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[The Ebon Skull]

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The silence of a Southern Malasian afternoon was suddenly shattered in the Umbran Badlands as five moongates, four in a straight line and one directly at their head manifested with a flash of red energy. Quickly & silently four heavily armored and masked Kabar'gan took shape, most unusually cloaked in the very same uniquely pattered fabrics of the Lich Lord Darrien Church himself. A little more slowly, a fifth figure emerged from the most frontal gate, a small & lean being garbed in leather and fabrics matching those of the Kabar'gan.. A funnel-hood about his neck ending in an indiscript ebon-mask, two narrow eye-slids, two nose-holes and a single veticle line over the mouth. Hanging about the neck of this being (the obvious leader of the party) a shadow-iron coloured chain of office with thirteen gem-frames extending across the chest, only four of which were filled with a dark ruby.

It's gray eyes scanned the structure before it for a moment before it spoke…

"Korlith.." The voice of a teenage boy rang out from beneath the mask.

"Abyssal Abbey My Lord Artisem." The Kabar'gan responded sharply and without further questioning, as if this was all part of a longer discussion before their arrival.

With a slight hum the leader removed what appeared to be a simple looking-glass from his belt, gazing into it.

"We are in position Master…" Lord Artisem spoke.

With this, the looking-glass was tucked away and a collapsable tin megaphone was produced from the otherside of the boy's belt.

"Dealthagar, Herald of Oblivion…

You are here-by ordered at this moment and until further notice, to surrender all seals and marks of your office, you are barred from the sending of letters, missives or correspondance to those outside the Council of Ancients, you are barred from the issuing of orders. Any and all matters you were charged with attending to this week you shall pass on to one of your subordinates…you are placed under house-arrest here, in your Abyssal Abbey. You are permitted to write to Charnel Hill. For your good & the good of the Order of the Ebon Skull this is to be observed in full by you, failure to do so will be regarded as treason against the Order of the Ebon Skull.

In several days time you shall be taken under escort of the House Nazduin to sit before the existing members of the Council of Thirteen for further information.

Hail Axaris Nuzoth."

Resting the megaphone at his side, the masked one spoke once more to the Kabar'gan.

"Give him until the count of thirty to signal compliance..."

[Dealthagar]

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At the count of twenty-five, the double doors of the Abbey opened and a blood-red gargoyle in bronze armor stepped out bearing a small shadow iron chest. Decending to the bottom of the steps, he placed the chest at the foot of the stairs. Removing a scroll from his pouch, he reads it aloud with the timbre and cadence of a skilled orator.

His Lordship, Dealthagar, Herald of Oblivion, in observance of the Sacred Tenet of Obeyance hear the words, and obeys, without hesitation. During his observation of this article of law, the Val'kir, Anak'sanamuun and the Seeress, Solonaceae, will jointly tend to the needs of the flock and the duties of the The Kalja'jukal xa Magarun.

In the chest born by Sularis, last Mayor of the Holy City of Caina are all sigils, seals and trappings of station. They are hearfor surrendered, and we await the ruling of the Council of Thirteen.

The Gargoyle turns and posts the scroll on one of the banners that flank the stairs. He climbs the stairs, the doors shutting behind him with a solid thump. Staring from behind a shrouded curtain on a high ledge, Dealthagar looked down. Gritting his teeth, he growled subvocally. If this was needed, it was needed....but he was beginning to tire of these games. His vision focused on the masked leader of the contingency. Who is this boy? Did Rune and Jaedra spawn without my knowledge? He has his father's voice, even if he is unknown to me.
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Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
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[Solanaceae]

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The air in the sitting room grew colder as Solanaceae stared as the face of the Herald, watching his expression twist as he removed his rings and sigils. Where once had been amusement as she explained her current situation, now frustration and anger was all that remained. Hearing her master had been stripped of all of his political trappings was shocking enough. Hearing that his duties were to fall to his subordinates, filled her with dread. Solanaceae knew the true meaning of that proclamation. She was her masters only true apprentice, what his lesser servants could not handle the rest would pass onto her.

Thirteen, fourteen fifteen, she counted in her head. Dealthagar scribbled something onto a piece of parchment. Seventeen, eighteen. He turned to say something to the gargoyle, but neither seemed to be moving with any urgency. What was he waiting for? He’d been given a command. Nineteen, twenty… fear stirred in her belly. Was he going to defy his own master? No. That couldn’t be right. He spoke of Obeyance as much as Suffering and Hate being the core of their faith. What was he playing at then?

Twenty three, twenty four… She released the breath she had not realized she been holding as at a motion from the herald Sularis stepped from the abbey, the box and parchment in hand. Her relief was short lived as her concern were given life. She and the Handmaiden were to take on his duties. This could not be good.