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| − | '''Roleplay from Alec McDowell'''
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| − | Alec walked through his tent and tried to ignore the noises bursting from behind him. He needed peace. He needed to pull himself together and right now the last thing he wanted was to be surrounded with laughter. Even though his men needed it, he couldn’t even bring himself to smile, let alone try to fake it.
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| − | He had only arrived that morning and he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. After several days of frantically searching for Kaylan, they came up empty handed. They had followed the trail but found nothing but death and gore. At the sight he had almost crumbled to pieces. When they realized there wasn’t a trace of his cousin, he was able to breathe somewhat easier, only it brought on a different kind of worry.
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| − | Deciding to go straight to the source, they had taken the men with them directly to Gronak. It had been a battle of rage and revenge, and Malcolm had been able to exact the vengeance Alec knew he needed. They had lost many men, but in the end the threat had been completely obliterated. Again, there was no Kaylan, she had disappeared without a trace and there wasn’t even evidence left of her passing.
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| − | He still remembered Malcolm’s face and tried to wipe the image from his mind. Now that everything was over and done with, Alec no longer had rage to sustain him. The emptiness left a hollow sensation that only seemed to get deeper the closer they got to home. The entire way Malcolm hadn’t even said a word to him, and Alec couldn’t bring himself to say what they were both thinking. Kaylan was gone…
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| − | When they separated, again no words were said, because what was there really to say? The feeling of failure and loss was too hard to handle at this point. They were now two men, he thought friends at least, returning to deal with grief. The hardest part was not knowing what happened.
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| − | He removed his gloves and set his sword down on the ground beside him, as if all strength ebbed out of him. Sitting in the cot waiting for him, he buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to finally cry. Now having the privacy to let go and let his grief consume him.
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| − | “I’m so sorry…” he murmured as if his cousin could still hear him.
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| − | '''Roleplay from Malcom Bedwyr'''
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| − | Malcolm sat patiently in his room in his new estates in Montijo. He was apparently relaxed, his face slack, with no animation. His eyes, curiously, were grey. Normally they would turn grey briefly, but they had not been blue in weeks. And a closer examination would show that Malcolm did not look...well. If another costume party were held tomorrow, he would need no cosmetics to play his part of Lord Frost again. And if you
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| − | stared too deeply into those grey eyes, you would see an opening to howling darkness...The emptiness between the stars...
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| − | He could act well enough when he wished. He went where he was needed, did what was required...When the Chancellor consulted with him, he gave reasonable responses...And then went back to his room, sat in his chair, and did nothing until he needed to do something else. Such it had been since they'd butchered every last man in that stronghold...He had thought it might...That revenge...But no. Kaylan was gone. That was all.
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| − | Malcolm stared at the wall with unseeing eyes, incapable of even weeping. Such would require a heart...Which he no longer had.
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