BACK ACROSS THE night consumed dark waters, beyond the broad docks from which the adventurers just escaped, and beyond the forest wall which hid them, Syndirin stood upon the field, the anger which bereft him of the usual self-contentment had abated in his contemplations, new plans brewing in his clever mind.
These were contemplations upon which he gave pause to any action against the escape of his prisoners. His plans were not ruined – but changed, and changed to further his ends. And so his anger was abated.
A black raven descended to the ground to the side of Syndirin – careful to not land directly to the front of Syndirin – and exploded in a twisting spire of dark reddish smoke, which dissipated, the Summoner standing there, returning from his failed task. “M’Lord…,” he began to speak, almost plead, anxiously.
Syndirin slowly shook his head, not ready to speak words. He was rotating his staff in his bony hand. The Summoner’s eyes were fixated upon Syndirin’s hand, fearing a fatal strike of his magic. Moments passed, Syndirin stopped rotating the staff, but instead of raising it, lowered it, still upright in his hand, to the ground at his side. “Do not fear me, Korchloc. Your failure has let them escape. The consequences are of no doubt – amongst them being a traitorous knight, a speaking Driadonian slave, and a prisoner that lived through torture, their intentions have as their end all but to foil and destroy me.”
“However,” he began, turning to face Korchloc, giving the faint sign of a smile at both what he was about to utter and at the fear he instilled in Korchloc. “Their actions against me will be a simple and useful tool for me to use for myself, and as well to turn back against them. Their only options in their actions are to lose, or to lose. They do not understand the politics of royalty like you and I do – do they? And this matter is of royalty, in the hands of royalty, out of reach of peasants such as they. Contrarily, this situation is my opportunity, Korchloc.”