Redsand Canyon I know you haven’t said a prayer in a month or so

The Svartell sidled in the shadows, embellished in his cloak; invisible to the eye as he doused himself in ink, accursed man and his bone-trembling crown. He might’ve been inveigled from the shade sooner if not for Derg’s fitful glare, undoubtedly watching. Bedevilled and desperate, ignited with fumes of uncertainty, and he knew why. He knew why, as portal-lit eyes followed his trail of russet, and the cold scepticism that ensued. It must have been a trepidation that festered there, in the overseer's bones; like a spider, he thought, needle-thin legs drawing bloody trails from his spine. A faltering man, who knew to fear when the world was not painted under his watch.

Congenial; gratifying.

But at last he grew weary of the distance, and that bastard Aries descended from his perch, a flatness of rock bestrewn with sand, body seeming at once to swallow the space before him. With ethereal grace he edged closer to the gathering of canyon-warriors, slipping among them with only silence, and a sly, knowing curl of ebony lips.