"I never thought I'd see your face again," Grixxis said warily, looking up at the hooded figure from his seat at his desk.
The blue glow of the death knight's eyes served bright enough to reveal his face dimly, the one prominent scar bridging diagonally across his face identifying the man to Grixxis. His voice -- an unnatural echo entwined with a tone that was both soft as silk, and coarse as sandpaper -- was quiet. "I've no place else to go."
Grixxis reflects on bright days past during bright days present, again in the company of the unnamed cleric.
Godfrey, the letter began.
Grixxis sighed and rubbed his forehead, glancing tentatively to the pile of papers on his desk, as though to make sure they were still there. So much had changed so fast in his life, and yet the ever-growing presence of paperwork remained an unwelcome constant.
(A story detailing Grixxis the night after the Golden Gear and Aegis finished a minor plot involving defeating a Lich)
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