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By war scattered.
For pieces read.
By war gathered.
Peace for the dead.

Darko should not have been so naïve to believe that X had not known the who, the what and where, even the why was not beyond him. No secret of the universe was beyond his knowledge, the truest omniscience in existence was between Him and the Creator. Yet there were things beyond this universe, forces which the who dared tamper with. Like mortals who dealt with the infernal and divine, fools who knew not that they knew not what they knew. And so Darko's suggestion was completely asinine, why should one who knows more listen to the one who knows less? Even in the temples of X as bloody as they stand now, is its not the blind few who lead the many, but rather the all-knowing who leads the blind many.

"My Lord X knows all. Every outcome he has foreseen, with understanding beyond you own, Death God. For this reason I am here, to collect that which you give freely. Even now he oversees us from his realm between. The script already written into my book long before you had read the message. And while this humble servant knows not what it means, My Lord X has sent me here to bear the message to the Death God as I have done." The Bookkeeper showed no fear in speaking freely to Darko, for here it represented the mouthpiece of X.

Turning now to Hal, the Bookkeeper rotated slowly to face the Lion-God. "Lord Hal-Reftar, Lion Heart of Champions, I bear a message for you as well from my Lord. Per his request, increase your sentries around the gate. That is all he has given me to say, neither which gate nor a reason why. I trust that you will understand and execute with the same faith I have..."

---

Where did they go?
The dead afraid of dying?
Pathetic worms.
Rot in hell.

His recovery was easy, a gust of wind did nothing but strengthen his resolve. "Eight against Three, I like those odds..." Dyleon's smirk beneath his hood was slightly troubling. Darko's forces just left, his vampire allies were just incinerated, and now there were six mages and two warriors set against him, and the temple steps. No sane man would believe the odds were in his favour should they consider the high possibility of death. Oh wait, they couldn't kill him. Hence... Why the odds were in his favour.

His attention turned away from the mages for the moment who, had no honor in fighting toe to toe with him. Even in his human form, they exerted pressure from afar. The one which held the sword annoyed him, yet Dearg was soaked in blood, so deep that fur would never catch flame from the knight's sword, nor would his blade offer much inhibition given the fact that Dearg could hunt his prey by Scent. Blood drove them both into a frenzy, and now they stood in a field of blood. 

Murdoc's companion however, was not so lucky. For you see, Dyleon had caught his scent and eyed him like a child gazing upon candy. A young squire, with a muscle-bound body surely the girls would swoon over. "I like the look of that one. His blood builds his body well... But mine better." And so with a target committed, Dyleon took to another charge, running almost upon all fours with speeds surpass the limits of the human body as the blood rushed out behind him as he ran at Geoffrey. There would be no time for the boy to react properly, Dearg was already a moving target, making way to the center of the temple as the last of the living bleed out making it hard to pin down the Dire Wolf.

A stab to the heart. 
Through his stomach. 
Impaling the throat.
Surprised eyes.

"Seven Now." Dyleon remarked as he pulled his spear out of the squire. A cruel visceral execution, supplemented by the man licking the bloody gushing out of Geoffrey's neck hole. Lapping it up with roots to his canine qualities before draining the warm body of the rest of its blood into Dyleon's own. Filling up with the blood of his fallen adversary, siphoning the strength of his enemies by the glory of blood.