The Death and Final Thoughts of Redrilkiira "Kiira" Despana

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Cerce
Posts: 23
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 4:07 am

The Death and Final Thoughts of Redrilkiira "Kiira" Despana

Post by Cerce » Mon Jan 09, 2023 9:11 am

OOC replies welcome.

A forewarning / heads up on triggers. I wrote this when I was very emotional, coming to terms with both things in my personal life that I was having a lot of anxiety dealing with, and rolling the character. But after writing this, and talking about it with a few others, I feel like it's time for Kiira to put down the sword.

This short story and recounting of the final moments in her own head, as she's being tortured and mentally twisted and probed, depicts some really rough topics. Internalized transphobia, self-loathing, dysphoria, and torture, and overcoming these terrible things to get to a healthier mindset. Please understand that these are not direct 1:1 thoughts from the author/player. Please also understand that I wrote it in the best way I could think to portray my own 'internal monologue', and thus Kiira's own way of thinking, since I have a very hard time playing a character that doesn't think at least similarly to my own.

If the natural responses of the character to her own death aren't a subject matter that is appropriate here, or if the word choices / themes depicted aren't fit for the forums, please inform me and I'll take it down. But know that this was very important to me, and that I'm trying to kinda just get it out of my system in a healthy way.

This was a very good death, and I'd like to thank the players of John Salamander, Sarah Salamander, Vyn, the current Dread Chancellor who's name I can't remember, Lorenzo, Evestra, Shyrnrissa, Saslae, and many others who I can't directly recall for giving me the space and time to properly send her off, and for treating the subject matter with respect. Special thanks to the players of Minto, Griffy, Merwyn, Safira, to Pepper and her helf that I can't remember the name of please don't hate me, to just about everyone in House Hel'Vael, to Elerra's player as a pristine example of how an Eilistraeen should be played, Cynthia's and Melody Hollow's player, Thomas Castemont for always being a boyscout to my gremlin freedom fighter vibes, and everyone else that my brain is forgetting.

If the ending doesn't make sense, just look up the 'Changedance'. I'm very thankful that this aspect of the character was hardly ever focused on, but the few times that it was, it was handled with grace, understanding, and emotion. I hope it never came off as preachy.

Always remember the first rule of first aid. Make sure you're okay first, before administering help. Don't forget that everyone dreams, at least eventually.

Stay joyful. And cook some kickass food.
Last edited by Cerce on Mon Jan 09, 2023 9:36 am, edited 2 times in total.

Previous characters of note: Cerce Tentones, Kithara Dreamcrusher, Redrilkiira "Kiira" Despana, Elkaun'al Tesmur'na, Odeta Sorovska, "Rimmy"


Cerce
Posts: 23
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 4:07 am

Re: The Death and Final Thoughts of Redrilkiira "Kiira" Despana

Post by Cerce » Mon Jan 09, 2023 9:25 am

(Censored because I don't know the rules on lots of swearing in the forums, sorry if 'feck' is used as a standin for a lot of things)

16.8.178 AR - Over the course of half a second


Name's Kiira. Probably never heard of me. Dunno why I'm thinking like this. In a bit of a rough spot. Somewhere in the Arcanum, a machine drills a hole in my head. Or something, I’m not a mad scientist. All I know is it can mess with my head. Make me think things, tell the truth maybe? Maybe it gives them a readout on what I'm thinking. And I think-

[You can feel it in your blood. The beckoning call to serve your worst enemy.]

A beckoning call to serve your worst enemy.

*A beckoning call to serve your worst enemy.*

A beckoning call to serve your worst enemy.

*A beckoning call to serve your worst enemy.*

A beckoning call to serve-

“VALAS! Where’s that next shipment?”

I look up, my hands burnt, my skin pockmarked from yesterday. No. We don’t say that here. Last cycle. Dad stands, angrily, his one working eye forming a looming, pale scowl that the rest of his face accentuates. How the hell he does that look, no scowl on his lips, but on his -eyes-, always terrifies me. Always. I don’t understand.

