He was a diplomat. The webs of information ran around him, through him, and like a hunting spider he plucked what he needed from that web. He followed leads where they led, abandoning deceitful detritus (the leaves in his web, he thought). His latest lead had taken him here, to this ancient city, young in the fairy tale days, now fallen like the rest of us. Like Vladislav's homeland.
At the thought, his inner furnace roared, and smoke trickled from his nostrils. His home is what brought him here, away from the comfortable prison of his embassies. Rumor had it that here, in these sinful ruins, lived an angel. This angel (so Vladislav heard) could grip the wheel of Fate and spin it as he saw fit. Luck, or chance, merely playthings. These abilities were secondary in Vladislav's mind. If this being was truly an angel, Vladislav had other plans for him.
Who else but an angel could turn the minds of the Council of Saints?
And how better to attract an angel than -
Vladislav exhaled furiously, and a burst of flame engulfed a pitiful shrub nearby. If luck had it (and somehow Vladislav thought it might) the angel would see the burning bush and realize its meaning.
If not...well, eventually someone would probably go to investigate the eight foot man incinerating local plants.
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