Alistair looked at the crowd gathered around him at his podium. They looked to him with hope, as if he was their father. And, while technically he was nothing of the sort, he enjoyed the feeling of being in absolute power, with the ability to force others to his whim with a flick of the wrist.

It was only a few days after the news of Daynil's imprisonment. He was scheduled for execution at 9:00 the next morning. It pained him to hear that he would be killed off, but not out of sympathy. If too many of his followers got killed off, he would lose them all. And that was beyond unacceptable at this point.

Alistair had dug himself so far into the "cave" that was his cult that not only could he not see the exit from which he had come, he could not even detect a hint of light from the outside world. Not that he wanted to go back. Sure, it was more dangerous. But, no guts, no glory. That was one of his favorite sayings, after "kill or be killed".

Alistair addressed his audience as one, just as he had done over fifty times. He said his usual piece. Temulus needed them. He went on with his nonsense. But he had begun to wonder about things lately. Was it really nonsense, that there was a god out there looking out for him? It seemed that, as of late, there had been some sort of guiding force in his life. Peculiar.

He finished off about an hour later, having gone over much of the same stuff in slightly different wording. He had looked through his diary several times throughout the sermon, and had had written much in it in the last few days. This diary, this cult, was becoming his entire life. He did not know it, but he was becoming obsessed with that which he created.

But he constantly had one plan in the back of his head. He knew he would have to enact it soon. It would certainly be the most daring thing he and his cult had attempted, perhaps the most daring thing he would ever do. Well, using the cult anyway. Killing off a whole guild hall was, well, daring, to say the least. Or maybe it was cowardly. Alistair didn't know.

But this, this would lead to just as much blood shed as that guild hall. Possibly more. It depended on the day, of course, but people were bound to die. Hopefully not too many of his own.

His only true fear was what the Cheydinhal leadership and law enforcement would do. The law would attempt to kill them. Arrest was out of the question. He was already a thorn in their side, if they got their hands on him, he wouldn't live to see the rest of his cult be slaughtered.

Suggesting that he and the rest survived the initial strike, the queen or king or whatever (Alistair had never really cared enough to ask about the monarchy of this place) would tighten restrictions on the city. But, luckily, Alistair had ways of escaping. He hadn't been caught yet, after all, and his bounty was second to only a few, including but not limited to the infamous Grey Fox, and his personal hero, Manimarco.

His thoughts returned to Daynil. He did feel a tiny bit sorry for him. Alistair had sent him on a suicide mission with no chance of escape. He made a mental note to hold a funeral service for him, simply to increase the morale of the rest of them.

He returned to his backroom. He had recently put up several maps of different areas in or around Cheydinhal. These maps detailed the city itself, the sewer system, and a few caves and dwelling outside the city.

Throughout the days he had put them up; they had been littered with red and black marks, signifying different trails or areas of interest. The way he saw it, everything was as well planned out as it would ever be.

He knew it was almost time. At their next meeting, they would attempt what none had before. They were going to utterly destroy the Cheydinhal sanctuary, and everyone in it. If there was anything he could do to get his word permanently out there, it was this.