It was uncanny.

Even through the dim light at the start of the day, through the shadows that were cast by the hood drawn over its head, the Creed peered in awe at the heavy ring in his hand, an exact replica of the one that the Prince Stephanos wore on his thumb... the exact same one that had been missing, yet somehow the foolhardy prince did not notice its disappearance amidst him scrambling to ensure he managed to seamlessly step into his father's shoes. He was a fool. All of them were, if they thought that the wealthy and their gold could protect them from what was to come.

For once - and only this once, the Drowned one had unravelled the bandages they usually wore around their hands. The hands that were revealed were not wrinkled but simply grown, almost middle-aged, easily passed off as either gender. And it was upon this uncovered hand, that the Drowned One slipped the heavy signet ring on - carved in gold and identical to the one Prince... no, King Stephanos wore, or had worn before he stepped into the new role as monarch of the Kingdom. When held up to the rising sun it glinted, catching the attention of many.

Ensuring that it was clearly visible, and that the hood remained securely up and in place, the Drowned One charged forwards, running into the wakening township of Vasiliadon. The tension was still palpable in the city after the attack of the Creed - beneath the hood, the Drowned One smiled in satisfaction, as his feet pounded the pavement. Many suspicious eyes immediately darted to him, as they would to any hooded figure. A few people screamed, others just avoided him entirely. But the Creeder knew that what he was looking for would happen soon..

Just as he was thinking it, a man of more bravery than sense, planted his feet in the cultists on-coming path. He opened his mouth as if to make a declaration. That the Creed had murdered his son, his brother, his third cousin, twice removed - this shadow walker had no inclination to listen. Instead he continued his pace, the obstacle's eye growing wide as he approached.

Quick as lightening, the Creeder whipped out a hand - the hand with the signet ring - and grabbed the man by the throat. With more strength than his frame would suggest, the cultist lifted the foolhardy creature from his feet and spun, slamming his back into a conveniently located wall.

More screams, more terror. The Creeder waited only a heartbeat from snapping the man's neck and allowing him to fall limply to the ground. But when terror struck, every detail is etched into a mind. And looking about himself, the cowl of his hood swinging, the Creeder noticed several people's gazes moving the hand he had just held to the offence's neck.

They saw the glint of the signet ring on his hand. While they would need to take a closer look to be sure, the small, embedded Taengean emeralds was enough to ensure anyone who saw that whoever it was wearing this ring was one of great import.

Exactly what they Creed had wanted.

Making sure that he didn't hide his hand now that it had been spotted, the Drowned One headed for where a few horses were tethered, and there, the hand bearing the ring reached out to unravel the reins of a chestnut mare. Wasting no time, the hooded figure vaulted upon the mare, easily steering the beast to head to the border where the grassy plains would lead to the gorge. And it was in that direction that the Drowned One rode, pleased that while brief the task may be, he had gotten at least the attention of some, and trusting that the gossip mill would do the rest.