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[Isk]

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Isk gently held his side with a shaking left hand as he willed his right to dip a quill into white ink. He stared at the blackened parchment he had begun to use in greater frequency since the trees of his home city burned.

“He survived” Isk whispered to himself as he thought back to the realization that Adrien was taken by Moonglow. “He was taken… and released” That last word was spoken with a hint of bitterness the Magnate later criticized himself for.

He had freely followed Adrien and supported the Magincian with all things. The formation of the Protectorate, the voting in of a human Regent, the unification of many nations under one banner all fell under the prophecy invented in a back room in the glory age of Humanis. A prophecy that will one day see a human lead every nation of the realm. Now Adrien was making it all happen, Isk was pleased, but he was also jealous.

“And it is right to be jealous of one’s friends no?” Isk asked to the air. A sudden crash from the side of his room brought his attention to Validus, his fourth child who unbeknownst to Isk had wandered into the room. Mentally deficient the tall boy liked to smash things.

“Bash bash bash!” The masked child cried as he kicked over one of his father’s stacked paintings (a particularly regal one of the Magnate wearing a crown). Isk reclined in his chair to watch the child who in truth had no business in his father’s work room as his hand began to write the letter Adrien intended.

“Bored?” Isk said with a raised voice. His son answered by ceasing his stomping. The Magnate wiggled his left hand for his son to come closer which Validus did with careful steps. The boy’s eyes widened as they saw his father’s wounded side.

“Da got bashed?” He asked slowly tilting his head. “Bashed bashed?”

Isk did not respond, he simply stared at his son as white ink spread across the blackened paper. With slight hesitation he simply nodded his head. The action caused his mischievous son to drool and with sadistic glee the boy poked his father in the ribs. As his fingers stained with the red of his father’s drying blood the challenged boy grinned and made a fist to try a harder poke.

“You like pain. I know.” Isk said down to his son as he suddenly smacked Validus across his masked face. Shocked the boy ran off to his mother. Tomorrow morning he would not even remember being hit, such was the mind of a child touched by mental disorder. Dipping the quill in a little splotch of red which might have come from his son or his own injured form Isk went over a few letters with the crimson liquid.

As the words dried Isk sent the letter to its destination in Sanctus and having sufficient ink both red and white he wrote letters to the loyalists which no doubt wondered about their lord and the days to come.