Tainted elevation; a sword to which cast upon thy eternal fate. To which did the sword belong? Not what thou ask upon their stone bed. Skyward, a cloud becomes unclear in Winter's breath, the swirls congregate a mass of circling divulsion which sprout forth the hasty drops of liquid death. Splatter did they do; impaling themselves 'pon the soon-forth victim of the Reach. "A hasty death" is what whisper cast, the smirk of fear-stripped confidence distilling thoughts of which the Executioner held. "A death, you say?" he would cackle, looking up, upon, the sword-wielding menace "A fight of which is fought is not one in which you partake" his smirk grew, curling rightward flesh in their northward path. "For to kill that which resists, only resists the conformists submission."
And with that, translucent fluid warped their way about the kneeling form, smirk held still as the glow took place within; conducting energy which slipped and wavered synchronically. The Reach stood, weapon held up above, unable to withstand the gaze-drawing phenomenon which conducted 'fore him. Widened eyes grew in their baffled state as the kneeling man, The Resistance as which he is called, seemed to pop, like a giant, air-filled bubble. And he was gone...singular note, small, boarded square card sitting in his place. The blade lowered, and the lone man bent, picking up and reading;
"Resitance. Fight for your freedom.
On the third night of the full moon, meet me in the harbour.
You'll find your truth, but I can't guarentee you'll like it
~ The Resistance."