To the creature called The Red Phantom,
Your statement has been summoned by The Grand Council of Lumi. Reasoned to an incident within the Mauran region in which the Treaty of Shakri'gurn was invoked by his majesty Elisious Aeric in challenge to his word.
A peaceful party has been stationed to collect your statement as a key witness, their location and time slot provided at the bottom of this letter. If this meeting does not suit your schedule, please notify the closest Council outpost to your place of residence.
Phantom folded the letter back up. A familiar face had delivered it to him less than two weeks prior, the strange dragon riding man that called himself Locke riding his tailwind during a relaxing afternoon flight. A word wasn't even exchanged when they both landed, the Songbird placing a ribbon wound letter on the grass a few feet from him and climbing back onto his dragon to take off.
It certainly left Phantom wondering just how many coins Elisious had tossed at the poor man to chase him down. He didn't look like someone the Council could afford.
Regardless, his hands were tied now. If he hadn't left Káel hanging on his word, he would have burned the letter up and been on his merry way catching up with all the time he'd missed. But with a discreet meetup point, and generous time slot of an entire day, the least he could do was tell whatever party of well-mannered pansies the Council sent his side of the story.
So now he was walking through the sea of red and brown leaves painting Scaleskin forest, headed straight for a meetup point thirty minutes from the closest town. Still, he walked on his toes. Traps were easy to walk into when a letter spoke trust. It wasn't unrealistic that the Council was banking on a lowered guard and had a bounty squad waiting in the forest, Káel's uncle having similar plans wasn't off the list either.
But magic and lumience alike, nothing even tingled in the air. All was silent against the grey sky, spare the scraping flakes of white skin that peeled from the frail trees around him. Being a small handful of minutes from the destination Phantom expected to see someone in the distance, even if it was a trap.
Until the breeze kicked up to blow his way, carrying a fresh scent that halted his approach.
The wind was thick with iron. Blood. Sharp and fresh without the sour waft of rot that drew hungry flumigans.
His steps quickened, careful to keep on the few jutting roots and rocks that wouldn't print his path to unwanted eyes.
He came upon the first body, slumped against a tree where they had collapsed running away, most of the wound ripping open their stomach covered by a sticky mess of red stained leaves and dirt.
The other five bodies weren't far from the first, bearing similar slashes that had swiftly ended their lives. But in the ring of carnage, the array of wounds all matched a single weapon. A sword, likely one handed, and sharp enough to cut leaves in the air. A weapon almost purposefully similar to Jraelskin.
He carefully passed each body, Council insignia embroidered on their shell blue coats, and the matching swords clipped to each of their waists, undrawn. The one that had tried to run had enough time to draw a dagger, but the other five looked to have been caught by surprise, either from above or within by a single perpetrator.
The blood was still bright red, blending with autumn's pallet to paint a scene that had happened no more than an hour prior. Whoever had done this had, just like the Council, been expecting his arrival.
They just had other plans.
Don't forget to:
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Fun and Useless Fact #1:
A Songbird will never stay for the opening of letters they deliver, as it is seen as an omen of extremely bad luck.