Lands of Turmoil, or The victors are not always heroes.

The Long Night

Tonight begins the long night – a night to morn, weep, and accept our sorrows. It is the darkness incarnate as our Lady was slain, the Ravens fled, and the city besieged.

The city will fall soon. The guards are most likely dead as I write this, giving their lives so we could get out.

And I run with everyone else, but I am not some refugee, nor some scared mercenary. I was, no I am her Lady’s sworn sword. I shall avenge her.

I shall find her, and prune the accursed Liahan tree – she shall pay – for if the blade wasn’t her’s it was her that facilitated it. Exiles from Liaha – cast out from Strata, a perfect excuse to travel, to plan, and more. Nyia – I shall remember that name, and your face – those piercing blue eyes, the brilliant hair.

I could have stopped her, I should have stopped her as she rushed into the Lady’s chambers. The panic on Nyia’s face – a look more practiced than any those of Mellus could master.

I let her walk out, past me, with a weary look and a smile for me. She smiled at me, after what she had just done. The ice that must run through her veins, for there were no others in the room, and there was not time between her closing the door, and my entry… and seeing her like that… facedown, bleeding, dead on a pile of missives. The black dagger still in her back.

I carry that dagger now, for I shall return it to whom it belongs.



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