“Next… shipment?” I ask. A deep, gravely voice comes out. Shaky. I wipe my nose, hand scratching stubble that shouldn’t be, but is. “What shipment?”

“The next shipment to serve your worst enemy!”

“The next shipment to serve my worst enemy.” I pause. “Wait, what?”

“DO NOT backtalk me or question me again. You got weak ears, BOY?!” He snaps, slapping me across the face. He’s not the strongest. But the point is made. And there’s the rest of the family to think of. “You get. That next godsdamned shipment. Or I will slap you in chains right here, right now, and ship you off to serve your worst enemy.”

“To serve my worst enemy?”

“To serve your worst enemy.”

But my name isn’t-

“Valas?”

Yeah, my name’s not-


...


“Psst. Valas.”

“Hmmm?” I snap to, dazed and confused. The hustle and bustle of Maerimydra continues on around us. I feel a bit taller. Can you really notice that, unless you’re looking at yourself in the third person? Is this an out of body experience? What a weird sensation?

“Valas. You in or you out?” The male drow next to me asks. I can see a pendant… it looks like some sort of mask, with blue eyes, dangling from his neck, juuuust poking out of his clothing. He notices, and tucks it in, scowling. “You can’t hide yours so easily. So answer.”

I look down at mine. A slave collar chafes against my bare neck. That’s the Hunzrorzza insignia alright. Guess I didn’t make the shipment in time. “I… In or out for what?”

For serving your own worst enemy, dumbass.”

“I… I guess I’m in?”

“Great.” He grins. It’s an empty thing, greedy, as if spotting a new mark. “Take this knife. End a life with it, return to me. Make sure it’s someone committed to playing House.”

“Playing House…?”

“... Just stab your fecking matron, dumbass. Or something. Just come back to me with proof you’ve done somebody in, and we’ll getchya out of there. We look after our own.”

“I don’t… think this is a good idea.” I say, scratching my chin. Stubble that shouldn’t be, but is, rubs against my hand. Why does that make me sad?

“Motherfecker once that blade has been drawn it draws blood. You want it to be yours?”

“N-no?”

“Then go serve your own worst enemy already.”

“I guess I’ll go serve my own worst… enemy?”

But, I didn’t. I didn’t do that. I dropped the blade in the sewers the next cycle, that wasn’t-



...



“Valas!” A sharp stab. “Valas of Hunzrorzza, how do you plead?”

“Wha’?” I look around. I’m on trial for something. This looks like the temple back in Maerimydra. My - my father’s head is on a pike, just inside the door. Limbs of seventeen other siblings are strewn about, flesh made a canopy overhead. It hits like… Like words can’t describe. Genuinely. There’s no witty callback to pop culture, there’s no saying in my head that I can come up with. This is a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’m going to die.

“How. Do. You. Plead.” A pause. “Suspected Vhaeraunan activity, the death of no less than five nobles, chainbreaking of self and other, collaborating with the surface, and suspected anti-Maerimydra activities.”

I’m stuck. Didn’t I just do this in Andunor? No, that hasn’t happened yet. But I didn’t do it. That - the family found out. Dad did, found the blade. I - how was I supposed to know they’d all jump at the chance? Like some cult?

“STATE YOUR PLEA, SLAVE!”

“N-not guilty!”

“Then I sentence you to serve your own worst enemy.”

“But I’m not guilty!”

“The sentence has been read. Serve your own worst enemy.”

No, no, no, this is… This is terrible! I don’t want to serve my own worst enemy, I don’t-







...









“Valas?”

“Stop calling me that!” I slam my fist against… Oh my GODS that hurts. The pain is back. It’s all over. It’s everywhere. My hand is bleeding. I’ve slammed it against one of the spikes, surrounding me as I stand in the middle of them all. Poking at my back, my front, my sides, my - no. That’s not supposed to be there. I took care of that. I scream. I just start screaming. I can’t even tell you the emotion, there’s just nothing else to do but scream.

