[H2][color=#9cb6c3][right]Solomon Sparrow[/right][/color][/H2]
[right][b][color=#9cb6c3]Location: [/color][/b] Fanghorn, Kindeance [/right]
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	The keep shook, more so than it has recently. Whatever the explosion origin was, be it Jazdia or another trick of Asevor, it was enough to finally clear out the undead on the first floor. The corrosive properties of the acidic fog and the final shock wave of the blast was enough to finally halt Bartholomew. The flame on his head smoldered down in deep red before completely extinguishing, whatever power holding his body together diminishing along with it. They pieces clattered as they fell apart. Those of his recently raised regiment also collapsed, leaving Solomon with no touch among those in the keep. Luckily, those among the second floor were untouched as was his connection with August. However, he could see out of the window to just what extent Asevor’s men were going to deal with the continuously growing plant life.

	The corners of the sill glowed orange as fire competed with the morning sun to light the halls. So close to the wooden walls and that of the thatched village houses, they risked setting the village itself on fire. A prospect Solomon suspected August would propagate. At this point, there wasn’t much Solomon could do for those outside of the keep. He let August continue to grow the brambles as the roots remained safe from the flames above, routing mana and energy around to not lose the energy from the charred remains.

	After the brief glimpse outside, Solomon witnessed Asevor as he approached the sealed room through the hall. Of course the ruined staircase was no obstacle. Asevor’s hands began crafting a spell. This time, Solomon could recognize the tesseract as the energy flowed from Asevor into his construct. From behind, Solomon reappeared from the shadows stepping silently upon the wooden boards. He needed to do something before the spell could be cast. A quick flash of magic Solomon stared intently from underneath his hood.

	Dagger hold.

	It would be of no surprise if Asevor was equipped with a magic trinket or enchantment prepared to deal with the spell. Ideally, it would completely stop Asevor in his tracks, his less than youthful figure unable to break free from it causing him pain and discomfort if he tried. However, even if the spell broke, the goal was to halt him. Much like how Solomon provided a brief window for his allies with Ragnar. If he could make him slip with his spell and break the concentration, it might be enough. By now Asevor was aware of much of what Solomon could contribute to the hindrance of his plans. His only answer so far seemed to be that purge spell. Perhaps Solomon could abuse that. At the very least, he needed to stop Asevor one way or another. He knew something either about the prince and or prospect of war between Kindeance and Meche. What that was lied with either Asevor or what lay in that sealed room.

	At the same time as the cast of dagger hold, another ghostly figure would have emerged from where Asevor was traveling. Violet, the pure white grown woman of uncomfortable physique hovered in the middle of the hall. Her arms with long sharp nails at the ends of her long cracked fingers out stretched. She opened her mouth full of rotting and misaligned teeth. Without inhaling, Violet lurched forward as visible sound waves escaped her maw. The paintings along the walls swung on their pegs. Anything glass or ceramic cracked and shattered. The piercing shriek continued as the volume and pitch increased. This close to the banshee, the scream would be enough to burst the ear drums of the listener, even knock unconscious. Outside the keep, the piercing scream was clear, the stone wall doing little to mute the noise. Solomon himself would be caught within the shriek, his undead form more easily dealing with the after effects than that of the living.