Jayant knelt with his eyes closed and his kukri blade resting unsheathed before him. He focused on knitting the last piece of his face back together, its dark tones puckered as a result of the Lost Nights and the subsequent virus that brought Final Death to so, so many.

The first thing he done upon returning from the sewers was to feed, finding several candidates, small time hoodlums and potential muggers of the weak. He drank little from them, enough to leave them woozy and frail so their victims had time to get away. He was the bogey man of the alleyways, the fear of the unjust.

Jayant smiles at this.

He kneels in his private chambers at the homestead where he now calls home, along with his Hierophant and other Acolytes. For two days he has rested since his foray with Hector that ended with them falling into the Spirit world, and before he resumed his duties, Jayant wished to ensure he was at full capabilities.

He could feel his skin knitting, the wounds being healed slowly, and his eye losing the glassy tone it has held for this past month.

Now, he could finally follow his other tasks laid before him.