- Messages
- 48
- Character Biography
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Zar'Ahal was still alive and well in the day following the coronation.
Sazalam had returned to the plaza where yesterday the fates of many, including himself, were changed forever.
Now it was still as death and it was death that he sought out there. The memory of death. Slowly he measured the distance, eyeing the spot on the floor where it happened.
Here, the Queens hand plunged the dagger into her heart right here.
Sazalam took a moment to stand on the only grave she would ever have. To enjoy being alive and elevated and loved where she lost at last what pride and hate had begun to shed from her four hundred years ago.
Her fall was long and cruel and his mind could not think of any person more deserving of such a fate. To die alone and scorned at the hand of another person she had betrayed.
It still felt just, it still felt earned.
"Here lies Dia'Umora, traitor, liar and murderer of children. May the light scorch your soul to nothing."
To seal his curse he bit his cheek and spat blood onto the stones where her body had fallen before turning sharply on his heels and making his way to the exit.
Some on the surface had told him that revenge was the gods alone to enact.
Perhaps there was some truth to that.
Again he contemplated telling Zathria about it, how he was born belonging to a family of power hungry psychotics. How he escaped to find safety in the Colleges and worked his way up through hundreds of years of service, always dreading the day he would turn around and see her face.
No.
He was not that person anymore. That boy did not make it to adulthood. He had been shed like a second skin and only the life he had carved out for himself remained though he did not fully know where it led yet.
Outside the slow day was turning to evening. Businesses were attempting to clean up the messes that had stubbornly remained since the night before. Someone had abandoned a varnyx which was eating cake from a table, saddle and all.
Sazalam laughed out loud at that and strode into the streets with fresh eyes.
Sazalam had returned to the plaza where yesterday the fates of many, including himself, were changed forever.
Now it was still as death and it was death that he sought out there. The memory of death. Slowly he measured the distance, eyeing the spot on the floor where it happened.
Here, the Queens hand plunged the dagger into her heart right here.
Sazalam took a moment to stand on the only grave she would ever have. To enjoy being alive and elevated and loved where she lost at last what pride and hate had begun to shed from her four hundred years ago.
Her fall was long and cruel and his mind could not think of any person more deserving of such a fate. To die alone and scorned at the hand of another person she had betrayed.
It still felt just, it still felt earned.
"Here lies Dia'Umora, traitor, liar and murderer of children. May the light scorch your soul to nothing."
To seal his curse he bit his cheek and spat blood onto the stones where her body had fallen before turning sharply on his heels and making his way to the exit.
Some on the surface had told him that revenge was the gods alone to enact.
Perhaps there was some truth to that.
Again he contemplated telling Zathria about it, how he was born belonging to a family of power hungry psychotics. How he escaped to find safety in the Colleges and worked his way up through hundreds of years of service, always dreading the day he would turn around and see her face.
No.
He was not that person anymore. That boy did not make it to adulthood. He had been shed like a second skin and only the life he had carved out for himself remained though he did not fully know where it led yet.
Outside the slow day was turning to evening. Businesses were attempting to clean up the messes that had stubbornly remained since the night before. Someone had abandoned a varnyx which was eating cake from a table, saddle and all.
Sazalam laughed out loud at that and strode into the streets with fresh eyes.