Fates Align


Although the Fated Lair was in the deep basements of the fortress, there always seemed to be a wind whistling in through the stones forming the walls. This night it sounded more akin to a sleeping dragon than the usual shrieking banshee.
In the far corner of the room three mirrors stood clustered around a faded high backed chair that might once have been red.
At the center, Warlock Pickle was padding through the thick moss carpet in a sharp triangle. After the third circuit, he stopped and scratched at his green leathery skin carefully, trying not to rip off a wart with his crusty talons. “Damn girl, tinks dat being a princess lets her be late.” He snorted. “Ain’t going to sing when she gotta be the queen.”
As the chief Warlock of the Blood Sea, Pickle was accustomed to people being on time to meetings. Especially in his home.
Knock, then enter
Knock, wait for response