“Gooooood.” The hooded figure says, low and slimy, watching me. He’s just sitting there, taking notes. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands around him and- “I see you’re awake. Sleep well, sweetie?”

There’s nothing I can do but scream. At least the screaming stops me from crying. Or, maybe it’s sobbing I’m worried about. You can’t let them see you cry. That’s weakness. You need to be strong, big, huge, dominating. Why do I hate this? This is what everyone else does. Why can’t I be normal?

“On today’s schedule, we have an intense regimen of… well, for the moment, me watching you injure yourself without me having to put forth -any- effort. Thanks for that, bud.” I hate it. Don’t call me bud, pal. I will kill you. “Makin’ my job reaaalllll easy. Then after that I thought I’d collect all of your toenails. I’ve got a few jars in the back full’a the rest of your family. Yeah, it’s weird, but everyone’s got to have a hobby.” He puffs something, blowing the smoke into my face. It smells sickly sweet. “C’mon, we’ll make it fun. Ever hear about ‘this little piggie’? Humans love it, I’m sure you will. Damn feckin’ surface-piner.” The torturer chuckles to himself. “After that, all we’ve got left is to make you serve your own worst enemy.”

“Really? That’s all you can do to me?” I scoff, holding my bloodied hand. “Make me serve my own worst enemy? I’ll fecking end you.”

“Thaaat’s the spirit, kiddo. Keep it up. I love a feisty one.” The torturer makes an odd, clicking sound with his teeth, and ‘shoots’ me with finger gonnes. “But don’t worry. I’ll have you all cleaned up with a nice restoration spell to serve your own worst enemy. Best part is, it puts back all the parts in their right place so I can yoink them off again! Bwahahaha, what fun!”

Wait, I’ve never seen a gonne before by this point. Something isn’t-



...





“Valas?”

“If you call me that again. You will lose. Your tongue.” I say, grunting.

Whoever has me pinned, looks down at my collar, and back up again. “I’m sorry, it’s what it says on the collar.”

… The feck is he apologizing for? “You’re literally trying to kill me and you’re apologizing.”

“No. I’m not trying to kill you. I’m just trying to get you to stop serving your own worst enemy.”

“I’ve served my own worst enemy all my life. You think this is gonna stop me?” I grunt, pushing him off, kicking him low. He’s too fast, I catch a plated shin. It hurts, but I swivel around. I can’t show pain. Not to one of -them-. They’re weaklings.

“No. Only you can stop you. But… Sometimes…” He grunts, dodging and weaving my blows. I didn’t see any symbols, but blue and silver only means so many things. I knew what I was fighting.

I’ve only just started my training, really. Melee-Magthere was tough, and this guy wasn’t giving in to the fundamentals - not that I ever had the best trainer. A cadet branch of no real significance of the Hunzrorzza had taken me in, their matron ‘interested’ in how I had single-handedly taken out five nobles. I didn’t. I never had. Someone other than my family had done so, on the same night that my family caused its raucous. It had never been an initiation task - I was simply fodder for the Vhaeraunans who were launching a true, fully equipped attack. A distraction, and someone to blame. Nobody believed me, of course. I never had any proof. Didn’t matter if I did. “Shut up.” I try to hit him with… anything. My elbows, my helm, my feet, my sword. Anything. Nothing landed. “SHUT UP!”

“Sometimes all you need is… just a little push!” He said, as he… somehow, and I’ll never remember exactly how, the man wrapped around me like fluid, got behind me, and made me fall over himself. “Night-night.” And then he just thwapped me with the broad section of his blade, knocking me out cold.




...






“Valas…”

“Stop… No more… Don’t… Don’t bother me.”

“Okay.” An almost apologetic tone says softly. The door closes, creaking shut, but… I can’t. I can’t any more. Why are they doing this? They haven’t asked me anything. It’s just food. Food and distant music. And water. They even left a wine bottle the other day, something about the moon being right or something else equally stupid. Equally weak.

