"As long as I'm alive, she won't be forgotten. You can't run from that."
The Shendar's own words bounced around his head as he walked through his habitat. The dark depths of the sewers were more than a home now. They were known to him like the back of his hand, and so much of his time in this city had been spent prowling the stone beneath the earth. Though, in his mind, perhaps now was the most important time of his life. For everything he gained, something was taken. That was the rule of his existence. After he had a high, there must be a low. He made sure of that. But today was.. Just a little bit different. See, when a man's broken-- his whole existence is broken. Gone. Destroyed. All of his morals taken, ripped and thrown to the wind, and they don't really look to themselves. They always look for someone else to validate them. That's the natural response.
But what happens when someone takes that away from a man? Their whole security, their safety net, their entire being. Taken away in an instant. That's when the psychosis sets in, and the voices get louder, and all the lights seem brighter. Though, Erfaron Draylas had something to hold on to. A post-mortem promise that he made to his beloved, the one that was taken away from him. He had that, at least. The one fragment of her being left to him to hang around his neck and pull him down. He supposed that was what pushed him to it.
With one ring on each ring finger, covered by his own gloves, the one-eyed Shendar finally reached the edge of the sewer tunnel. His face was stained in blood from a broken nose; a final reminder of Dread's influence on his features. He felt his wrist grinding out of place, but he didn't really seem to care. It could wait, after all. If he didn't do this now, he might just change his mind, then it would turn into all kinds of complications Erfaron didn't want. All he wanted was for her suffering to finally end. To put a stop to whatever he planned to do to her. Outside of the city wall, his ritual began. With only one hand in use, clothes stained in his own blood and tears, he went to work. Pulling branches, whatever log he could find, leaves, anything dry to burn. As snowfall began, the Shendar's mind flashed back to the moments that brought this all about.
Gaelthar was to blame for a lot of it, he supposed. Destroying his eye and leaving him in Dread's sights. At least Nadiyya dampened that, mostly. Salvatore, for a little, maybe, for leaving him to the streets. Irfan started it all just by being there. Llewellyn made some absurdly misguided contributions, he guessed. Wilfre comforted him when he needed it most; Kyou Tokudame helped him fulfil his promise. It was really Karim who had perpetrated the whole situation. Leaving him stranded and loveless, all to himself. He had deprived him of his only release from the world's stress, though he bore no hate. All he wanted was to do something for her, and he no longer stood in the way of that. His hatred was relinquished in lieu of something brighter.
So much had passed in the time he spent with her. Before he knew it, recalling all of those vivid memories from his past, he'd already finished. There her body was; scattered in preservative arts, bandages and runes, atop a pyre of his own creation. The fire he relinquished was about to be set upon again. To go up in one final billow of destruction before finally sputtering out, signifying the end of his love. His passion, faded and grey, left to the wind.
Erfaron Draylas was on his knees, wrist bent backwards and out of shape, red snow staining the vicinity. The scent of fire filled his nostrils, and the infernal orange glow illuminated his face as he could've sworn he felt the skin in his hands come back to life, long scarred from his own magic. Surely, he hadn't stopped crying since he started. He wouldn't stop crying. If he did, he'd forget her, and then he'd fail her.
It's an obsession, being in love. But it gave him hope to cling onto. The light at the end of the tunnel. There is always a reason to move forward, and his idea was that if he stopped, Earáinë would be beating on him in the afterlife.
But what happens when someone takes that away from a man? Their whole security, their safety net, their entire being. Taken away in an instant. That's when the psychosis sets in, and the voices get louder, and all the lights seem brighter. Though, Erfaron Draylas had something to hold on to. A post-mortem promise that he made to his beloved, the one that was taken away from him. He had that, at least. The one fragment of her being left to him to hang around his neck and pull him down. He supposed that was what pushed him to it.
With one ring on each ring finger, covered by his own gloves, the one-eyed Shendar finally reached the edge of the sewer tunnel. His face was stained in blood from a broken nose; a final reminder of Dread's influence on his features. He felt his wrist grinding out of place, but he didn't really seem to care. It could wait, after all. If he didn't do this now, he might just change his mind, then it would turn into all kinds of complications Erfaron didn't want. All he wanted was for her suffering to finally end. To put a stop to whatever he planned to do to her. Outside of the city wall, his ritual began. With only one hand in use, clothes stained in his own blood and tears, he went to work. Pulling branches, whatever log he could find, leaves, anything dry to burn. As snowfall began, the Shendar's mind flashed back to the moments that brought this all about.
Gaelthar was to blame for a lot of it, he supposed. Destroying his eye and leaving him in Dread's sights. At least Nadiyya dampened that, mostly. Salvatore, for a little, maybe, for leaving him to the streets. Irfan started it all just by being there. Llewellyn made some absurdly misguided contributions, he guessed. Wilfre comforted him when he needed it most; Kyou Tokudame helped him fulfil his promise. It was really Karim who had perpetrated the whole situation. Leaving him stranded and loveless, all to himself. He had deprived him of his only release from the world's stress, though he bore no hate. All he wanted was to do something for her, and he no longer stood in the way of that. His hatred was relinquished in lieu of something brighter.
So much had passed in the time he spent with her. Before he knew it, recalling all of those vivid memories from his past, he'd already finished. There her body was; scattered in preservative arts, bandages and runes, atop a pyre of his own creation. The fire he relinquished was about to be set upon again. To go up in one final billow of destruction before finally sputtering out, signifying the end of his love. His passion, faded and grey, left to the wind.
Erfaron Draylas was on his knees, wrist bent backwards and out of shape, red snow staining the vicinity. The scent of fire filled his nostrils, and the infernal orange glow illuminated his face as he could've sworn he felt the skin in his hands come back to life, long scarred from his own magic. Surely, he hadn't stopped crying since he started. He wouldn't stop crying. If he did, he'd forget her, and then he'd fail her.
It's an obsession, being in love. But it gave him hope to cling onto. The light at the end of the tunnel. There is always a reason to move forward, and his idea was that if he stopped, Earáinë would be beating on him in the afterlife.
