Late Night Dilemma

October 12, 1889
Early morning

After returning from their meeting, Vor had been stuck in his thoughts. While most of his actions as “Lord Ritikiós” could be easily tucked away like his other personas, he couldn’t quite swallow having to perform or condone future events of violence.
He wasn’t as bothered about whom they would be performed on, but he was always taught excessive crude force was like a brine pool. It would always be part of nature, but to dip others beneath the choking waters would allow the salt to poison you as well. He would see the group punished for their crimes, but justice would be the driving force, not cruel malice.

Sleep evaded him tonight, leaving only his art to bring him some peace. The relatively cramped space he had been given didn’t lend to the artistic flourish he had in Lady Elizabeth’s estate, but it did provide a homely inspiration, like when he first started out into the world. This nostalgia was rudely mixed with his troubles, his small sketches being a blend of calm norwegian sea meadows and figures reminiscent of the tentacled figure in Staniadis’s office lurking in dark rocky nooks and crannies, surrounded by their iconography. The being was starting to irk him now, such a disturbing monstrosity. To think of it as a sacred figure felt wrong, yet another blaspheme against Metira that the cult had committed. Even this anger was measured however, not enough to drive him to lash out like Standiadis had expected of him.
Mr. Sung had been more than willing to do so, he hadn’t even brought it up after they left. To Vor it seemed like it was a fact of life to the elder, putting others in their place with force. Being around the wealthy elites though, he could only assume the man was more than familiar with such a lifestyle, which made Vor wonder if Sung had been in both roles before. He didn’t want to think about it further tonight.
The meeting with their pub contact had gone well enough, a simple yes to be passed on to Standiadis. Sitting up from his bunk, Vor looked at the bottle of wine he had been “gifted”. It remained unopened, though right now he could most certainly use its calming effects. He wasn’t sure if opening it would be like a contract, fully accepting the cult’s hospitality and taking advantage of their desperation to please him. He contemplated gifting it to a local store, giving their likely ill gotten gains back to the people. He liked the idea, settling on bringing it up to Mr.Sung when the man returned. While risky, they still needed to get what info they had gathered back to Lady Elizabeth and to any cult members watching it would just be the great Ritikiós sending his servant on another errand. The anxiety of Sung being found at the house only helped in driving sleep further away, so he tried to go back to sketching his worries, fully accepting he would most likely be awake to see the sun rise.