I open my mouth. I want to ask why. It’s gnawing at me. Why? This never works. Only a fool would fall for this. They’re just doing it to get information. But they haven’t asked anything? What is going on?

I still to this day don’t know why, but, they just left the door open. Just a tad. Enough for a bit of light to come in, like… I don’t know. Like they didn’t care to keep me locked up.

It was like that for seventeen days before I decided to go out. They’d keep coming back to check up on me, of course. Always the same. How are you doing today, do you need anything, have you eaten, do you want a bath, do you need a change of clothes, is the bed comfortable. What the feck? What the feck?! This is a ploy. A new worst enemy.

But… I headed out. I was dead set on making a break for it. But I opened it, and they were just… there. Loitering. One of them was braiding some… what, tapestry? Some kind of clothwork. Maybe braiding is the wrong word. Am I conveying my confusion well enough? This is - This is just absurd. They’re bathing. BATHING! FORTY SEVEN FEET FROM WHERE THEY KEEP THEIR PRISONER, THEY ARE BATHING!

I-

There’s weapons? Just laying against one of the tree trunks? What?

I don’t understand.

I just stand there, absolutely dumbfounded. One of them notices me, and.. Smiles? “Come!” She says, without calling my name. I… go back inside, after about ten seconds of staring at her.

Why did I do that? Why did they do that?

I wouldn’t let them come through the door. None of them. No woman would cross my threshold. I don’t want to feel like that again. I don’t want to feel like that again. Ever. Ever again. I don’t want to feel like I want to be her. No. Stop it. Get out of my head. This will NOT be my own worst enemy. STOP. I’ll die here.

Yeah, that’s it. I’ll die here. It’s settled.



...




“Valas”.

“I SAID I WILL CUT OUT YOUR TONGUE!”

“I know. You won’t answer otherwise.” The tone was the man from before… gone was the… almost, playful jesting of the fight. His smug tone. I hated it. So self-assured. Conceited. Piece of - “They’re telling me that you won’t let them in to check on you. Can… can you let me in?”

I open the door, hastily, grab him by the neck, thrash him against the wall of my confines, and kick the stupid fecking twin-sized bed they gave me in front of the door. “Yeah.
You ready to lose the tongue?”

“If I need to.” He says… gently?! What the feck. I will END HIM for his hubris. “I just… Listen.”

I seethe. A butter knife from one of the various dinners they left inside the door, honed into the best shiv I could make with it, rises up. “Five seconds.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Four, thr-” I stop, absolutely dumbfounded. That’s the stupidest fecking thing someone would say in this situation. The absolutely fecking stupidest thing I could possibly imagine to come out of his mouth has just left it. I am frozen in sheer disbelief, before I just start laughing. “YOU? Wanted to make sure I am OKAY?! YOU GOT ME INTO THIS MESS, YOU DUMBASS!”

“Yeah. And I did it to make sure you were okay.” He pauses. “Are… you okay?”

The shiv is raised to his throat, close enough to draw blood as I shout. “OF COURSE I’M VITHING OKAY! FAN-FECKING TASTICK! What the HELLS are you planning to do with me, huh? Gonna carve me up into little pieces for your little moon goddess? I’ll be doing the fecking carving here, carving a mask into that pretty little face of yours.”

“... That is not the words of someone who is okay.”

“Damn you.”

“... Do you want to be okay?”

“Yes.” I answer before I think.

Why.

Why did I answer before I think.
Why do I answer before I think.
Why do I ask before I think.
Why do I act before I think. Why do I think before I think. Why am I me? I don’t like this. What is he doing? Vith. No. I’m - what?

“... Do you want help?”

I just stare at him, inwardly broken. Processing.

“... I… know this is gonna sound a bit.. Trite. But have you ever heard the phrase ‘You are your own worst enemy’?” He sighs, speaking as if not really expecting an answer. “We’ve… all been there. All of us. Really. You know they hung me, alive, on a pole, in front of the temple before beating me into who I was?” He looks at me with compassion. Sincerity. “I saw you. Locked in a cage, sleeping on both feet so you wouldn’t lean against a spike. I heard what happened.”

