It came as some considerable relief that the monster before him remained conscious, thoughtful, and reasonable. William had recognized him and stated his mission, in the process putting forth a display of preposterous rapid healing that the floating mage pretended to not be intimidated by. In truth, the concept of that giant blade across skin, creating such a filet of flesh that William had just conjured made Storm a touch woozy, with memories of significant blood loss and the feeling of helplessness that accompanies it flooding his front brain.

Sure, just let the blood pour out, who gives a shit, right? Fusing that shit closed would nearly knock me out; but you barely blinked. Yeah, sure, standing in your way seems like a terrific idea.]

Everything about him and this seemed tremendously imposing to Storm. The warm sun, although not nearly as oppressive as Dheathain or some of the jungles of Ja’laan, now felt decidedly oppressive. Lowering himself to the ground, the once bouncing crowd about the open theater had transferred from a welcoming applause to silence. Here, moments later, the building roar of rumbles and boos began to rain down as the two did not engage in immediate combat. The entitled were inclined to high expectations, and no doubt expected the open concrete and brick to have its thirst quenched with salty blood by now.

“Sacrifice? Shit, definitely not my speed, friend.” Thinking of William’s mention of having hunted down horsemen and now seeking death gave some direct nod to the notion of sacrifice. After all, chasing death was the fool’s errand that every mortal shared.

“The last I recall, I had teamed with a tandem of little wanderers, taking down some skeletal abomination in the woods outside of Concordia. We parted ways after – at least I thought we did – until a mist began to stream from the ground and smoke me out. I remember being doped up – hell, they gave me some good shit – and here we are.”

Mysteries like this were so frustrating to Storm. Powerful and traveled, he himself expected a higher air or respect, but the fact of the matter was that the larger operators held powers far beyond his. He ultimately remained nothing more than an exceptional puppet; a toy to be dangled and danced for the larger parades. The little monk that had walked him out was no different; a diminutive elite that lorded his advantage over the rich, powerful mage, savoring in the fact that regardless of his infamy, Storm Veritas remained plebeian class.

How do we break the wall? How do we bring the ceiling down on these assholes?

The sweat which had poured down his brow felt as though it would boil as the electromancer fumed, both frustrated and enraged by the glass cage which he felt helpless to escape. The Revenant was truly special; perhaps the two of them could notch a win against the larger establishment. If they could kill the horsemen, and perhaps the crowd which lusted for their own blood, perhaps the echoes of the event would reverberate across Althanas.

Perhaps the blood of these ruling class would offer a toast to the oppressed; a call to arms for the gifted which wriggled under the thumb of control about this magical plane for too long.

Or perhaps the rulers are right, and they ride out, skewer your skinny ass, and put your head on a spike to remind any future revolutionaries of what a bad idea might look like.

His eyes scanning the arena, Storm extinguished his pipe as he took inventory of his options. There was almost no doubt William would kill him if he complied with the ruling class and set to single combat. There was also no doubt that fighting this mysterious horseman was a bad bet, along with the possibility of a rampaging mob. The back of his mouth filled with bitter bile as he pulled up residual tobacco tar. A thick spit of dark brown anger was fired against the stone floor before him, spreading thin and light as the sun mercilessly attacked available moisture.

F*ck it. Better to die fighting a champion’s battle than taking a bad bet battle against this goddamned beast.

Pulling the twisted dagger from behind his back, Storm flipped the blade through the air over his shoulder, catching it in his left hand and delicately scratching his right palm with the titanium tip. He was decidedly more gentle than his new colleague, but still effective to generate a string of scarlet across the skin.

“A tithe, then? I’m not sure how that shit works. I just know I’d rather bring all these sons of bitches down than die a puppet. Let’s go.”