A mask of snarling silver and iron --
A peeling of silver lips and a baring of iron-tainted teeth --
That maw.
Agnieszka returns to the Barracks to tell Aeryn Karolinger what she has seen and heard this evening: Kerrak al'Nerun, or what was left of him, haunting the tavern like a too-real, too-tangible shadow, his face covered with a hellmask and his voice garish gravel, bearing promises of death. She tears away from the words of lieutenants who wish her to know her place to apply her fist to the office door; it is not yet too late in the evening to do so, after all, and Karolinger is a busy man these days.
"…he's a demon risen; he must be, for you tol' me he were dead," she'd say, breathlessly, silhouetted in the doorway. "He gave me a warnin' -- t' leave, t' take my family an' leave. An' he said other things, too --"
And she tells of the way that he summoned a Soria of sick green flame, a replica of the same sword that Aeryn now wears at his side, and of the ill promises he granted:
I have returned.
I shall do what I have to do.
Cleanse this province.
Make it strong.
You can leave.
You can submit --
Or you can die.
And she made her choice, at least. And Aeryn will make his, and, indeed, the Council, and the whole province. Isn't that what this demon-Kerrak is counting on?
So be it. If you are still here when I return again… by Fire be Purged.
But that is something you must do, Karolinger; for this girl is simply the messenger this evening, scanty and forward in your door. And there is a letter from Helstone on your desk that intimates this very thing, and there are decisions to make on this dark night. There are words to say to certain people, preparations to make, are there not?
Tell the Council I said hello.
"Thought you should know," she finishes.
(much of this directly lifted from roleplay; all italics are Boyd's words!)