Description
!ON HIATUS! The fire painting the night sky is almost loud enough to muffle the screams Ren catches coming from within the burning castle. He winces at a particularly loud cry. Ah, almost. Ren presses his hand to the blood oozing from where a rebel's knife had cut clean through his side, the other grips the grass beneath him. As sloppy as the attack had been, the wound still stung. Not as much as watching your blood sweat and peers burn down before your eyes though. That hurt just a little bit more. "One of my two closest allies, a possible traitor. The other dead, and the fourth," He glances to the unconscious body sprawled irritatingly unscathed at his side-he'd hauled the two of them to safety and nearly died because of it. He sighs, "Alive. . . Sadly." Ren stops digging a hand into the grass and concludes: Assassinating the king of a rival country is a whole lot harder than what he had been told. Also, he's pretty sure he's allergic to grass. Fuck. . . . Stories can get complicated when you've got foreign affairs, ancient gods, heavy trauma, and poorly timed humor all thrown in together. So they tell theirs like this: Vesper Armodo starts their story. Ren Bellerov carries it. Aaron Kasil concludes it. Oh, and they sort of save the universe.
Announcement/Self-book promo