I grit my stupid fecking teeth in my stupid fecking face. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I know me. And I know I was angry. And I know I was good at what they wanted me to do when I was angry. And that made me useful. Until someone else was angrier, and I wasn’t anymore. That’s… not your story, it’s mine. Mine was a living currency, a walking tool.”

“Still a walking tool.”

He doesn’t respond. “I’d been adopted and made first daughter before I fecked up so badly that the whole house was ostracized. Had to move to Menzo. And nobody lasts in Menzo as an upstart house.” Wait, what? First daughter?

He continues. “The expectations of generations before me to be some.. Strong… angry… vengeful thing, dedicated to the church and enforcing a will that wasn’t mine, but was dictated for me. All of it weighed. Just… Crushing. I broke. I needed to.”

“Are you saying I’m broken?”

“I’m saying everyone is. The real weakness is simply denying it.”

I don’t know why I let him continue. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But I did.

“... I can’t… mend you. But I can be here for you. I can help. I know what you’re going through. I know what it’s like to be serving your own worst enemy.” I don’t respond. The shiv’s already been dropped to the ground as I just… stand there.

“... Will you let me do that?”

“Don’t call me Valas.”

“Okay. That’s a start.”





,,,






“Valas.” I say to him. “I… I think I’ve decided about it. About Valas.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I…” I sigh. Scratched my chin nervously. Stubble that wasn’t there was. I could feel it, no matter how much I tried to get rid of it, it’d be there eventually. I guess it’s just something to live with, for now. Maybe some cantrip to get rid of it. “You said you could help me face myself. That you’d be there for me, when the time comes.”

He looks up from his book and tea. It was always funny seeing him out of armor - impossibly scrawny. How the hell did he even fit in the armor? I smirked, remembering our first battle. I was like a drunkard flailing about. Good times.

*But were they really good times, Valas?*

Shut up.

“Has that time come?” he asks me. A raised eyebrow. He looks like a caricature of a studious Eilistraeen, just… cross-legged, looking at me with mild interest and hope. He’s not half bad when you get to know him.

“I… Yeah. Is tonight good?”

“Tonight’s a good night as any to stop serving your worst enemy.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I smirk, lifting a mug of coffee. Tea had never really been my thing but oooo boi, this stuff hits the spot with some nice milk. We even got some powdered creamer one time after fending off an angry band of merchants. They said they forwarded the cost of what was left behind to the caravan company who owned it, but, really? I don’t think they did.

That night was… Is. Fresh in my mind. Nothing could make me forget it.

He was a Silverhair Knight, after all. Long flowing locks, shining armor - the works… when he was allowed it and not undercover, of course. The whole thing was done in ceremony, but it was one of celebration, not… not preparation. It wasn’t like the way the Church of Lolth did it, where it was almost transactional in intent. Sacrifices and rituals in the service to Lolth, for Lolth, in Lolth’s honor.

No. This ceremony was for my own worst enemy.

And the contract was expiring. Tonight.

He stepped forward. “Friend…” He said with a warm smile. We hadn’t said my name unless I brought it up, for… a while now. I’d lost count of the days. They blend together, when you’re in… well, I guess this counts as rehab. Rehab from hate, self-loathing, disgust, fear. “Permit me to touch you, and you will understand the weight you have been under. That we have all once been under. You will see your own worst enemy. Recognize it, confront it, and overcome it - and you will be made new.”

“I permit you.” I said. Every hair on my body stood on end, it felt like. For some reason everything in me screamed to run. Screamed to stop this. That there was still time, but… no. Everything but my heart. Or something close enough to it. My soul, maybe? I’ve never been very poetic. It stood. It wanted this. I wanted this. His hand touched my forehead.

Sometimes, I don’t know what I want until I say it.

*That’s because you’re a vithing idiot.*

What?

*You heard me, dumbass. You’re a vithing idiot.*

Who said that?

