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Written by Master Lomein Noodles
A low throbbing hum forced its way through the fog in his mind, pushing him relentlessly towards consciousness. Stirring with a moan, he hears movement as rough hands force his eyes open. His arms and legs are unresponsive, restrained against some sort of table. He is unable to focus at first, unable to make sense of the voices floating around him. The closest shape is dark, the source of the voice, and his blood chills as he begins to understand.
"I do not take failure lightly, Udon. I know how careful you have always been with your product. When one of your slaves still has enough spirit to make an attempt on my life, well, I cannot help but presume that your oversight was intentional. We cannot have this happening, now can we? "
Fully conscious now, the scene opens up to him. a dimly lit room, with a raging fire at one end. They are not alone, one ogre guards the door, and another stoking the flames with a wicked looking blade, the tip glowing red with heat. The Tier'Dal woman smiles, takes the blade and a pair of tongs in her hands, and nods to the ogre. Grinning a toothy grin, the ogre grabs the mans head, forcing his mouth open. She whispers reassuringly "As a leader of men, I'm sure you understand... one must always be prepared to make an example."
Eyes filled with fear, he begins to scream, struggling wildly as the tongs grip his tongue, the heat from the burning blade drying his mouth...
The shrieks do not linger through the halls of Najena's lair, only lasting for a moment before being replaced by a low gurgling cry of despair... and then silence.
The boy sits at the foot of his fathers bed, examining the wreckage of what was once a man. Covered with scars and burns, unable to communicate, it had barely stirred since the servants had found it on the doorstep three nights ago. But today, something felt different. Lost in his thoughts, it was quite awhile before he noticed that it had opened its eyes and was staring at him.
The eyes transfixed him, and as clearly as if the words were spoken, the boy knew everything...
The slave that he should have killed... the attempt on Najena's life... the torture and maiming of his father... all were upon his head.
All were his fault.
Unable to pull his gaze away, he was buffeted relentlessly, the failure that was his destiny replayed in his mind, drawing him all through his life to his final destruction. To die alone, worthless and forgotten...
Wracked with sobs, almost unable to stand, the boy stumbles, and the hold is broken. His sanity stretched and tested, his hand falls to the hilt of the dagger at his belt. He draws it, only knowing his need to escape those eyes... plunges it repeatedly into the neck and chest of what was once his father. Blood covers him, running down his face and hands as he cries, trying to escape the emptyness. Over and over the dagger falls... but relief never comes. The blade drops from his trembling fingers, and he runs, only knowing that he must escape.
Covered with sweat, I bolt upright, waking violently from my sleep. Shaking uncontrollably, I reach for my pack, searching for my prayer beads. I jump, as if bitten, as my hand closes around the hilt of a dagger. My mind races as I look into the bag, but I see nothing but my prayer beads, some bandages, and a pair of boots. My fingers brush the familiar Mala, and I lose myself in prayer, awaiting the dawn of a new day...
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