[Suzerain of Sheol]

That strife was not inglorious....

The bloody light of the sun blazes through the ancient stained-glass windows of Lord Zaccheus' chamber of audience, defracting into eerie hues of mottled gold and deep azure, casting the Celestrine in baleful shadows. He sits impassive on a graven throne, watching the entrance to the hall and awaiting the arrival of those he has summoned. He wears a simple white cassock and clutches in his hand the Iron Scepter of Morning, its gunmetal luster clashing with the bedazzling pearl set in its crown.

Troubling news has reached the Celestrine, and he has called on mercenaries and allies from throughout Thyat'ria to investigate the disturbance, unwilling yet to commit his own armed forces to what could very well be a mission of suicide.

Diogenes stands in the shadows behind his lord's throne, breathing perhaps once a minute as he awaits his latest orders. It has been some time since he has joined one of Zaccheus' strike teams, and that the Lord Celestrine feels his services will be required speaks profoundly of the opposition the group may encounter. His cybernetic eyes remained focused on the doorway, ready to analyze the capabilities of any who emerge to answer the call. He is fully prepared for the mission, whatever it is, armed and armored, his mind rested and alert. He has not spoken since arriving at his master's side.