![[Image: Skully-1.png]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1070212355457298442/1115352921425584148/Skully-1.png)
Year: 2060
Quote:“Good people of Fortune, today on this evening’s end. On the dawn of the early morn, we shall see this one departed. For his crimes against the many, against the good decency of Meranthe for his depraved desires. To follow in the faith of the Mori, to sow destruction, hatred, pain, and suffering. All guised under piety for a damnable monstrosity.He has drawn his last, on this day- we shall gift him what he so wishes. He will be offered to the deep, plummeting down until the seas claim him.”
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A small speech to address his people, giving the Emeraldi a parting statement. Only to proceed upon their vessels. Many of the Galleon’s would loose their moorings, drifting away towards the deepest trench in the southern oceans. If the Drakenite wished to be one with the Deep, then he would have his wish.
⤄
Those of Fortune reserved this fate for only the most abhorrent, only the most reviled. Kievan had managed this title, with his aid in the Deephold’s endeavors. Forsaking whatever humanity he’d earned, whatever selfless nature, altruistic actions. They’d been corrupted, transmogrified into a pious obsession with the Marquis.
None in Fortune would abide such sentiments. An act would be done, one that would hold swift judgement. Kievan would be brought low, sealed within the many Tyrium Bathysphere’s of Fortune’s Percipience. He’d be hoisted above the deepest trench within the southern seas, the chains loosed- the sphere plummeting.
⤄
It would sink, further- further still.
Kievan left to hear as pressure would seep, creaking, screaming against the heavily straining metal. Decompression soon setting in, a crash of influx pressure and the end to a life. The accused left to experience the dread of his final moments- whether he’d steeled himself, or was writhe with panic none could say.
The Emeraldi was no more.
⤄
Those of Fortune reserved this fate for only the most abhorrent, only the most reviled. Kievan had managed this title, with his aid in the Deephold’s endeavors. Forsaking whatever humanity he’d earned, whatever selfless nature, altruistic actions. They’d been corrupted, transmogrified into a pious obsession with the Marquis.
None in Fortune would abide such sentiments. An act would be done, one that would hold swift judgement. Kievan would be brought low, sealed within the many Tyrium Bathysphere’s of Fortune’s Percipience. He’d be hoisted above the deepest trench within the southern seas, the chains loosed- the sphere plummeting.
⤄
It would sink, further- further still.
Kievan left to hear as pressure would seep, creaking, screaming against the heavily straining metal. Decompression soon setting in, a crash of influx pressure and the end to a life. The accused left to experience the dread of his final moments- whether he’d steeled himself, or was writhe with panic none could say.
The Emeraldi was no more.
⤄
Soft mutterings would escape Fortune, rumors of the events that transpired. Meranthe as a whole would soon come to learn of this event, of what it entailed. Perhaps some would seek vengeance? Perhaps not, time would be the only judge.
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