"Who is he?" asked Kalliaris with the usual Echelian frankness.
"This is Mors… cellus. Marcellus. A friend." Glax announced, stepping into the quarters they'd been granted. Nothing more than a cell and cots, blankets reeking of herbs designed to ward off ticks and fleas, and damp straw on the floor. Alexandre slept and stirred, grumbling, when the light hit his face.
Mors had to put away his cloak of shadows, grumbling, as neither wanted the soldiers reacting in aggressive terror as they saw Death approaching.
"I always come here. I don't know why they care so much," Mors shrugged, accepting the suggestion not to look so imposing.
But maybe he hadn't been expecting Kal's indifference, as the Aegean shrugged.
"Okay. Is he from Pharys? With this name, he should be. Hi, Marcellus. Nice tunic… oh, Lord Glax, that's not your… Oh, okay. I will sleep now."
Kal turned to the wall and pulled back the cover.
