Duke Kolonfer rose unhurriedly and strolled to the eight black-framed glass windows, halting at the third, where a whip-like heather branch swayed in the wind, rhythmically tapping against the pane.
Duke Kolonfer extended his right hand, passing it directly through the glass, and seized the heather branch. As he murmured to himself, the branch visibly withered at an observable rate, crumbling into heaps of decayed ash and dust.
The touch of Duke Kolonfer held the power of withering; should it ever come to an actual fight, one must never let him make contact.
As Gaven gathered this intelligence, his gaze was fixed intently on Duke Kolonfer's extended right hand, on the ring finger of which, indeed, sat a ring.
Made of silver, its form twisted, it greatly resembled a miniature human palm curled into a circle, and on the ring finger of that diminutive hand was an even smaller ring.
Was this not a warped Chiaranlisha's Holy Emblem?
