Roleplay from Gythrul Attano
all nobles of Obia'Syela
Gythrul inclined his head as the black robed figure barred the basement door. “As you commanded,†the figure said, “the manor is empty. All the servants have been sent off for the day.†Gythrul nodded, satisfied. He was at his city quarters in Rines. The servants had been sent off under the pretence that their lord wished to be alone while he grieved. It was true, partly.
The one who had barred the door joined the the other five men before Gythrul. The basement’s heating forge was burning, making the basement, and the manor above, uncomfortably warm for this time of year.
Gythrul instructed the six men to kneel before turning. In the alcove in front of him was a small wooden totem. It was small enough to be carried in one hand, and was carved with Daimonic faces and symbols. He was disgusted that the ceremony was all that Usul would receive. A follower of Daishi would try to kill him, disregarding the fact that no temples of that faith existed in Obia’Syela. And no Obian would honor him.
The Wraith kneeled and bowed his head.
“Akkan. Jomorosh. Jactosh. Domina.†He rasped, the men behind repeating after him in unison. “Lords of the Netherworld, true rulers of Beluaterra, bringers of Truth. Hear the plea of the faithful. One of our comrades, Usul Soul, has fallen. We ask that you return his soul to us, or grant his servants the power to do so. If not, reforge his soul, make it something stronger, greater.†the Wraith raised his head and stared at the totem, the carvings appearing to shift. “And send him back to us when the Portals open.†Gythrul stood back up and turned to his followers.
“Truth guide him.†They echoed his words.
Gythrul turned and took the totem. He tapped it against his mask before casting it into the fire.
An hour later, he sat in his study. Like the rest of the manor, it was sparsely decorated, only a few bookshelves and two chairs by a fireplace were there.
Like during his service, he sat there in his plate armour and mask. He waited.
