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Sirius Revlis · 04-16-2012, 04:50 AM

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A madness had taken him. It simmered deep in the man's wicked heart, deeper than where any love could truly lie. His Kingdom had been challenged, but death had yet to come to those responsible for such crimes.

Oh, how he longed for their deaths, all of them. How he longed for them to be dead in the place of his Arbiter. Larkspur had been the closest thing Sirius had to a brother in this cold Northern world. The man had been flawlessly obedient to his king, and he and Eris alone had held the man's frail trust. There was a sense of betrayal deep within him, as though Larkspur had in some way failed this trust by dying; by being mortal. If he had felt as others felt, loved as other could love, the wicked King's heart might had felt grief at this time, grief and sadness for the loss of the one man he had felt blood-bonded to.

But Sirius was incapable of feeling such things, and so he knew only a deep, deep bitterness, one that rotted away inside of him and left him with a longing for merciless death. Death to those who had crossed their borders - Death to all who opposed them. Larkspur's murder was the end of any kindness the King might have shown to this world; The end of any chance of Sirius Revlis becoming a benevolent King. His path was cemented by this loss, and thus, the path of Salsola. The other kingdoms would know of them, and despair. Whoever was responsible for these raids would feel his fangs in their throat, and see his wicked eyes before death took them. This, Sirius promised to himself, and to Larkspur.

He had come, in the four days of mourning; Each dawn, he had come silently as a ghost, to the place where the man's corpse was covered in the soft material he had provided at Siv's request. Her religion was not his, but Larkspur had been a creature bound by the rules of his gods, and so Sirius had relented to each of the witch's requests. He would have given her all she asked for this ritual, even though the spirituality of it went against his very nature. Nothing would be spared for his only friend; Larkspur would have everything, in whatever afterlife was promised to him.

On the third dawn, he had told the dead man about his daughter's coma. He had told Larkspur to send Salvia back to him; Told the man that he commanded it. Commanded whatever spirits held her mind in the realm of darkness to release it. "You cannot take her with you, vecchio amico. I need her here." It had been little more than a whisper, and of yet, it had gone unanswered.

On the fourth day, Siv had come for the dead warrior, and taken him in a cart to a bluff on the cliffs, where the ocean howled and moaned its mourning and the birds shrieked harsh eulogies into the cold grey sky. He had not needed the witch's cry to beckon him; Unable to remain by Salvia's bedside, he had come already, and lingered aside. Others came - Eris and her daughters, bound by their grief to the dead man. Their hearts could not heal until this thing was done, until the ties there were severed. More came, to bid their respects, to show their pain. Sirius stood apart from them, unable to stand near to such weakness; His face was a mask, cold and tight with black lips in a grim, unreadable line. Only his eyes showed the madness, the fury; bubbling and sizzling acid watched on, glittering with murderous intent.

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