Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180318173834

The young man is split by the risks separated by a thread. Assuming someone, for some reason decides to reject their offer of aid for aid, a very real possibility of the count's trial could be aired instead, leading to his death and by extension, their own. The young man's hands tremble together at the prospect of death looming over his shoulders.

The other side of the coin, accepting their request. But then, they did mention something about the man hunted being eligible for death over fifty times. For killing humans. Accompanied by a guard with a greater toll than even it. Should they go forth to try and apprehend this individual, death was also certain.

The young man's hands voraciously, death looming over it either way. Whispers under his breath, tingled with absolute fear "What has he dragged me into...". HIs head nooks ever down, unable to gaze at anyone in fear of letting his terror be known, acting as best he can as a simple prayer. A shoddy prayer.

And then, his body became his no longer for a spec. His head rises, washed, at least partially, of the terror pressing down on his shoulders. His hands, the malicious shake they stop. A glimmer of purple scorches his gray irises for but a brief moment, speaking the words "Of course. If it means aiding in the plight of the count, so be it".

His head falls fall in an impromptu manner, almost like a puppet no longer receiving orders from the puppeteer. His praying stance, a fortune way of hiding terror, resumed, whispering words of regrets over and over, in the most inaudible way possible.