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A number of questions filtered through the Prince’s mind as Fidelis proposed a toast, one worthy of the history pages. Concern speckled the dark elf’s red eyes as he listened, but he dared not question the sanctity of the moment. He knew the Dark Knight well enough to understand that Fidelis was a man of little fears; he was not troubled by the common apprehensions that haunted most people. Subsequently, for the Wolf of Jorel to even hint at his imminent death, Faust realized that something grave was about to happen.
“To the end,” the Prince of Har’oloth echoed, bringing his newly filled glass against Fidelis’s in celebration. Of course he was unaware of the circumstances provoking Fidelis’s eloquent toast, but he masked his concern behind a cheery façade. As he sipped at the wine, the Vysstichi Lord sighed deeply, his slender shoulders dropping and resting against the back of the wall. He silently met the Dark Knight’s gaze for a few heartbeats, wondering of the troubles that consumed the man’s soul.
“Whatever problems you are facing, my friend, do not forget that you are not alone,” the dark elf said, chuckling grimly as he slung one of his arms across the ruby-bejeweled pommel of Blood Winter. He meant every word. The legions of the Empire could have been knocking at Faust’s door and Fidelis would have fought beside him. Still, the Vysstichi Lord was aware that Fidelis’s decision was one that he opted to travel alone –for whatever reason. And Faust respected that.
“Just don’t get yourself killed. Remember, we’ve a certain Admiral to slay, and I’m afraid that I simply don’t have the time nor the manpower to rid myself of his crew.” Faust said with an innocent smile.
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