He had heard the stories of Ul’dah, but none quite seem to light a candle to what he now witnessed. Within the glorious trade-city there were many less than pristine areas. Alleyways where Syndicate 'business' ran unbridled, told testament in the broken corpses often uncovered within them; cheap brothels chock-full of soiled doves, long ago broken and empty-eyed. The Jewel of the deserts had many ugly facets beneath its wealthy, gleaming face. Perhaps most noteworthy of those deplorable areas that fine noble folk avoided at all costs was the festering abscess the locals called Pearl Lane. The mere presence of sickly and desperate refugees acted as something of a ward against all but the most stout-hearted locals. Brass Blades kept their distance; even Immortal Flames who had less to fear for their vastly more honorable mantle as an order skirted the alley on their way to the Court or to Sapphire Avenue, offering the alley's residents a wide berth.
“Shed your Light upon Creation. Show me the path of Righteousness so that I may carry out your will.â€
The uttered prayer nearly lost in the howling wind that chilled the night. Kane blinked, causing the veil of thought blurring his vision to dissipate. Once again, his senses expanded outwards to take in the sight of his work.
A Highlander lay there on the paved stones that lined the street, wearing naught but linen pants and traveler's boots. His large chest expanded as he drew ragged breaths. Both hands were bloodied as they covered his left eye, one hand overlapping the other to effectively stymie the flow of crimson.
Kane's attention dropped to his own hand, where both index and forefinger were coated in blood. The feeling of those appendages sinking knuckle deep into the socket was seared into him, allowing him a vivid recollection even when the blood began to crust.
The man's lips moved, his upper tier curled in a rictus snarl. His one good eye was alight with hatred focused solely on him. Kane didn't need to understand what was said, knowing full well the man had likely uttered a series of curses supplemented by a promise of swift justice.
"My heart breaks for you." Kane said with a cant of his head, his blood-flecked features awash with concern. His voice was soothing, nurturing; as though he were speaking to a child. "For you to live in the squalor, your days filled with naught but the need to survive. It is a pitiful existence indeed..."
Advancing towards the man, a mere three strides until he was looming over him, the Midlander knelt down and pressed his hand against the prone Highlander's shoulder in a comforting manner. "I offer you a way out, friend. With me you can leave these streets of iniquity and rise up to the Empyrean. You can be a tool for the Twelve, a conduit for their Righteous fury.""All you need is obedience."
“Shed your Light upon Creation. Show me the path of Righteousness so that I may carry out your will.â€
The uttered prayer nearly lost in the howling wind that chilled the night. Kane blinked, causing the veil of thought blurring his vision to dissipate. Once again, his senses expanded outwards to take in the sight of his work.
A Highlander lay there on the paved stones that lined the street, wearing naught but linen pants and traveler's boots. His large chest expanded as he drew ragged breaths. Both hands were bloodied as they covered his left eye, one hand overlapping the other to effectively stymie the flow of crimson.
Kane's attention dropped to his own hand, where both index and forefinger were coated in blood. The feeling of those appendages sinking knuckle deep into the socket was seared into him, allowing him a vivid recollection even when the blood began to crust.
The man's lips moved, his upper tier curled in a rictus snarl. His one good eye was alight with hatred focused solely on him. Kane didn't need to understand what was said, knowing full well the man had likely uttered a series of curses supplemented by a promise of swift justice.
"My heart breaks for you." Kane said with a cant of his head, his blood-flecked features awash with concern. His voice was soothing, nurturing; as though he were speaking to a child. "For you to live in the squalor, your days filled with naught but the need to survive. It is a pitiful existence indeed..."
Advancing towards the man, a mere three strides until he was looming over him, the Midlander knelt down and pressed his hand against the prone Highlander's shoulder in a comforting manner. "I offer you a way out, friend. With me you can leave these streets of iniquity and rise up to the Empyrean. You can be a tool for the Twelve, a conduit for their Righteous fury.""All you need is obedience."
