Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: The soldier shrugs at Myr's question. "How should I know? At this point, we still don't know enough about how the Six operate to come to a conclusion about what it is they're after." She looks around at the table one more time. "I do know, however, that going back out in this state is unwise. When I was put on this assignment, I was told not to let you die. It'll be dusk in a few hours, and I'm willing to bet that most of you haven't slept since this whole thing started. We should - " She pauses mid-sentence, as she hears something. After a moment, some of you begin to hear it too. It should be impossible, and yet it is both distinct and unmistakeable.
Someone is knocking on the front door.
The Dead Guy: The herald is searching through your book again, taking down the names you've written with a clear efficiency. There, you can see the names of Soryn, Rosamund, and someone named 'Pythian the Immanent', a long-dead Justinian who used to be a high cleric devoted to Necrovian in life and is now a fellow herald. Your own representative assures you that the latter's testimony will prove invaluable to your trial, if you ask him the right questions. Before your very eyes, the names float off of the paper, as three envelopes soar off and disappear into the vast void beyond the court. "Once I write the names, the summons has been issued. If they are dead, they will receive notice within moments and will be able to send their reply." His empty eyes are unreadable, and yet you feel a warmth in them that wasn't there before you challenged Janos. You've earned this humble spirit's respect.
Minutes pass in near-silence. You feel less than nothing, if that's even possible. For a moment, color no longer exists. But you blink, and suddenly it's back. The Arbiter sits on his throne, the epitome of patience. Time is his greatest resource. And Janos seems to be just as nonchalant about the wait. He doesn't look at you at all: his eyes are closed to this world. Another minute, and another. Suddenly, you see a familiar figure stand in front of you. Her blonde hair is tied back in a warrior's knot. She wears a longsword on her belt and a shield on her back, and her armor clanks heavily against the stone - is it really stone? - floor. Rosamund. She steps forward and shakes your hand with a heavy grip. "Ben! It's good to see you again. I saw that you had a hand in Urthrax's defeat, and for that you have earned my testimony today."
But the longer you look around, the more you come to the conclusion that she is the only one coming. Another letter from Pythian arrives, stating that he does not feel inclined to take the stand for you, although it doesn't elaborate exactly why. From Soryn, there is no reply.