Cestus stroked his chin thoughtfully. Madness it may have been, but Ano's particular brand of insanity still had some method in it. It was merely buried very, very deeply. "This Davis...he's really Sivad, isn't he?" He held Ano's gaze for as long as he could. "The voices are the same. Davis is Sivad and Sivad is Davis...a part of Davis, anyway." He smiled grimily. "I'm not even going to ask which part."
The scimitar was a mage's weapon. There were mages all over the place, even here in Connlaoth...but Cestus was fairly sure that only one place where there were enough free mages for such a thing to be possible. Unfortunately, it also happened to be the one place in the known world where he was outright forbidden - on pain of a slow and exceptionally horrible death - to return.
He realised that Ano might have been right when he called this a kind of hell. His personal hell was very similar. It consisted chiefly of tall buildings with twisted gargoyles (or possibly real demons) and carvings of skulls on every wall by way of decoration, and a dark, still sea that stank of death rather than salt.
They were a cheerful lot in Necromantia, really.
