A figure shrouded in a dark sapphire blue cloak approaches the message board. It bears a farming axe in one hand, a bag that drips a steady splatter of viscous red liquid in the other. The figure pauses before the message board, pulling a disembodied head from the bag. From the looks of the matted hair and dirt caked over the ears, it's probably a less than reputable being. Though the expression of terror in the glazed eyes, and the way the mouth is frozen in a silent scream seems to indicate that it did not die in the most pleasant of ways.
The figure seems to have at least some decency, in that it merely uses the back of the axe to skewer the head to the board with a nail through the ear. Once satisfied that it will not fall, the cloaked being pulls a length of parchment from it's cloak and stuffs one end of it into the head's mouth. The trailing end of the paper has a scrawled note upon it that reads simply:
"You have taken something of mine. I will take it back. For every scream you hear, I will bask in the symphonies of your anguish. For every drop of blood spilt, I will bathe in your deaths a thousand times over. For every whimper and plea you utter, I will crush your bones and grind them into the meal that feeds this level. Your tears will replenish the rain, and I will sleep once more in peace, cocooned in the skin flayed from your flesh.
You have seven days."
The message delivered, the figure merely melts away into the night.
