The Sketch Rift: The Seal of Demons

Why Does He Still Write?

You know already whose address this letter is directed towards, and I care not what you judge of my respect.

So the word has gone out, and the Master Bringer know who they are. So what! As long as the Blessed Ones never figure in the long term that... oh, never mind. Just stop making me squander secrets so unwillingly, and make Hemingway suffer. Hendera is prepared well to unleash their fury upon the Reacsoa Hand's current defenders. I'm tired of this. Give us a break. Give me a break. Finish the series now, for all I care! And as for the ghisluefnd of the jk.s hjrg lo 3 and ilghelwouifhuoe, lwhow;egimhoai;aaeyjyrdhb r, e.. rdhaugeqifvwy

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"Moth, what are you doing?" Soal, who alongside the formerly named Green Phantom was struggling to process the lecture of Gnat's the night before, guffawed as he peered down onto his comrade's inscription. The Ambassador frivolously scrawled gibberish terms across the ragged sheet, hesitating little to rip the edges carelessly along the way.

"I've had enough!" Moth burst with a frenzied spurt, dashing as they watched to openly tear the page in an eerily reminiscent manner to the Time-Bound Thief's destruction of Halmaven. "Eloquence doesn't work with the Kyueb Reacsoa anymore. Negotiation is useless. There's no way to compromise."

"The Kyueb Reacsoa doesn't read such nonsense," Irene's eyebrows fluctuated in a similar manner to that of a seesaw. "What kind of 'friendly' letter has a sentence plucked from an 'unscramble me' newspaper activity?"

"You need not understand, and comprehension of this -- by the forsaken Blessed Ones, at that! -- that the Kyueb Reacsoa is the root of all of our problems: an unhinged, sociopathic nightmare who... that must be stopped before it destroys us all -- may as well be futile!" Moth tramped resoundingly back and forth between the four rather high walls in the rather broad expanse of the chamber of Grant's Shrine in which he endured in inhabiting, which had once been his captor's place of residence. Off on a tangent, he may have been leaning on the verge of suffering the fate of the Revolution's very own Ressel. "What do you think? ...Nothing, of course! Because the Kyueb Reacsoa doesn't specify that! I'm sick of this! Just finish the story!"

The Master Bringer was growing mightily concerned. They had known Hemingway to be highly shrewd and secretive, but would Moth soon establish himself to be the opposite? -- that of a cunning leader whose determination to succeed far surpassed the limits of his own sanity, and his own perception of reality and the others around him? Uncertain of this, their choice of asylum had definitely been altered; perhaps not in the Bejirian Incarnation, not in the Ambassador, not in the Count or the Countess, and not, in any case, with Hemingway. Considering that, there appeared to be no more refuge in which to confide anymore. Their decisions now rested upon which character within the struggle would behave in the least treacherous aspect.