The only thing darker than the ink in his fountain-pen are the ruling shadows of his eternal night. An eternal night so far successfully spent. That is, when you look back at the results. Several points in between were more than dramatic for Chris Wooding. At this time though he is Hierophant, Priscus and ready for more.
The only thing making more noise than the pen itself is the Hierophant’s homunculus, Micky. The creature is cracking a mouse’s bones between his teeth. Poor thing, wrong place wrong time.
The combination of ink, a pen and a piece of paper should result in a letter to Asa Clarke, the Prince of Sacramento. And yes, Chris is nervous while writing it. Looking at Micky and his half-eaten mouse is actually a positive distraction every now and then.
So I think this is a great time to give this whole plan a shot. Normally for a position application I would go through safer channels: to people less likely to erase my reputation.
He looks out of the window towards the moon, making a silent prayer to the Goddess.
But it seems all the appropriate channels have disappeared.
So he starts writing...