Valinthras Herondale Snakewrithe
Valinthras sat at his desk within Venomspite's laboratory. It had been long since he
had been able to concentrate on anything. Part of him missed the sanctity of the
Undercity, while another worried about the war effort against the Twilight's Hammer and
the Destroyer himself.
Much stress was being put on him from outside sources as well. Insein had not heard
from Azalen this Winter's Veil. She was beginning to fall into madness. On top of that,
one of their scouting forces had passed by an Alliance scouting force and were mistaken
for Cultists. The two groups ended up killing each other, putting a dent in the amount
of soldiers the Forsaken had to spare. On top of this, lack of spare parts in this
frozen wasteland meant that, perhaps, Shelldon would never be finished in the time
span he planned. It was all so frustrating.
However, the most frustrating thing of all was his assistant. Valinthras' patience was
waning quite quickly. He was beginning to tire of Fromm and his refusal to follow
orders without questioning the man's authority. What's worse is that Verner hated
fighting, and thus was utterly terrified to be stuck in Dragonblight near the
frontlines of the war effort. Day and night he would complain and cower, which brought
discomfort to the man's old ears.
He needed to stop thinking about the insolence of his assistant. From the corner of
the laboratory sat a worn instrument. Large and wooden it was, made of a dark black
wood. It closely resembled a cello of some sort, though the wearing and make might
make someone knowledgable about instruments curious about it. Slowly, bony hands picked up the wooden instrument. A bone-crafted bow slid from Valinthras' sleeve, and his eyes examined the object before grasping it. His left eye dilated -- that beastial amber
eye looked across the string before he slid the bow tenderly across the surface.
The cello began to hum an enchanting song; a song of peacefulness. Words began to form
in the air as the dead man played and played his song into the night -- words of
freedom.
" Come now, children of the Shadow.
Be not afraid of war's fallow.
Rejoice upon its unsown field.
In time, my children, many more will it yield. "
