The Cathedral
Ubaid nodded, and the gem in his sword pulsed predictably. "I did say you would most likely win," he repeated, as his minions backed off suspiciously, "And do not desire to put this further to the test." He glanced up into the rafters, and shrugged. "Sorry."
The Bearers were still intact, although the rest of his slaves had fared rather more poorly. He also didn't care about the rest of them; with a wave of his hand, he tasked the undead to collecting the gory remains of their fallen comrades. Those that could be salvaged (a judgement he left to the Twins, when they finally arrived) would be stitched back together and made ready for reanimation at the town's graveyard. Those too badly damaged to serve as a shell would be hurled into the pentagram, to feed the beating heart.
Speaking of the heart, he lowered his sword and turned away from Brodus, watching through the eyes of the rotting hunchback in case he tried to run Ubaid through when his back was turned. Whatever blood had been left in the Dean's corpse had been pumped out onto the floor by now, the red muscle still beating in time with its feast. It had suffered no damage, and the ritual had not been interrupted, and so he decided to agree with the fallen knight. "No hard feelings," he said slowly, the phrase unfamiliar to him but apparently quite common in the modern day.
There was not much left for him to do here, but time was an issue. He could examine his saviour in detail later. "You must be the one we have been waiting for," he directed back at the rafters, waving for the skeletal child to fetch his athame from the podium, "Did the Great Deceiver issue us further orders? Or may I return to carrying out his last set of instructions,
without
him sending people to kill me?" He glanced at Brodus, and then at his sword. "Remind me to talk to him about that, when next we meet."
All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.
02-Jul-2015 18:36:30