It was a regular night in the lonely halls of the Cahlish palace.

Kingfisher had no lady or lord to keep him in check, so he'd taken advantage of his free will and chosen to wat his dinner in his bedroom.

He sat in his wing backed chair, his plate resting on his desk as he prodded at the honey baked potatoes and jucy steak.

Suddenly, after his second glass of scarlet wine, Archer burst into his room, the little fire sprite out of breath from running.

"My lord! My lord! Please forgive me for entering so rudly, but-" Archer panted, distress clear on his smoldering face.

"Archer, please calm down, my friend." Kingfisher stood, raising his hands in a soothing gesture. "Now, whatever is the matter?"

"SOMETHING HAS COME THROUGH THE QUICKSILVER!" Archer shrieked.

Kingfisher had never moved so fast before.

One moment, he was soothing the terrified Archer, the next, he was in the bowls of the palace, standing before the enormous quicksilver pool.

"Oh my gods..." Kingfisher breathed, watching as a creature hurled itself out of the liquid quicksilver pool like a zombie rising from its grave, the quicksilver running off its flesh like rain.

Kingfisher didn't dare step over, instead watching the creature with sharp eyes, Nimerelle ready in his hand.