A laughter split the incoming day as a wild-eyed young man garbed in holy robes dashed madly towards the edge of Traitor's Fall. A fitting place for he, a priest who corrupted the sacred rites of his own deity's rival. Overhead, a low thunder rumbled, almost a praise for the treacherous priest's actions. The king would soon be executed, victim to heresy, and he too would be executed for the same. Unless they never found him to begin with.

Traitor's Fall overlooked the Eternius, the expanse of endless sea which connected every landmass which could be found in the world, and the priest collapsed to his knees on an extended part of the cliff, staring down at the churning blue ocean, his sweat dripping into his eyes as he clenched his holy symbol close; a thorned crown with an emblazoned bolt of lightning stretched not unlike a dreamcatcher from thorn to thorn: the symbol of the Fallen Lord.

Shouts and exclamations echoed behind him, and the priest turned to witness a small party of the priests that he had betrayed drawing close, with large flames igniting in their hands in order to cut through the storm which had suddenly split the sky and permitted lightning to jump from cloud to cloud. Rain mingled with sweat and the traitor inched his way further to the edge of the cliff, cackling under his breath as he drew closer and closer, sprinkling rocks into the sea. His golden eyes flicked back and forth. He was cornered, of that he had no doubt. Yet, there was one direction he could still go.

By now, one of the youngest acolytes had pointed out the disheveled fugitive, and the other priests were drawing close, tentatively and with flames in both hands. The youngest acolyte, fear visible in young eyes, only withdrew a small knife, his Magic obviously immature.

One of them, a man with a long silver beard and scarlet robes, called out to the traitor, but he could not hear the words over the downpour and the pulsing of blood in his ears. The fugitive's only response was a loud laugh, as he crept closer and closer to the cliff edge.

His hand slipped, and suddenly, the traitor fell from the clifftop perch, plummeting towards the Eternus. The youngest Acolyte peered over the edge, the boy's mouth open in a shout. "LANDON!"

Landon's cackling drowned the boy out as water came closer and closer to the fallen. With hardly a splash, the robes billowed about the fugitive, and water was sucked into his lungs with hardly a moment's notice. His first instinct was to gag, to spit out this salt water, but instead, Landon inhaled deeper, permitting the briny water to infiltrate his respiration. It was not unlike blood, in that it stung his mouth, nose, and throat, and yet, it went down much easier, and the water was clearer now that he was beneath the ragged waves. Perhaps... was that an Aboleth in the corner of his vision?

His limbs were cold, slowly freezing, though his shadow would be impossible to find from the surface. He could drown in peace, his task fulfilled to his Dark Lord. The world was spinning as the current began to drag him this way and that, striking him against the rocks just below the cliffs and offering a small reprieve and a chance to swallow air and not water, but Landon refused. He had no doubt that this was the Water Goddess' way of offering mercy to him, but he wanted none of it.

He needed no mercy. His task was finished.

All that was left was to embrace the darkness which enfolded him; his inability to move his limbs or inhale another breath of life-giving air, and to sink into the depthless sea. There, he would belong with the rest of the unknown and the unwanted. As vision faded, Landon let the last of his breath escape in the final bubbles which would float to the surface and become the last that any man saw of him.

A black, winged being hovered in the air over the place of Landon's demise, a raven's mask obscuring His face. By now, the priests had left the cliffside, and were attempting to climb down to the more accessible sandy area before the jagged rocks took over. Landon was departed from this realm, fully knowing that there was another waiting. A realm presided by Him, and a realm that He now had to return to and assess the new, compromised situation.

He did not alter Landon's body, did not mar the integrity of the vile priest's intentions. What They chose to do with His gifts and instructions He could not force upon them. This had been Landon's choice, the fate that he had decided for himself.

Looking up to the sky, He vanished from the material world, throwing his cape about Him, prepared to sentence the soul which was now waiting for Him; a soul whose body was now claimed by the Underwater.