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	[u]Weather[/u]: Tiny sprinkles of near-frozen precipitation reflected the fire like thousands of tumbling pinpricks of light, visible through the omnipresent fog, disappearing long before they reach the ground. The air seems milder here, however. The warmth of exertion and unchecked fire might play a role in this, however. There is barely any wind now, as if the Township itself holds a nervous breath in, unsure if it is safe to exhale. 
 
	[u]Time[/u]: Nighttime. The night was yet young when this fight began so it couldn't have progressed very far, but it feels much later. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The white noise of crackling fire played as the dominant sound of the battleground. Blood was still hot under one's skin from the battle, hammering in the ears of the combatants as the only competition to the fire's constant murmuring. If there was any saving grace to the environment, it was that there was plenty of warmth and light about - at least among the cobblestones. Blood, breath, and fire took the majority of one's perception, and adrenaline hadn't yet calmed enough for the wounded to feel the full brunt of their injuries. 

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]
[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/Y3WW5hS/Cavendish.jpg[/img][/center]

	Blood poured from Cavendish's throat. He seemed more surprised about it than anything else. This turned quickly to shock as he lost strength in his legs and collapsed to the ground. The net still covered him, damaged though it was, but most of the undead rats which had covered him had already succumbed to other attacks from the group, collateral damage soaked by disposable puppets. With the life draining from the creature who had once been a respected enforcer of Law, those remaining ceased their actions. 

	There was still life, in the most temporary of meanings, left in the Constable. His hands grasped impotently at the chiefest of wounds which had downed him, as if futilely attempting to keep the blood within his neck; the impulsive actions of a man who did not wish to leave the living world just yet. Cavendish could not maintain his hybrid rat form any longer. He was too close to his own demise. This offered him a last look upon the world with human eyes, which teared up in a swirl of emotions. Maybe regret was one of them. None but he could say, and he wasn't speaking. 

	Not that Cavendish wasn't [i]trying[/i] to speak. He most assuredly was, but only the most gruesome of wet consonants could bubble through the blood which seeped from his lips and down the sides of his face. 

	[color=black][b][i]"Yes. We did have a deal,"[/i][/b][/color] spoke a deep, resonant voice in the Common tongue. It did not originate from any one place, seeming to echo within the minds of those present as much as from any tangible location. [color=black][b][i]"I have honored our deal. You will honor it, too."[/i][/b][/color] An encompassing darkness fell over the town square, blotting out the firelight but keeping precious, clear illumination over the unfolding scene. Time might as well have stopped, except for the grotesque and inevitable passing of the Constable. [color=black][b][i]"You have accomplished most of my latest task. I grant that you did try. You paid with your life for the attempt. I might not be cross about this, except that your death was caused as much by your arrogance as your task."[/i][/b][/color] 

	Cavendish weakly held one hand up, motioning as if to complete a somatic component for a spell. Or maybe a wordless supplication for help. The disembodied voice responded, [color=black][b][i]"We still have an agreement, yes. You have paid your portion of service with your life. Now..."[/i][/b][/color] A sense of wrongness permeated the rapidly thickening air around the Constable, [color=black][b][i]"You will continue to repay your debt with your soul."[/i][/b][/color] It was not menacing of tone, nor retributive, nor even with a hint of sarcasm. The voice was calm. Respectful. Blunt, businesslike, but not particularly cruel. [color=black][b][i]"I would have given you more earthly tasks to perform. In time, I still might. For now, I claim what is mine."[/i][/b][/color]

	Tendrils of inky, necrotic blackness rose from the ground. What rats remained in the area scattered, leaving only the dead in their wake. The undead ones ceased to function, dropping to their sides or simply collapsing under the weight of their overly damaged bodies, now that animation left them. The liquid-black wisps were confined to the immediate area of Cavendish's mortal form, undulating briefly as they attained their full height of approximately three feet, before straightening, and lashing down the fallen Warlock. They pulled his wrists and ankles out as far as they would go and bound his torso immovably, like a man being staked out to die, but did not stop there. Every place that one of them touched him began to decay. It was rapid. A few seconds at most. Cavendish regained his ability to vocalize now, and he did, screaming with tortuous wails of putrefying agony. As his flesh melted away and muscles turned to maggot-ridden sludge, he kept screaming. When the fleshy parts of him fully disintegrated and he was left as a sticky skeleton, he kept screaming. It wasn't until his bones became pulverized matter that the noise faded, and even then, psychic echos continued for a moment more. All that was left of the Constable was a pile of clothes, equipment, dust, and a few scraps of bone. Some phalanges and a moderate amount of his skull were still recognizable as such. 

	The darkness lifted a little. One could tell a distinct, lightening gradient, but only up to a point. Then the voice came again. [color=black][b][i]"Your minds and souls are fresh. Even a little naive, except for one of you. Perhaps two. Potentially quite capable, if mentored properly. I would entertain an arrangement."[/i][/b][/color] It paused, allowing whatever emotions to process among the group before continuing, [color=black][b][i]"I have peered into you all, far enough to know that such an arrangement would be better for you than opposition. Even indirect opposition."[/i][/b][/color]

	[color=black][b][i]"[u]Priestess[/u], who struck the final blow - you have older loyalties that would appreciate being reacquainted; entities with whom I might communicate. [u]The sizeable warrior[/u] fled responsibility of clan and community for the illusion of safety, leaving nefarious things to fill the vacuum left behind. Those once friendly turned opportunist and you became a liability to them. If only they knew where you've been, now deprived of your protector. [u]Devil-spawn[/u], you draw your power from a creature you call family, but who manipulated you away from your home for its own purposes. It can be easily erased from this world if I so chose. [u]Sylvan-blooded[/u], do you think these people would tolerate you if they knew what you were, or why you are trying to amass power for yourself? And the [u]crippled Dragonfolk[/u] - I know what resides in your nightmares. It hasn't forgotten about you. It never will."[/i][/b][/color] The voice, as it went from speaking about one person to the next, was still heard by all present. 

	[color=black][b][i]"It took you long enough, but you have tasted victory this night. You will be hailed as heroes, for now. I shall give you time to consider an arrangement. You would receive answers you need and fix problems you face. And yes, there is power to be taken. It would be preferable to accept this offer before the World Born Dead takes notice. For now, enjoy the rest of your festival."[/i][/b][/color] The voice faded away at its last sentence. The prevailing light of the area was restored, and the great pause that overtook the area lifted. The fog was less oppressive, thinning to something more reasonable for the temperature and season. A previously unnoticed weight was cast from the Township. Even the flaming tree was a little cheerier to behold. 

	The burning carcasses of the Wererat Abominations, however, could not be helped. The stench of their smoldering husks was remarkable.