The sounds of mirth and merriment could be heard a safe distance from Kinship Tavern. He watched from the shadows, garbed in a dark purple hooded robe. Not his personal choice of color, but at least if he were seen it would be assumed a True Britannian had come to this area, one of the few places in the land where plant life still fought strong against the decay and death that hung in the air like an unending fog.

Some Roses could be seen leaving the tavern now, heading south. Probably to their headquarters, the robed one mused. He was impressed by their resourcefulness and their commitment to the contract.

All had been going as close to his plans as possible. The Sergeant’s rivalry with the Rikktor was known to him, and he has no doubt the Cold Blood’s general would meet the end of Flint’s blade in time. The previous deaths of a couple of Roses at the hands of Drow insured he would not need to motivate them against Mephitis.

Semidar and Barracoon had been a problem though until recently. Surely, the Society likely thought the denizens of Terort Skitas belonged to Semidar’s legions, but that had all been a ruse. A few dark summonings by his followers provided him with the daemonic puppets he needed to “stage” the kidnapping of their Colonel by the supposed legions of the Abyss. Verys had done her duty well, fighting the Rose to her demise, but not before misleading them to thinking Barracoon had Anubis in his hands.

Thorne chuckled at the thought of the rat king having as much intelligence as to hold the Rose’s colonel captive as a bargaining chip. All the insane gypsy seemed to care about was his music, his rats, and cheese…. lost of cheese.

Killing Anubis might have made more of an impact, but considering the Colonel had been the man to sign the contract with him, Thorne didn’t want to risk the chance of losing the Roses due to a technicality. Colonel Garret would keep to the contract by his word, so long as the Rose was paid. He was pleased that Anubis was as resourceful as he judged him to be, and able to escape the ratmen encampment near Lakeshire.

Perhaps it was time to give the Society a little encouragement… maybe an advance payment, Thorne mused again. Certainly something to consider.

With the Colonel now recovered, the Rose could focus on their task. He quietly rubbed his hands together at the thought of it. Semidar, Rikktor, Neira, Mephitis, Barracoon… their skulls would soon be his, and his master’s rising would be at hand. Plans were already underway to gather allies against the Forest Lord. It would have been foolish after all to have the Roses kill such a “good” being.

His face cloaked by the hood, no one could see the thin, dark smile on Alexander Thorne’s lips as he began his journey to the Necropolis, where the next part of his plan would commence.