A Nameless bounty, for a Masked soul

[Metrice]

“You, wretch. I’ll remember you, name I have not- but your obscured visage will be enough. Know that I will find you, I will hunt you down- and I will take that lying tongue.”

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Such a tumultuous moment had passed, one that left the whole of Aphros with a slight confusion. To think, their supposedly secured streets could be breached. The Bastion left unawares, the very church the culmination of the Asperan faith defiled. The good will of Athelios insulted, and their people more so. Most of all, the detest that laced the actions of one young Equisol. He’d stood against this usurper, this harbinger of forced change.

The one, who praised death.

A climatic battle would ensue, the young Equisol as well as his comrades. That of Xena Walt, and Jacob Walt.

It had ended in a tumultuous failure, with the Messenger of Death's departure marred by a warning. A warning of their fragility, a warning of their inability to defend themselves, their home. It’d left the trio with deepened wounds, Proteus having the brunt of it. His last waking moments were that of agonizing loathsome failure, watching as the Asperan faith was set ablaze. The church seared, even the statue of Athelios at its center had been desecrated. An image, burned within his mind’s eye- just as the scars of his defeat would mark the center of Athelios’ worship in such a detestable light.

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His frame forced into a comatose state; of which he was forced to endure that same scene. Those continued actions, that perpetual failure. Weeks trickled by as he’d eventually wake, the realization of what had transpired only rousing the Equisol’s ire.

He'd a score to settle, and this assailant wouldn’t go unpunished. Proteus soon addressing the Oracle directly, telling her of this blight. Of how Aphrosian defenses were sidestepped, of how the good people were cast into the throws of danger.

That Aphros, was no longer safe. That their stagnation, their complacency had allowed for their enemy to continue its evolution. Even now, Proteus would urge those of the Bastion. His fellow soldiers to arms, the squires, the knights- it mattered not. This act would not be repeated, none of ill intent would be gifted respite. Remorse a luxury withheld for their ilk, and the brimming fires of a young soul seeking revenge.

What was more, a bounty would be posted. That of fifteen thousand coins- for the live capture of an oddity. A man hidden beneath the ivory farce, a man who would be brought to justice. A name did not accompany the individual, but a description was provided. Height, dimensions, even that all too familiar tune.

The eerie, distant whistle of a tainted soul.

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