"Thal," the Duskwight repeated, the sound like a croak from his haggard throat. "Thal," he said again, as he paced towards the man on the ground, the movements slow, the body rickety and hard-edged, almost as dark as the shadows around him. His hermit's linens, hanging thin and tattered over him, were old and gray enough that they might be a funeral shroud robbed from some moldy tomb. "Thal. Twin aspect of Nald and overseer of the underworld."
Dark lips smiled beneath that ragged beard, "Interesting." Spreading his wiry limbs to either side, threads and torn scraps of cloth swaying in the wind beneath, he said, "Thal, aspect of Death. I am Megiddo, acolyte of Oschon the Wanderer. Allow me to be of service. You appear... Hm. Confused."
Dark lips smiled beneath that ragged beard, "Interesting." Spreading his wiry limbs to either side, threads and torn scraps of cloth swaying in the wind beneath, he said, "Thal, aspect of Death. I am Megiddo, acolyte of Oschon the Wanderer. Allow me to be of service. You appear... Hm. Confused."
![[Image: Collage_banner.png]](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/179079766/Collage_banner.png)
