#i figured since u find alberich's set there he might have been there pfft

[lockawayknight]

@coldblood-gardens

It's almost as if something had drawn him here...

There's something... off... about this particular invasion, Creighton thinks to himself as his red phantom appears at the foot of the Erdtree – in the ruins of the former capital, rubble below his feet and golden leaves landing in his hair. The once-great kingdom of Leyndell, having long since been abandoned and left to crumble, still patrolled by knights who dutifully protect their lost causes despite it all. It's an almost haunting sight, the sound of the trumpets of emissaries echoing in the distance, and the gentle stirring of branches above. It's certainly a sight to behold...

But Creighton has more important things to do than look around, and more important things to kill than time.

The search is always the best and worst part, fuelling his adrenaline like oil on a flame, sparking deadliness and threatening wildfire. He creeps around corners in search of the target – whoever the Gods decided has to die today. The search is long...

His search eventually leads him to an old building that looks... strangely familiar. Something like home, but hauntingly so, like visiting the place where one grew up after it had been long abandoned. Familiar halls, with familiar fireplaces. Familiar bookshelves adorned with familiar fabrics. It looks strangely like... the Roundtable Hold...?

No, no. Impossible. And regardless...

He's found his target.

But, hold on just a moment... he creeps closer, his axe held tight, his breathing hushed; and he realises...

"... Oh! I remember you!" He gives his position away without a care, taking a casual stance with his axe's blade pointed harmlessly towards the ground. "Albert, or somethin'. Ice witch. Hah, what a joke: looks like you're my mark..."

He says it so casually, as if he isn't about to kill the man.

(Or, at least, try to.)

He does not lower his guard – no, of course not, not when his Lord's name is on the line. But he's treating it with the casual air of one running into an old friend at the market. He shifts his weight to one side, his blade still crackling threateningly.