Grim Views

A skull, lacking jaw, clean, and inscribed with numerous runes, arrives in the daily mail, with a note stuffed into the nostrils. The note, crisp parchment that crackles when unrolled, bears a message written in a precise hand.

"Grim,

I am Ichour, and with Qarosimae the Phoenix vouching for my skills, I wish to join you.

Ichour Deadagain"

A single rune marks the paper beneath the name, appearing as a circle with two lines cutting it in to two thirds and two sixths with an upward curving line touching the bottom of the circle.

Khorvis crushed the skull in his gauntlet and let the image of the runes seep through the ley lines, which whipped madly, invisibly in the Grim Halls, and settle into their own stately dance. The name Ichour hissed on the still lips of solid stone busts that marched in funerary lanes down haunted corridors, and the wards of the Grim opened their chill embrace to Qarosimae's vouched-one.