Kazimierz grew ever more irritable as the battle drew on longer and longer. An indefinite length would pass, and he found himself losing faith in the elf's promise. Could the elf be nothing more than a treacherous, hateful, liar? One who'd show disdain for their agreement? One who couldn't fulfill a simple contract?
The menial ghosts had already spread themselves to every minute joint and junction of the plane, but he suspected they would have no use. The battle would be lost, he could sense it now, and the knight on the other side would do nothing to help Kazimierz retrieve his lost mortality.
An eternity on the Obzedat, forever filing pages for donations and taxes, for recruitment and for contracts. Endless, endless, endless droves of whining politicians, supplicant merchants, begging hinds, cowards, serfs, mindless, repetitive cattle.
[i\]Fate will not intervene.[/i]
Intolerance festered and burst within him, a terminal infection that released his simple, moved rage.
[i\]One must do what one must for his own gains.[/i]
He saw, from afar, several others had appeared.
[i\]They have not seen me... I shall use them to my advantage.[/i]
A gate ripped open out of the darkness, a spirit flung itself forward. It spoke.
"Mercy, my lord, I will what your majestic dignity desires."
[i\]To them, you will go. I shall obfuscate your rhyme and reason to ring true in their ears.[/i]
The lowly ghost was merely a messenger. He would see where their allegiance lies...