The man approached, his footsteps faintly heard through Penlard's ears.
'You die on MY terms', two fingers felt for a pulse on the old neck, it was faint but it wasn't the end, not yet. 'You wanted the fate your son would have received', he shakes his head looking over to a lifeless body in the corner, 'You get what he got'.
The man stood up, taking a dagger from a nearby shelf, already bloodied. He slowly slides the blade across Penlard's finger, cutting it deeply.
'It seems your son's neck didn't blunt the blade', he laughs, an evil expression across his eyes. Penlard continues laying with his eyes shut, everything still so vague to him but the moment he manages to pull his eyes open ever so slightly, the man who was speaking stood over him, a look of shock across his face, the point of a sword seen coming out of his chest. The sword pulls back and the man drops, revealing a friendlier but still strange face. A man with blonde hair, green attire.
'I am sorry but I decided to replace Brynleigh on this one errand', Hamadryt said with a look of guilt on his face as he looked to Penlard's son.
