When the Old Must Fight in Place of the Young

~ Before turning to face the other crimson-clad figure, Daltor speaks in his raspy, aged voice, “Aah... I did not know we had invited guests – will you be staying long? For dinner perhaps? Please... stay. We are having fish...” ~

Edhelfaron intercepts Daltor, an exchange of words following before the unexpected happens.

…The lifeless face seems to switch between different expressions – a smile, a frown, wide-eyed surprise – as it stares into Hellebore’s eyes.

Daltor steadies his staff at his side, his stature almost exceeding that of the other’s. “–I've tolerated the presence of shadow long enough–”

The sickly, dark elf then takes in a sharp breathe with a twitch of his mouth as he steps backwards, “Do what you will – but know the Wolf will strike back...”  

With mere will, words, and thought, Hellebore breaks the ties between the body and that old monstrosity – in the form of a blinding light as perceived by the darkness.

The grey-skinned form lies motionlessly on the hard ground, scarred, yet free, with Daltor having done his part in avenging the second-born.

The old man then continues onward into the place he once called home, intending to free the prisoners though his overall strength was close to spent. However, most of the henchmen hired by Alestair, having witnessed his confrontation with the Wolf’s strongest servant, made sure to stay clear of him...

Fulton clears his mind – There are two trained guards waiting to strike you from behind the walls before you reach us. Other than this, there are no traps I know of. And as far as I can tell, Alestair left some time ago – his presence no longer disturbs me.