Post by SinclairGodfrey on Jan 5, 2023 19:45:52 GMT -5
The room was dark and cold, a fire slowly dying on the hearth as Sinclair Godfrey stared into the embers. She frowns slightly, swirling blood red wine in an antique crystal goblet as her hand taps absently against the ancient oak of the table before her. The old paintings of her ancestors and their exploits stare down at her from the walls, and she looks up as Mormo steps inside the room followed by Gavin Drake.
Down the table sat the frowning figure of Carbrey, who was leaning back as though he was half asleep. And of course, Moloch who was wrapping fresh barbed wire around the burned shaft of Lightbringer, muttering to himself. At Sinclair’s hand laying on the table was the mask of the Scourge, and her fingers settled on it as Drake glared around angrily.
‘Donzig is in the hospital, and we are just sitting here waiting for what! Armand and his minions could be.’
Sinclair lifted a hand, and turned her head slowly. It tilted, and she took a deep breath almost like a sigh.
‘No. Esmeralda didn’t want this battle, this was not her design. We will not hear from the Von Krauss again unless Donzig draws them out. They have won this round.’
Drake frowned, and he looked around for support. Sinclair said nothing, her fingers tapping against the mask. She could feel his cold terrible strength in her mind as Drake frowned. He would find no support here, Mormo and Moloch would do nothing without Donzig. Carbrey was a thing of chaos, but without Donzig? His resolve weakened.
‘You believe that?’
He was sober, Sinclair smiled at that. Drake was more upset about Donzig then he let on, and she knew the bonds between them were deep though the Empty Hand and the Scourge would deny it.
‘Esmeralda loves Donzig in her way, she would never have let things get this far. This was Armand and Blood. Armand will obey her, and Blood? Blood will not attack us here.’
Drake grunted, and he dropped down in the chair beside her. Mormo walked forward, and slowly sat down beside his brother. The four members of Donzig-gun said nothing, and then Sinclair lifted the mask as she rose to her feet. The wine sat aside, and she walked towards the hearth.
‘Our enemies think we are defeated, that we have been broken. That they have beaten us. But we know that the Darkness can never die, that it will always return. That the pain we have suffered is nothing compared to what waits for the world! It is a sign of our dominion, that the world is cruel and evil, full of suffering, and we must endure it before we are reborn.’
The others looked up, and Sinclair cradled the mask in her hand as her voice seemed to grow cold and more distant. It was her voice, but the words she spoke sounded like another.
‘We are things of the ash, and like dying embers wait to be flare back to life. Even now sensing our weakness, sensing our distraction, the jackals gather around us. Our enemies divided can not see what is lurking outside of their door. But when they come? They will find us waiting for that is what we are. They will know that the Children of the Fall will send them back to the West in flames, and I will by my hand show them what ‘hardcore’ means.’
Sinclair blinked, and she sat the mask on the mantle. Shaking her head as she stepped back troubled to reclaim her wine. Drake watched her, stroking his beard in thought before a phone buzzed in the darkness. Mormo slid the phone across the wood, and Carbrey answered it.
A nod, and then he sat the phone aside.
‘He’s awake.’
Sinclair smiled.
Down the table sat the frowning figure of Carbrey, who was leaning back as though he was half asleep. And of course, Moloch who was wrapping fresh barbed wire around the burned shaft of Lightbringer, muttering to himself. At Sinclair’s hand laying on the table was the mask of the Scourge, and her fingers settled on it as Drake glared around angrily.
‘Donzig is in the hospital, and we are just sitting here waiting for what! Armand and his minions could be.’
Sinclair lifted a hand, and turned her head slowly. It tilted, and she took a deep breath almost like a sigh.
‘No. Esmeralda didn’t want this battle, this was not her design. We will not hear from the Von Krauss again unless Donzig draws them out. They have won this round.’
Drake frowned, and he looked around for support. Sinclair said nothing, her fingers tapping against the mask. She could feel his cold terrible strength in her mind as Drake frowned. He would find no support here, Mormo and Moloch would do nothing without Donzig. Carbrey was a thing of chaos, but without Donzig? His resolve weakened.
‘You believe that?’
He was sober, Sinclair smiled at that. Drake was more upset about Donzig then he let on, and she knew the bonds between them were deep though the Empty Hand and the Scourge would deny it.
‘Esmeralda loves Donzig in her way, she would never have let things get this far. This was Armand and Blood. Armand will obey her, and Blood? Blood will not attack us here.’
Drake grunted, and he dropped down in the chair beside her. Mormo walked forward, and slowly sat down beside his brother. The four members of Donzig-gun said nothing, and then Sinclair lifted the mask as she rose to her feet. The wine sat aside, and she walked towards the hearth.
‘Our enemies think we are defeated, that we have been broken. That they have beaten us. But we know that the Darkness can never die, that it will always return. That the pain we have suffered is nothing compared to what waits for the world! It is a sign of our dominion, that the world is cruel and evil, full of suffering, and we must endure it before we are reborn.’
The others looked up, and Sinclair cradled the mask in her hand as her voice seemed to grow cold and more distant. It was her voice, but the words she spoke sounded like another.
‘We are things of the ash, and like dying embers wait to be flare back to life. Even now sensing our weakness, sensing our distraction, the jackals gather around us. Our enemies divided can not see what is lurking outside of their door. But when they come? They will find us waiting for that is what we are. They will know that the Children of the Fall will send them back to the West in flames, and I will by my hand show them what ‘hardcore’ means.’
Sinclair blinked, and she sat the mask on the mantle. Shaking her head as she stepped back troubled to reclaim her wine. Drake watched her, stroking his beard in thought before a phone buzzed in the darkness. Mormo slid the phone across the wood, and Carbrey answered it.
A nod, and then he sat the phone aside.
‘He’s awake.’
Sinclair smiled.
