself.

He smiled. Has he had risen through the ranks of the faithful he had always believed that the Resurrection of their god would come to past in his life time.
The day he became Worshipful Master of the Order he had vow to bring about the omens needed for it come to pass.

For the Land to become free , for the Skies to clear, for the Human race to be remade in His image and for Him to walk among the Faithful once again.

For countless generations they had maintained the Faith. Hidden from the heretics, protected against prosecution, spreading the word subtlety and permeating ever part of live in Dusk with their doctrine.

He heard the hisses and groans of the gears in her metallic leg even before she entered his study. The steel heel of her member dragging slightly across the boards.

"He is awaken once again. We have word he arrived at dawn. He was given the last know location for Cyrus as instructed." she informed him in her raspy, hoarse voice.

"Good. He will have access to what we require without bringing attention upon our other assets." She moved to stand closer to him. His hand reached absently towards her artificial leg.
"What of Maynard? Does he continue to gather support?" he asked as he tugged at the folds of her skirt exposing the metal flesh underneath.

"Yes. All goes according to plan, but the numbers are not yet what we forecast to the needs." she gasped has his cold fingers touched the boundary where her flesh met her prosthetic limb, half way up her left thigh.

"Send word I want to see him tonight. It is time to bring both men together again. We will need the numbers his brother can provide." she nodded not trusting herself to answer has he traced her surgical scars tenderly.

She wanted to tell him about a crew of workers in the Gutter that had almost stumbled upon the Catacomb entrance but they had been dealt with. It was hazardous work after all. All she wanted was for his fingers to move further.

The man smiled enjoying the contrast between her flesh and the metal. Soon. Soon all the faithful would be remade...

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