- Joined
- Nov 28, 2010
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- #1
---
It's been so long, my old friend. I've almost forgotten what it was like to travel with you, to fight with your aid or deal with your humor. You were always the clown, I always your number one critic. Your jokes may not of been clever, nor mildly amusing, but thinking back on it I can't help but chuckle inwardly at your attempts. It must of been one tough self-appointed job. There is no easy way to get a genuinely innocent laugh out of a man such as myself.
You were right to worry about me, I convinced myself that all the secrets I kept spun between the others helped me, but my work has only furthered my paranoia. Perhaps with time I will peel back the layers and give light to some truths. However, I admit that I do enjoy the thrill of it all, even if it is accompanied by madness.
Time demands change, some change has called for acceptance of situations I have no clear understanding of. One would be yours. I know not your location, why you're not here by my side as you had been, why you betray our brotherhood, but that is the way of things.
Arcane, when you read this letter, understand that I hope you find peace with it as I have. Know that you no longer have a home within the Pentacle. Consider yourself a exile by all means, and watch your back. One day you may find that the shadows on your walls follow you as you walk through your new home.
---
A hand written letter folded, tucking into a brown envelope before falling between the pages of a open book. With a snap and a whoosh the book closed itself and sored steadily across a large open space, it's black surface catching all the light sources of the room before slipping away out of sight, into a shelve.
With his eyelids half closed, Wraith's expression lost some of it's previous gloom. The faintest of grins started to replace his frown. His mood began to shift from something of depressed one into partly relaxed. Something about finishing the letter to Arcane brought about a great sense of relief to him. Maybe it was a little bit over-dramatic to write a letter that may never be read, one assuming betrayal nonetheless, but it's meaning meant a lot to Wraith. Arcane had been missing for a year now, without a single sign of communication. He had only left a letter of departure that read: "Don't wait up for me." It was possible Arcane was dead after all this time. Wraith believed otherwise and would not allow his return, if Arcane had planned on it.
His masked face turned to face the twin doors of the forbidden library. The arrival of a important man was expected fairly soon. This man was known to Wraith as Apostle, who also happened to be one of the Order's Hashish; Hashish was a secret rank, a rank that got many killed. Apostle had been able to keep the title for longer then any of his predecessors. Clearly, Apostle was a being of noteworthy skill.
Wraith lazily leaned back into his chair, the bunched up cloth of his outfit rustled as he moved around in the throne-sized chair in attempt to find a comfortable position. Suddenly both his hands tensed into balls of fists and he writhed in pain before unfolding his hands a few seconds later. It was his old scar and his mind playing tricks on him again. The damned scar sometimes felt like it surged with pain, even if Wraith knew it was not possible. At least he didn't think it was... There was something about the memory of getting the scar that continuously haunted him. The old Grandmaster often found himself returning to the memory of the moment it had happened. Wraith shook his head to try to push aside the thought. After a handful of seconds he managed to relax again, and with that his eyelids grew heavy and rested.
Wraith sat perfectly still as he waited. The force pulsed outwards around his stilled figure, covering the room around him; he wouldn't be taken by surprise by anyone. Those who walked through the wake of his power would alert him immediately... that was at least what he assumed.
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