Salem -- Fate's Watchtower
Hector Hall sits alone on a throne of stone in his tower, blood pulsing through his temples. The Helm of Nabu whispers dark things at him, but he pushes the skittering voice aside. He will not fall to chaos. Doing so is unthinkable.
So why don't you just cast off the helm? says the voice. He has no answer. The misery has gripped him since he returned from Bete Noir. His magic is wild, now. Sloppy. Things do not happen with the precision to which he's become accustomed.
"My soul is imperiled," he whispers to no one, and as he speaks, he realizes that they are the first words he's spoken in hours ... maybe all day.
Rose Psychic left them to seek assistance. She believes she has an answer for him. And Gemma ... Gemma has surely become concerned, by now. His absences and solitude are nothing new, but there is a shadow fallen over this tower. He doesn't know how to find the light again.
So why don't you just cast off the helm? says the voice. He has no answer. The misery has gripped him since he returned from Bete Noir. His magic is wild, now. Sloppy. Things do not happen with the precision to which he's become accustomed.
"My soul is imperiled," he whispers to no one, and as he speaks, he realizes that they are the first words he's spoken in hours ... maybe all day.
Rose Psychic left them to seek assistance. She believes she has an answer for him. And Gemma ... Gemma has surely become concerned, by now. His absences and solitude are nothing new, but there is a shadow fallen over this tower. He doesn't know how to find the light again.