Amadeus entered the house, being greeted upon by a sobbing old lady. “Let me see the patient.” Amadeus said, seemingly without sympathy for the poor woman’s tears. She pointed to a nearby room, directing him to a bed occupied by a sickly young boy. As the pale boy coughed up some bloody phlem, the woman turned to Amadeus. “Please, is there anything you can do to help?”
Silently outstretching his examination cane, Amadeus flicked back the boy’s sheets, revealing a body that looked much worse for wear. He was a greenish pale color, with spots all over his body and blackened fingertips.
Reaching into his coat, Amadeus pulled out a small bottle, containing the juice of rose hips.
“All we can do for him is pray.” Amadeus said as he placed the bottle on the nightstand and abruptly left the house, not looking back to see the boy or the woman’s reactions.
As he stepped outside, Amadeus removed his mask, spilling out the stuffed herbs and flowers onto the ground as he basked in the moonlight, letting the cool night air embrace his persperated face. Amadeus drew in a breath of fresh air, clearing his mind.
That boy would be one more sinner erased from the world. And Amadeus was grateful for that.
The eyes on the ends of the tendrils widened a little, and E’s body and center eyes soon peaked over the edge, equally wide. That’s a term I don’t hear from your kind often. What do you know of them?
Æhnyir walked along, it was an aimless walk as was normal for him. He carried his helmet on his side and explored further into the streets and alleyways of the city.
“They are many, with many different views.” He tells E. “There are those that are indifferent towards humanity, and those who like them. Then, there’s those who aren’t blind to how they’re killing the world.” He recalls. “They were the ones to teach me what I know of draíocht na sióg.”
“Te ducet ad odorem peccator” They repeated raising themselves to their full height, an exaggerated frame covered in thorn-like spikes with a helmet that reached like a barbed church spire. The knight unsheathed a gigantic sword with a wavy blade.
“neque taceat pupilla peccator” they whispered, they had a clear English accent behind their strangled words. without warning they lunged forward with the blade
The knight took the flames to his visor, it scorched the armour but seemed to do little else. The knight swung again, however they quickly changed the direction of the blade mid-swing