[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=87e5b8]Chief Hermetic Scribe[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[/center][hr][center][color=87e5b8][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Ramblings[/center][hr]
	There was a chaotic peace that had settled across the streets of the Ramblings. No more was there the active hate and destruction of the night prior, but in its stead emerged confusion, suspicion and an unshakeable sense of doom. You could see it in the eyes of the passersby if you looked hard enough, a panicked emptiness that didn't know what the future held. Or even if there was a future to be had at all. In some there was a gilding of anger, in others victimhood, but among them shared a loss of faith. Faith in the Castle and the Queen. In the society they had built their lives atop of. For some, the very foundation of being.

	But his eyes were different. His eyes were cold and they cut through the miasma that surrounded him. They were focused on something, a future that none that shared the streets with him could grasp. No, he alone knew what lie ahead. And that vision drove him forward. The man, shrouded in blue moved silently through the streets, nobody truly taking notice of him. Nobody save for one individual.

	Strong, rough hands reached out from the shadows of the alley and pulled the blue clad figure into the dark. Roughly, he was shoved against the stone wall, a forearm shoved against his throat. His hood now cast aside, his face was revealed for the world to see, yet it was hidden by a mask, which hid away all except the eyes, that locked on to his attacker. The assailant was a thin, but firmly built man with fair hair and eyes that still carried remnants of tears.

	"Do you know who I am?" The attacker spoke with the accent of one from the Land of Long Nights, but his clothes were that of a Castle inhabitant. There was no movement on the masked man's part to struggle away, and his eyes only stared forward.

	"Of course you don't, but I know all to well who you are. You think you're so above it all! But I know what you've done and what you're after. The destruction out there, it's all your fault. Because of you, my brother's dead. But I'm going to stop you. To make sure that nothing like that has to happen again." And with that said, the foreigner produced a dagger he'd been concealing up to this point, given away only by a stray reflection caught from below. He began to vigorously thrust, stabbing repeatedly into the masked man's abdomen. In the span of a few seconds he'd managed to inflict several punctures in the torso.

	Before he could finish the job, the world suddenly jolted out of place and he found himself on the opposite side of the alley. It took him a few seconds longer to process what had occurred. A powerful ache throbbed through his forehead. He had been head-butted? By the time he managed to return focus back to the mask man, the attacker found himself staring straight into those cold eyes. They contained no rage, only intent focus. And down in his hand was a drawn pistol, pointed directly his way.
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	The hooded man grabbed the bleeding garments he wore as he put up his pistol. Whatever business he had in mind previously would have to wait. Without medical attention soon, he'd be as dead as the ghost of the Young Army soldier not 20 paces away. But something caught his attention. Spilled out from the body was a small notebook. Slowly, he reached down and plucked it from the ground. It was leather bound, rough and worn from constant use. It was barely held together by the glue that was used to construct it, but it held together nonetheless.

	On the inside cover was a name, scrawled out in pen: Aki Odinsen. The masked man flipped through the pages of the book, finding most of it dreadfully dull. For the most part it was a journal of mundane doings that barely held the interest of the one who experienced it firsthand. But he found one thing that made the distraction worthwhile. One of the items he was searching for. It had been in the Land of Long Nights as well. Had. But it was enough. Tossing away the journal, he covered his wounds from sight with his cloak and pulled his hood up. The man stumbled out from that alleyway, his gaze more focused than they had mere minutes prior.

	[color=87e5b8]"Foolishness,"[/color] he said to himself as he walked down the streets once more. [color=87e5b8]"I cannot stop. I shall overcome this."[/color]