The Easting Reach

These are the people banished, wanted, and summoned by the governance in Impitur as well as other messages from them.

BANISHED:

WANTED:

Merney Valroc 1500 dead, 3000 alive. CAUGHT!
SUMMONED:

CAUGHT.

~Royal Herald Deephorn

An elf would stop by and leave word for the Herald that a person matching that description was recently seen in the graveyard called Fields of Lamentations or some such name.

The red head gasped at reading the posted bounty!

As twilight approached, she darted out from the nearby foliage, through the city gate and toward a very familiar window she knew all to well.

There were cupboards waiting!

Jonan passes by the notice board without the second glance and goes to his room in Star.

I never did like him.

I am aware, Margaux.

Retirement from the confines of the city had been an intelligent move. No matter the power that grew within him, Tristan Thalavar had no desire to battle a Daemon, nor contract any pestilence that might fester in the aftermath. The city in its shanty state would invite more toxicity than a foray in the wilds ever did, though that knowledge did not compel him to appreciate the wilds. He had been quick to identify the notices as he approached the gates of Sarshel, and thought better than to tarry long enough to attract suspicion. If he were to be questioned as to his association with the murderer, he would be forced to lie. The hour of solidarity appeared to have passed during the time of Tristan's retreat from urban living. Events in the life of Merney Valroc had moved too quickly for Tristan to have a hand in them. It was too late now to manipulate circumstance.

It is true.

I do not doubt that.

Time spent by the sea cleansed him, and if the statement beggared better explanation, it was not his will to divulge it. Thelnam was an uninspiring place. He had made no friends among the locals nor tried, for he never saw fit to make conversation with them, and they were not so brave in their embarrassing modesty as to approach him. As such, inevitably, he drew back towards more populated centres, for being alone was quite often just as boring as being among company.

Sarshel had from an early age benefited from more shrewd city planning than ancient Westgate knew. Tristan, in his years of urbane education, had an acute sensitivity to the implications of human architecture, and prized it at a worth that most did not deign to consider - yet in other things, and all manner of adventuring, he was maybe more ignorant than the unique milieu to which he had become accustomed during his time spent in Impiltur. Still, where the spacious streets of the city began to narrow and recede into a more compact period of architectural fashion in the history of the city's development, Tristan could measure meanings so different to those that one with any wit would discover in Westgate. No smoky alleyways, tentative apartment blocks, or suffocating bordellos sat in the oldest part of the city. Polished stone and water runways created an austere but forthright image. Sarshel was a place of preservation.

He sat, sensing the movement of his companion across the roofs of Vanguard Terrace and beyond the Wandmakers until she was skipping the angels beneath the Threespires Laern. But his eyes lay upon a lower vantage: an old building, that he surmised was once a place of faithful gatherings, bore the weight of the upper streets upon its back. Behind him was Angel Court, where architecture had become adventurous - if foolish - within the confines of urban development. Not long ago the thralls of the city had huddled there, or so he had heard, awaiting news of salvation for one they deemed superior. But that perceived superiority was a mistake.

Perhaps you will heed me better in the future. Degeneracy begets more of the same, Tristan. You are above such. You know this.

It was not degeneracy that made him do the deed, Margaux.

No? Then, what?

It was love.

Rumour has it that the Vlasta Slasher shall appear before court in Sarshel today (around 9 pm CET, sources claim).

Not a month after the trial, the Slasher has been released into the streets of Sarshel. The following decrees follow him:

- The family of the deceased is due compensation from Valroc in accordance with tradition.

- As Valroc has chosen violence over peace, he is sentenced to fight the king's chosen enemies until death.

- Any mortal who attempts to interfere with the departure of Valroc's soul from his body so commits a crime against the crown.

- Valroc is free to prepare for his demise while awaiting directions to his fate. A geas compells his compliance to the king's justice.

- Until his doom is met, Valroc is to wear the bands which signify his crime to the people of Impiltur at all times. Attempts to conceal or remove them shall be answered with the severance of both hands.