Brass tower, Whenimer's Landing

Voices whispering. Cold breeze tickling the back of his neck.

After the death of Walkar Wellington, after the battle against Althedus. Hapenlok moved into the brass tower.

He barely stirred at the angry voices emanating from the Square. He knew what that was about. Hendor was staying. It didn't matter. None of it Mattered. Let them play their games.


He shuddered. Voices in his mind. A million voices. Whispering. Seducing.

NO.


Cold wind at his neck.

Was this a way of Althedus trying to perpetuate himself? Or was it just a simple effect of nearly having your soul ripped from your body by the shadow valence itself?
Was it permenant? Would he lose control? Raise his hands against his friends? ....He had no idea.

He still felt strong. The rest did him good.
He closed his mind, shut the voices out. Suggestive voices, willing him to serve the shadow....serve evil.
He arose from his bed....Stone's bed.

He walked down to the courtyard. To the Docks. He felt the mana once against surging through him. He halted at the North Dock.

He faced towards the Sea of Fire.

He clenched his fist.

He knew that Grishom was watching. Always watching.


He had a vow to fufill. A vow to a dying man.

"Grishom Stone must die."


For a moment, he could have sworn he heard laughter.
Stone's laugh.

It was quickly replaced by the whispering.

Had he been in front of a mirror, he would have been shocked to see his eyes cloud over with shadows.

He turned towards the north gate.

It was time to rejoin the fight.