Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20170331011949/@comment-5543592-20170404020011

Morty had awoken, the smell of horses and new humans having coaxed her out of a slumber long ago, and now was poking her head curiously out of the bouncer Deaphanie had constructed for her.

Elsewhere...

 The elder’s door creaked as it was opened.

 “Who is it?”   He called out in Sammamish, the language of the Issaquah, taking a sip from his water glass.

 “An old friend.”   The man answered in English, coming through the door and entering the sitting room. He pulled the hood back from his face, revealing a head of crew cut brown hair, an intense browline, and rust colored eyes. The mask which sat below them covered the rest of his face, making him impossible to read.

 “We not friends. Strangers of worst kind.”   The elder analyzed Kheiro with tired eyes as he set his glass down. They had never met, but he was not surprised to see Kheiro here. He knew well enough from the many descriptions the hunters had given him to recognize the Hundred-Handed One.

 This seemed to disappoint the Masked Man. “You expected me.”   Kheiro noted as he took the seat across from the elder.

 “Easy to guess you would follow them. Easier then to guess you would visit after they did.”

 “Ah. I did not realize how predictable I had become.”   Kheiro said mournfully. He learned forward in his chair and clasped the arms of it. Kheiro drew in a deep breath, a mechnical, whining noise. “He sat here, didn’t he?”   The masked man asked, running a hand along the grain of the wood. He took a moment to appreciate the chair, before looking up at the elder. “And you explained the prophecy to them?”

 “Issaquah have old saying.”   The elder said, ignoring Kheiro’s question. “’One rain does not make a crop.’”

 “If you think you can assuage me with proverbs, old man, you would be wrong.”

 “No assuaging. Warn you. Your victory, not assured.”

 “Oh, but it is.”   Kheiro said, rising, setting his hand on his pistol. “Because no matter who completes the prophecy, my dream is achieved.”

 He drew the weapon, lifted it up, and extended it towards the elder’s head. The Issaquah leaned back in his chair and stared down the barrel of the gun. His expression did not change.

 “I know you’re not afraid to die.”   Kheiro said, lowering the weapon. “And I would gain nothing from killing you.”   He holstered the pistol. “I only wanted you to know who’s in charge.”

 Kheiro turned towards the door and began to walk out. “But do not involve yourself further, elder. Or it will be the Issaquah who shall suffer for your sins.”

 After Kheiro had left, the elder reached for his water glass with fingers that were shaking not only from age.