“I had heard about the Bloodstone ritual from Wister, but they didn’t know exactly how it worked, or how it would affect us, since we weren’t from Alyris,” Elyhandros starts. “It was a risk that I was willing to take, and some of the other leaders agreed with me. So we offered our blood to the Stone.” He holds up a hand, which is wrapped in a bandage that was probably white at one point, but now is smeared with dirt, ragged at the edges. “It did something to us, but not until a few hours later.
“I was meeting with my council, and…” Elyhandros shudders a little, swallowing convulsively, like he’s trying to keep the horrors he’s seen inside him. “And I touched one of them. It was like… as soon as I did, he just collapsed. We weren’t sure… he was dead, but then he got up, and touched someone else, and the same thing happened.” He shakes his head. “I did this, and I couldn’t figure out how to stop it. Anyone I touched, no matter who they were, they just… they died. It… I…”