Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20170331010116/@comment-28358106-20170331032607

Siphral looks as if she's about to argue, but instead closes her eyes in a resigned way. She leaves the room to fetch the visitor as Armata returns to the throne room. He enters, flanked by guards, and sits beneath the canopied arch, awaiting the caller.

Within minutes, Siphral enters. Her hand is on her sword as she approaches Armata, her eyes low. She walks gracefully, but her movement suggests that she is disturbed.

"Sire," she says in a low voice, speaking as soon as she is close to Armata, "The...visitor is approaching. I might add, Sire, that I would feel better if I were allowed to stay near you in the duration of this audience.  There's..."

She pauses, almost as if she has a hard time saying the words. "Sire, there's something vastly wrong. I can't explain it, but I've felt...something similar.  I can't put words to it, Sire, but..."

Siphral's words are almost drowned out by the sensation that overwhelms Armata's consciousness. Something approaching, something vast, something that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and makes his nostrils flare. Something that brings to mind a thousand complicated memories, familiar and intimate and sanguine and now dark.

His mind is edged by the creeping realization that whomever is coming, the Void comes with them...