Ryder was an older man, mid-40s, dark haired peppered with grey. His voice was plain, a slight rasp with no noticeable accent. "Good afternoon gentlemen. My name is High Flame Commander Ryder, Royal Hall of Records, Classified Operations Division. I am here to have a talk about one of my units, my little pet project. I assume you have put the Lieutenant through his paces enough that you have been given some odd intel. Black Chain's interrogation is pretty efficient I've been told, so either its come up or it will soon. So I'm here to debrief you before you continue further. Understand this is not an exercise in persuasion. I am not ordering you or even asking you to hold your hunt. Despite my opinion on the matter we all have our orders" He looked around, "Now.... I need a room and ten minutes with you."
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The shard in his open eye socket, a sliver of fire aether which connected the eye to his system, was glowing red as he watched through the locket what Mikh'a faced. As the Keeper was hauled up the stairs, Erik calmly sent his last transmission, hopeful his aid got it. He packed his equipment and readied himself for the performance.
Pulling up his hood, he shook his body out for a moment, took some deep breaths, and drew the massive axe from his back. He focused aether to his socket, causing the red glow to sharpen, a good effect from under a hood. He waited until the elezen's had touched the door then with a roar he sent his axe through the door, destroying it utterly. He took the butt of the axe to one of the men, swinging his hand free to grab by the throat the one who had held Mikh'a the same. In the lowest, graveled, beast-like voice he could manage he whispered, "..... Die..." Swinging the man in his hand into the wall caused him to rag-doll. He then threw the body down upon the others who had followed them. As the lot tumbled down the steps, alarm raised as voices from below reacted to the men falling. Erik took Mikh'a's hand and pulled him up the steps higher with the word, "Run!"
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Outside the abbey sat in a small seat the Abbot of the little chapel. A priest to the Fury his whole life, he had been the one who baptized both Heather and her children. He had been given word to expect Raimy, so he waited, the news fair.
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The shard in his open eye socket, a sliver of fire aether which connected the eye to his system, was glowing red as he watched through the locket what Mikh'a faced. As the Keeper was hauled up the stairs, Erik calmly sent his last transmission, hopeful his aid got it. He packed his equipment and readied himself for the performance.
Pulling up his hood, he shook his body out for a moment, took some deep breaths, and drew the massive axe from his back. He focused aether to his socket, causing the red glow to sharpen, a good effect from under a hood. He waited until the elezen's had touched the door then with a roar he sent his axe through the door, destroying it utterly. He took the butt of the axe to one of the men, swinging his hand free to grab by the throat the one who had held Mikh'a the same. In the lowest, graveled, beast-like voice he could manage he whispered, "..... Die..." Swinging the man in his hand into the wall caused him to rag-doll. He then threw the body down upon the others who had followed them. As the lot tumbled down the steps, alarm raised as voices from below reacted to the men falling. Erik took Mikh'a's hand and pulled him up the steps higher with the word, "Run!"
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Outside the abbey sat in a small seat the Abbot of the little chapel. A priest to the Fury his whole life, he had been the one who baptized both Heather and her children. He had been given word to expect Raimy, so he waited, the news fair.
![[Image: Emblem%252520by%252520Rhea%252520Zaheela%252520x50.png]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5YSh8yMniHU/VlLStr_7SSI/AAAAAAAAIQ4/qLoOmtz-Jdg/s100-Ic42/Emblem%252520by%252520Rhea%252520Zaheela%252520x50.png)
