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Sunrise has just begun to extend its groping tendrils across the city of Bane. Shadows begin to recede, clinging to building and trees for their last allotted moments before the morning comes. Just as the tip of the sun has extended over the tree-dotted horizon, a black-clad figure stalks his way around the jail of Bane, lingering in the shadows cast by the building, as though the massive figure is unable to walk outside of the rapidly depleting pools of darkness. Finally forced to emerge from the shadows to pace in front of the jail, the figure slowly steps out from the inky darkness to the sides of the building, the darkness seeming to cling to the edges of his cloak as he walks along. After pausing before the door, as though perhaps in some form of thought, the figure draws out three sheets of stained parchment, and a large carpenter's nail. The resounding clangs of a great mallet impacting the head of the nail pierce the still morning air with their echoes.

Upon the parchments are the following messages, in spiky, black handwriting:


Dear, sweet, innocent Bane,

I'm going to teach you a new game.

The rules are very simple,

But only one can play.

Only one can be chosen,

And only one can be saved.

This game does have a time limit,

And the clock is already ticking.

Our two contestants have written their appeals,

And it is up to you to decide.

Circle the winner, S'rrt K'shire.







The two smaller pieces of parchment are pinned directly below the first piece.

Above the first is a lock of light blonde hair, the length indicating it most likely belongs to a woman.
In splotchy letters is the following message:



Please! I don't know who you are, but please, please let me live.
I'm so scared.
I'm only a hundred and seventy. That's around seventeen in human years.
I have literally an eternity ahead of me to live.
Please let me live.
Tell Leon I'm sorry.
Tell my family I love them.

Lauren.




Above the second is a lock of hair of a similar color, the length indicating it probably came from a man. In slightly neater, but still hurried handwriting is the following message.




I am Nobody
A stranger, a newcomer to the island.
Save the girl.
She mentioned a family.
She's very young, and has a life before her.
I'm merely a traveling warrior.
Spare her, and save her life.

Cyrus

Someone has circled the name Cyrus.

An armored lizard eventually comes upon the poem and reads it over with a frown, more annoyed than worried. He rubs a claw on his chin for a good while in thought, also eyeing the circle already drawn. He dips a claw in an ink bottle and writes next to the poem where ever there is space:

The circle was not made by me. Allow me to consider this.
~~ Guard Captain S'rrt K'shire

The writing style seen on the Guard board should made it clear that it is indeed his writing, on his claw.

As the simmering sun breaks it's warm glow through the darkened rain clouds, a faint fog emits, adorning Gobaith with the accompanyment of a cool summers breeze. A grim silence encompasses the outland meadows, interrupted on occasion with the brief sound of a raven's coo.

The damp grass flattens in defeat beneath the man with the diamond scar's black leather boots, crunching and squelching in the dampened mud from last eve's rainfall. The pale and strange looking man lifts his arms to adjust the cuffs by his frail and scar-faded, pointed fingers, as he stands several yards from the stewing hot spot that is the town of Trollsbane.

With the narrow of his darkened and glazed over eyes, he shoots an icy glare, boiling over with an intense hatred toward it's surrounding and towering cold stone walls.

"The sands of time are depleting... The lurcher whispers to the wind, as his ragged hair sways to either side of his softly shaking head.

"Thou shalt be revealed... A true face."

A simple line has been added under S'rrt's previous message:

Lauren lives.
~~ Guard Captain S'rrt K'shire

A woman walks past the jail wall, taking her usual shortcut at a brisk pace. She starts at seeing a new parchment hanging like a bad omen on the jail door: ‘’Zounds, not him again!’’ She then reads the parchment slowly, her eyes and lips soon contorting into slits of pure anger. She tears out a piece of vellum and a pencil from a sheath on her belt and starts to scribble furiously.

Dear sweet malfeasant foe
It is the third time in a row
That a gauntlet you throw

I hope you will be punished
For the lives you ravished
And the angst you nourished

Why do not you show your face
And let us hint of your race
Which I am sure you debase

The woman mutters, seeming to search her words... and then resumes writing.

You are bartering their lives
Like they were liver shives
Or some old cheap knives

I am sorry that our captain abdicated
From having you properly investigated
And your unfortunate victims vindicated

If you are not a coward
I dare you to come forward
And get Bane’s harsh reward

Definitely not yours truly
Leva Beliu

The woman, then, pins the vellum under the offending parchment and leaves, mumbling under her breath.

*As dawn breaks on the isle of Gobaith, a mysterious parcel can be seen to be left outside the western gates of Troll'sbane. If one were to take a look inside, they would find the remains of a detached and bloodied finger. It is perhaps unknown of whom the finger belongs, but by appearance it can be said to resemble the finger of a human male...*

After the parcel is discovered by a guard recruit on his patrol, it can be seen brought to the Guard Captain. He closes the parcel soon after seeing the contents and sighs deeply, only motioning for the guard to depart before beginning to write a letter.