Deadrick spent the whole journey back with the thoughts on what he had just seen running through his head.
Unholy didn’t work together, and who were they referring to?
They just called him… well, Him. But they were obviously referring to someone of power… or authority. He had called them, and his call was great enough to unite the Unholy factions.
He reached his home just before sunset the next day.
It was a fairly uninteresting house- well, hut.
Well- rather large shack.
Any passerby wouldn’t regard it as anything out of the ordinary… not that many people passed through this solitary area of the highest point of one of the highest mountains in Kandrakah… at all.
Deadrick liked solitary. He wasn’t too fond of people and found that too much time around any one person would put him into a state where he felt he could murder them- and he had the weapons to do it.
The walls inside his house were covered with assorted weapons. Guns, knives, swords, daggers, grenades in boxes, explosives, barbed whips- all made by Deadrick himself; From the bones of enemies, the blood of adversaries and the supplies of… shopkeepers.
Deadrick had decided on the way up. As much as he hated the outside world, his profession required him to inform the Council of the Unholy gathering.
He would have to travel to the city of Gaelwynd and inform the King, the head of the Council… naturally.
Not that he needed to, being him, Deadrick had no time to rest. He changed his blood-spattered coat, for another identical coat (with blood that had been left long enough to dry and start flaking), and placed his hat over his head, tipping it slightly so the sun couldn’t reach his eyes. He hated that.
Then, he categorically counted and equipped all of the weapons he could come up with at least one use for, and left.