Illarion.org

A tall, black-shrouded figure slowly approaches the smithy of Bane, garbed head to toe in a thick, tattered black cloak. A small gust of wind takes up the garment in its grasp, exposing small bits of a paled face, and patches of heavily tattooed skin. Drawing a large stone mallet, the figure drives a large, rusted carpenter's nail into the stone wall of Bane's smithy, straight through the stone masonry of the wall, pinning a sheet of torn parchment to the building. Upon the parchment, in the same black, spiky handwriting as before, is written the following message.




Dear, sweet, innocent Bane.

What made you think you could play my game?

It's time you see yourself

For what you truly are.

Lies, deceit, and malice

Will hide you no longer.

The first fell tonight

And the reaping has only begun.

Darkness never ending,

Shadows never scourged.

Four more will fall

Before the night has had its fill.

Dear, sweet, innocent Bane.

You weren't ready to play my game.





Alongside the tattered parchment, a lock of straight black hair is pinned, with a small carving knife. A scrap of water-stained parchment is pinned underneath the lock of hair. On the parchment is a single word, in all caps, and a handwriting much different than the spiky text of the speaker.


"SOPHIE"



.

Pierre walks up to read the recent notices and visibly pales at the newest addition. He sends a few quick doves and posts a note on the guard board. Then hurries off to search along the rivers of the town hoping against hope the notice is false.

Leva walks along the smithy and sees the new parchment fluttering in the morning breeze. She reads it and starts.
«Zounds! That guy seems deadly serious.»
She then touches the lock of hair pinned along the parchment: «Hrmmm, Sophie, well I guess you were not wise enough or the man is a real jokester. Anyway, nobody challenges the people of Bane without a proper response.»

She then proceed to scribble a poem on a scrap of paper she used to wrap some food in.

Leva scribbles a few hasty verses on a scrap of paper...

Dear sweet innocent foe
That is the second time in a row
That you try to makes us shudder
As if we were dragon fodder
For your malignant throe
We will not be cowed or mired
In whatever nightmare you designed
We stand united in our fair town
A cluster of minds, a bundle of brawn
Free women freed forever of the threat
Of your ilk, of your paunch and your bad breath

She then adds a final line…

And even yours truly slut will give you food for thought
A very well-wisher

Hrmmm, good!