Exquisite Corpse

Genthus jogged in a rare hurry, swears whispered under his breath as he fastened his new armor. The chest plate across his breast, new and shiny, was but the first piece of the few he’d received by courier from his cousin when they’d arrived to Starkhaven, a purchase weeks in the making via letters to and fro. He’d been afraid to miss it entirely, but lo and behold, Caro’s sickness had delayed them all, and he’d received it without issue. He’d meant to spend today learning it, reading his cousin’s instructions, practicing putting it on, and so on. Then word had come from Esme that something demonic needed killing.

Needless to say, he’d contented himself with only what he’d learned so far, grabbed his axe, and come running.

Rounding another corner in the tunnels, he’d spot his friend, the two guards who’d offered to show her the way, and a priestess in chantry attire that he couldn’t recall, all in a little circle. As he neared, one of the guards would move to face him, hand up. “Halt there, ser. State your business.”

”I’m… ugh… with her…” Pointing as he bent forward to brace against his knees, Genthus would catch his breath, armor still hanging off-kilter, the sight a mess. He’d be tempted to comment on it himself had his eyes not found, at their feet, a mess of a corpse, skin lashed, tongue pierced, rigor mortis set. Guard relenting, he’d push past the other man and near close enough to take a proper look, huffing still.

”Mmm… you weren’t kidding, Esme. That’s a kill for sport if ever I’ve seen one.”