The Worst Is Death, and Death Will Have His Day [Open; Introduction]

Lifeless, still and cold the old and ancient cove of the Lichborne, the skies are polluted in the ash and black grey that flew through the air and floated like the dying stars. All the world’s evil all the world’s monstrosities, its flaws were as a result of human tyranny, narrow the minds the Savage kin would be but not all fell into the darkness of a reality that not even a child expect to foresee. The fort looked abandoned, cobwebs show signs of neglect as he would walk to the interior it was different, the cement and brick looked as if it was in its younger years, there was a courtyard before the guildhall, the huge old hardwood gates close, and the groaning of the hinges breaks the silence.

Hence there was no mistake; activity in this guild increased greatly and its renovations was one of the signs. The doors to the guildhall open and yet not a man in sight, a candle is lit in the center of the guildhall, glowing much like hope inside the dark confines of pandora’s box, inviting this crimson wanderer in. Time was humanity’s greatest ally, its greatest enemy as it gives and takes away, a reality that continued to exist forever more, time took away the guild’s strength, its glory and granted it nothing but shadow, only the latter remains as the greatest and darkest of minds fade before the sunrise of the day. Hope comes in many forms but here, there is hope as the ambition of the absent and late Guildmaster, the archduke who founded the guild and so in the age of today all those who seek refuge in the shadows find themselves here, to others it’s nothing but a den of wolves but others call it a sanctum for it was the only threshold that sheltered them from a world that had denied and rejected their existence, who’s sins haunted them, twisted and turned them into what individuals considered and feared as monsters.

And one of these monsters escaped from a world he can never accept, a conflict that never ends.

However it is inevitable for as long as humanity continues on its struggles there shall be war, its part of nature and will continue to sow seeds that would mend themselves till eternity judges them of their untimely demise. He hears death, a contract with death, the servitor, the messenger and her faithful follower the Dullahan.

Or so he has been heavily mistaken as one.

Temptation would have stirred him, would have caused the man in crimson to walk in, he who expects consequences of his decisions the time he set foot in this place, the candle flickers and thus loses its light, a hope in the dark blown out as it were, the guild hall doors close behind him as several candles began to illuminate across the entire guild hall, the innocent monster stands in the guise of a stone faced man in a black suit. Footsteps can be heard from outside, surrounding the guild hall, an arranged formation that blocks all kinds of escape. A few men emerged from the curtains and as they gaze upon the crimson man, they were shocked see what seemed to be a horrible fate.

There’s a huge resemblance between the two, perhaps a long lost relative? Couldn’t be, this is just a coincidence, in fact it’s funny how they traded of similar stares as he walked in. The truth behind the urban legend of the dullahan, faced off with a crimson man who has yet to give out his name and thus:

“I ask… who you are?”

Mirrors on the wall
Who lead a life astray?
Who separated this lamb from its kin?
Both these men stand before each other.
One serves death, one uses her.
Who shall fate favor?
Who shall death smile upon?
The black messenger or the Cursed Crimson Scholar?
There can be no better fateful encounter
Than the face of men who were so similar in more ways than one.

There was one thing Dubhlainn hated more than anything; words that were even unnecessary to the answer her gave out, he did gave a lengthy introduction but the later was ridiculous and it took seconds for him to reveal the true answer. From an expressionless and stone face, a slight change of his expression began for a moment, it looked like he twitch but actually he was meant to scorn before this crimson visitor. Regardless of who he is and no matter how similar they both are, Dubhlainn remains apathetic before him and if anything Dubhlainn has reason to fear;

Fear that Marcel would live up to his words or that he’d be judged as a hypocrite.

He says not a single word as most mages of the Azeron Alliance would act this way, some believed they are the greater of two evils but in time, they would be proven wrong. There’s some spirit in him as it seems this man has some potential whose ambitions would grow and surpass expectations. One look in a man would say a thousand words much like how a picture should be, Marcel would have made an impact…

… if he didn’t sputtered and pulled such mediocre and hypocritical lines from a stage play.

Some of the men watching continued to harbor the thought that they look the same but regardless of the similarities; they were brought up differently and have their own personalities. Marcel would have already tripped on a land mine when he mentioned that Savage Skull is decaying, should he continue to sputter out saliva, he’d end up having a cut tongue and be reprimanded for his tomfoolery.

He was just the same as Veil, completely annoying, possessing the same level of mediocrity as most mages do.

“How… enthusiastic of you, I am called Dubhlainn.” His reasons for joining the guild sounded ridiculous, it’s almost as if he was making a front but what does he have to hide behind? If that were the case, Marcel would stick out to be too suspicious, he can’t tell whether he’s underestimating or overestimating him as he sounded like a blind fool that what he claims to be. However even fools can actually prove their words and as such Dubhlainn wish to not judge too soon. He simply accepted him no matter how irritated he is, Marcel made a terrible first impression, now is the time for Marcel to pray that he doesn’t make the same mistake as to what he did to Dubhlainn.

“If patience is within you, then I shall call upon someone who would like to meet you.”

Within time a face entered the scene. A man whose approach was clearly given away as he made his way through the darkness of the guild. His shoes clacking against the cold stone pavement, echoing through its endless halls. And as this imminent sound came to a sudden halt, a face would emerge from the shadows. Yet one that you wouldn't expect to find in such a defiled home.

Appearing from these very shadows, was the face of an old man. One who could be easily estimated to be somewhere in his seventies. Maybe even older.
Yet it wasn't his age, or his rather energetic demeanor that was such a strange occurrence in the guild. But it was the genuine kindness that his face portrayed. This was Viktor R. Albeit, an household servant of the darkest of guilds, Savage Skull. A man who against all logic had found his home in a place that many would avoid.

'My isn't this intriguing' spoke Viktor. 'Not only has this soul managed to survive the Spooky Forest. But he also manages to walk into the darkest of guilds, yet still stands to tell the tale... Tell me Mister Dubhlain, have you grown weary of your task of protecting our dear halls. Or is it that you see some kind of merit in this man?'

"I have not Sir Viktor." Whether they maybe a visitor, a spy or perhaps a refugee from the legal world, Dubhlainn intends to go on with this procedure of allowing people to come into the guild and once they have exited the courtyard and into the guildhall, they would be shut off from the world outside Savagte Skull and trapped by a squad of court guards, armed and strong. Of course Mikomi's men from the Pillar of Hidden Daggers contribute to this procedure. A few mages were of course requisitioned in case the wanderer would try to escape, for once you're in, you can never come out and if they did, they would never be the same person again.

"I am not so sure about that, its too early to decided for his judgement." Dubhlainn has every intent of eliminating the crimson scholar but as such he gave them a chance to prove themselves and should they fail, they will be eliminated, such as the procedure. He hated unnecessary words added to their answers, it only reveals to him that they are either compensating or that they must justify themselves before him just to decrease the level of anxiety as they approach.

This kind of thing happens all the time, even some of the members of Basilik Fang would share similar scenarios such as this. To Dubhlainn, this can never be uncommon to him.

Men who hid themselves in plain sight were still commenting that Dubhlainn and the Crimson Scholar hold similarities in appearance.

"Your orders, Sir Viktor..."