(Post written by Script)
The atmosphere over the room was heavy and oppressive. The ten men and women were sitting in near silence, some whispering hushed conversations.
The room itself was that of Aurion’s newly reclaimed citadel – previously just one of the Patronus’ more obscure and unused safehouses, this long-forgotten mountain fortress was in the midst of conversion to full time living quarters.
It had been several days since Sylvire, her husband and son, and Selwyn had arrived. Since then the other Patronus had slowly been arriving in dribs and drabs – first had been Gawyn and Shaiel, arriving on the same day as Sylvire herself, then Oron, Merethyl and Kaelan the next day. Mirana and Luriel had been present when the sorceress had arrived, the former in the midst of setting up a host of non-sentient undead to guard the fortress and the latter doing what she did best. Lurking.
Aurion too, had been present to welcome Sylvire grimly. He had sent the others who had joined him to set up the citadel – Shaiel, Kaelan and Arran – to go to the aid of the others who were at risk after he had detected the fluctuations of the Sealed One’s power. Luriel had been to go to Sylvire’s and Selwyn’s aid, but the assassin had managed to make her way to and from Amarathia in the space of time it had taken Sylvire to get there, after confirming that she had escaped herself.
Now they waited for news from Peregrin and Arran. None of them voiced the fear that the two were lost, but it was a fear for all of them that weighed heavily on their thoughts.
And so when Mirana’s head jolted upwards, and she announced “Something is approaching from the sky to the south!” the room became a flurry of activity.
Sylvire and Aurion were at the head of the group that made their way quickly through the citadel and out into the courtyard, where the speck that one of Mirana’s undead watchers had spotted was quickly becoming a shape, and from a shape becoming a figure.
A figure.
Peregrin’s form became more obvious as he neared, and the young mage descended towards the group erratically – clearly exhausted. He hit the ground at a run, stumbling forwards and almost falling as Sylvire quickly stepped forwards to catch him. The boy was in tears, clutching something to his chest, and as Sylvire lowered her gaze her breath caught.
He was holding the Sceptre. “He... he said he would follow me.” Peregrin was saying, exhaustion and guilt culminating in heavy sobs. Sylvire hugged the youth to her as a tear formed in her eyes.
Arran was dead. Beside them, Aurion cursed angrily and turned away, slamming a fist against the wall of the fortress.
Sorrow weighed heavily over the Patronus as they made their way back inside to tend to Peregrin. The first had fallen. The first of many...
