Several parchments would be posted in New Crookback boards, as well as the Wraith's noticeboards. To the one who calls themselves Nathaniel or that ridiculously stupid nickname, You fucked up. Not only are you heartless against your own kind, you are barbaric and honestly I think the sanguine populace wants nothing to do with you at this point. You're reckless, careless, mock the leaders you've sworn allegiance to and you've even slain another sanguine and hurt countless others. You question every order you've given, and that's not a very good look for you. I've given you warnings. I've given you my mercy. But not anymore. You've left me no other choice, than to call an open season against you, for the murder of Lock of the Soth'hrii Cluster. I don't care about any excuse you've come up with - You will suffer the consequences. Good riddance. Signed, Spoiler: RELEVANT TAGS. @Koyote
The Knight doubles over in laughter. “Never thought I’d see the day I’d agree with someone from the sewers.”
"Lock...oh Perfect Alex. Fuck fuck I gotta get to her now. I hope she'd okay, I'll see this fucker in the ground" The Wylthar growls.
Several Parchments laid amongst Crookback next to the notice, the symbol of The Collective branded through the paper, almost a signification of the call to a hunt. All what was left was the following words, burn marks around the corners of the paper, almost as if the writing was made from a heated object, and thus made the following _____________________________________________________________________________________________ You've made your last mistake, Nathaniel. The embers of the forge will be your agonizing end.
Grabs a piece of fallen paper in a hidden alley of crookback. An evil grin appearing on his face as he'd begin putting together his own parchments. He'd watch for any others before quickly nailing the parchments around new crookback. "So you've finally snapped Cluster. The fact you all considered me as Kin is a deceiving lie. I was never Kin to the weakness you sanguine possessed. You've all fallen so low, lost so many times in combat to the werebeast and regular people. It's time I start showing you what a real Sanguine is. You all know no horrors yet, but YOU WILL. Bring your open hunts towards me. I alone will rip through all of those who oppose me and brand together whatever weakness they have left. I will be the one to bathe in all of the blood around. Come hunt me, and watch as I harm each and every one of those you care about. Cluster. Stormblades. The Collective. The Imperials. The Militia. The Darkwalds. Any other group I see needing to rise up to a threat, Ill stomp across you all and will bring chaos to life itself, something you fake sanguine could never have done." Signed Reaper
Triss tore the Reaper's notice from a board, the briefest of glances running over it before tossing the thing to the side as she stepped into Crookback. A hand rose to to the flask at her side, water pouring out into the open air. A spear of rushing waves formed in hand as faux-Isldar continued further in. "Come, coward. The rivers await." she said in Sulvalay Altalar, piercing eyes peering into each alleyway she passed along.
Morrigan could be seen strolling about, casually nailing copies of a crude barrel drawing over each of these parchments.
An overgrown, deformed Maz-Allar crept from the shadows that concealed it, taking a look at the paper. After reading, a faint growl left the creature as it thought out loud. ”Would that one be crrrrrrrrrrunchy?”
The hunter squints at the man in the barrel. The barrel-man. "..But what could it mean?" He mused - falling down an existential rabbithole.