Bad news isn't like wine

Goddamn, these fuckers lived far away, and for all the wings seemed to have hollow-ish bones, it didn't change the weight of the damn things, the feathers making them unwieldy, every big gust of wing blowing her off course until she queried whether they needed anything at all to actually believe her or if her word would be good enough? Well, she supposed, the Raiders had been able to offer Scald a proper burial. The least she could do was offer the Armada the same.

Finally making her way to the Col, she kept away from the main market entrance. It wouldn't do to make this a spectacle after all. Nobody needed their grief on full display for all to see.

She gently placed down all that was left of Mortis Fatalis, and called for Basilisk. This wasn't a message she could entrust to anyone else, though she was sure Dread was lurking just out of sight, regardless.

"speech"