𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰...
This is for the places, characters, lives, and futures we shape. To the victories and losses. To those we save and to those we must leave behind. To the hearts we mend and to the ones we break, m...
With legs like that of a lame animal he crawled from the grave and dug his fingers into the soil; a loose embrace on the world once stolen from him. He brought himself to his knees, lowered his head, and felt the throbbing in his mind subside. The pain that once crushed his lungs and threatened to burst his eyes faded into a distant memory, and he looked to his own blood that stained his calloused hands.
He remembered the pain of the gnashing teeth in his neck and the claws that split his side and stomach. Never before had he faced such a mighty and vile creature as agile and ferocious as gods themselves, and he knew from the moment the teeth tore his flesh that he would not survive. A warrior bested by a beast—it felt like a fitting end.
But then he remembered searing flesh; bubbling, black bile that scorched his throat, and an outstretched hand from a figure clad in darkness. The last memory he had was of Blackmire as he pressed a broken vile to his chapped, burning lips.
He was not aware that he was dying of the Blight. His body had become so numb to the pain from the beast that his mind could not even recognize the sickness that boiled his blood with the very fires of hell.
But he was not afraid of the sickness nor the blood from the bite. No. He was not afraid of Death caressing his face so tenderly as that broken vile poured its unholy contents down his throat. No.
Avarice feared the hand that held Death. He watched in terror, unable to move, as Blackmire stared down to him with wide eyes—eyes once warm with holy light now glossy and dead. Avarice had never before seen blue eyes turn so cold. Where there once was a light that followed this half-angel, Avarice only saw shadows. Fire erupted within his chest as the bile slipped past his teeth, and he heard his own scream before darkness reclaimed him.
Avarice lifted his eyes to the moon and suddenly smelled the stench of death surrounding him. He did not need to look to sense the countless bodies thrown under the soil around him. He heard the dying embers of a great fire far, far away. Only when the moon's rays showered him in light where he thought was only darkness did he feel the tears plummet down his cheeks.
His head tossed back to let loose a terrible shaking sob...
But only a thundering howl could be heard for miles through the decaying lands of Whittpharr.
