"S-s-s-strike!," the voice hissed through the air. "S-s-strike now!" it continued. Omen Tailamont regarded the undead lich before him. Malakai seemed to more float over the dark crimson carpet of Mikael D'Amavir's private study than he did to actually walk across it. "Guardian demands-s-s it!" "I could not agree more, old friend," Omen turned back towards The Hand of Terror. "What happened at the Knights Rest Inn cannot be allowed to stand unanswered any longer," Mikael's gaze showed he was lost in thought, considering the options. "We must show them that defiance will not be tolerated." "Blow was s-s-stru-uck," the hollow voice again filled the room. It was ice cold. Even after all this time, The Hand of Treachery could still swear that the creature's voice was less spoken and heard... and more driven like a spike into his head. Any conversation with the Hand of Decay always left the mage with a headache. "Killed one of the flesh-h-h rangers-s-s..." Mikael D'Amavir's gaze shifted back from wherever it had been to regard the two. He nodded his head slowly. "You are right," he said at last. "'Tis time to show these wretched people the price of insolence." He smiled a cruel smile. "Take from them the things they love. Show them there is nowhere my Hand does not reach." Omen nodded in acknowledgement. "Go," Mikael demanded, "Inform me once it's done." As The Hands of Treachery, Decay and Blood sallied forth out of Dread Keep, their destination was never in question; Rangers from Skara Brae had been at the Knights Rest Inn the evening before. They had openly defied Mikael's will and as such, the Ranger's Guild would suffer his wrath. The City of Spirituality would be The Hand's first victim. Omen Tailamont The Hand of Treachery >H< ICQ: 22265202 "The only way to make good is to be bad."