*I did. Fecking freakshow’s what you are. What’re you gonna do, stop and smell the flowers on your way back from this? Hmmm? Gonna take in all the sights like you’ve been made something you’re not, huh? Gonna dance? Gonna cry, maybe? Gonna sit and humm?*

Damn you.

*Damn you, you piece of shite. Who was it that got the whole damn family killed? Oh, right, that was you, that was you, wasn’t it. I wonder if their flesh was made into tapestries like they said they’d do. You think they’re up on display? In a museum somewhere?*

I mean that’s pretty gruesome but doesn’t a flesh museum sound kinda cool?

*I mean yeah sure but - we’re getting off topic. We’re focusing on how big of a piece of shite you are.*

I mean I am a pretty big piece of shite. That’s… why I’m here.

*Stop making references.*

That’s not even a proper reference, arsehole, it’s just something I said - wait what’s a reference?

*It’s a callback to pop culture that you enjoy making.*

What’s pop culture?

*Not important right now. I’m getting this train of thought back on track.*

What’s a train?

*Stop asking questions and start feeling like a piece of shite.*

We’ve already established that I’m a piece of shite. Next topic.

*What?*

You heard me.

*... Oh.*

Yeah?

*That’s… a new feeling.*

What?

*Personal acceptance.*

I think I can work with that. I mean, clearly we’ve got a low self esteem here, but we can work with that.

*Yeah. Wait, aren’t I supposed to be the bad guy?*

No. You’re just my worst enemy.

*So your worst enemy doesn’t… have to be the bad guy?*

Nope.

*... Oh. Then does that make us a good guy?*

Nope.

*... What the hells does that make us then?!*

Me.

*Stop giving one word answers.*

No.

*Damn you.*










*Oh really, silent treatment now. Is this gonna be a pattern?*

Listen sometimes there’s just nothin’ in the noggin’. Like, how does one properly respond to a ‘damn you’, uttered by yourself, directed at yourself?

*I mean, you’ve got a point. Any retort to yourself is a self-own.*

Right.

*Right.*

Right. So, progress! See? We’re getting along.

*I mean we’re not killing each other?*

That’s getting along in my book.

*You’ve got really low standards.*

Yeaaahhh a lifetime of torture and slavery’ll do that to a guy.

*I don’t like that.*

Nobody likes a lifetime or torture and slavery.

*No, that other part.*

What part?

*The thing at the end.*

… Do… Okay I’m dumb. Explain this to me.

*I don’t like being a guy.*

……. Where, in the ever loving hells, did this come from?

*Me*

OK now -you- feck off with the one word responses. Why didn’t you come to me with this sooner?

*I mean we haven’t talked until now. There was never a chance.*

I - I mean - Like, vith. Talk to me quicker.

*I - You’re me? You want yourself to talk quicker?*

… Fair point. No point in me being belligerent.

*No point in me being belligerent.*

Does that mean we’ll stop beating ourselves up all the time?

*Literally or figuratively?*

Both.

*I mean, baby steps. But.. Yeah no I can see how being inherently self-destructive would be a bit… uh… unhelpful.*

Good. Then we’re on the same page?

*I think so.*

And Valas?

*Don’t call me that.*

What do we call ourselves?

*... something with… purpose.*

Something with three parts.

*... OK, weirdly specific, why?*

You know, so people can chant the name easier. Syl-la-ble! Syl-la-ble!

*Are… are people going to be chanting names?*

Iunno. Cool to think they might, though.

*Okay… How about Vlonrinthasha? That’s got a nice ring to it.*

Starts with a V. Don’t like it. I don’t like names that start with V’s.

*Picky, but understandable. Okay… How do you feel about double meanings?*

Ooh. Fancy. I like.

*How about Kiira? Means gem in elven, with an extra ‘A’ mind you, while also meaning apostle in formal Xanalress.*

Like a diamond in the rough. Gem. Kiira. Apostle. I like it. We can work with this. Let’s build it properly…









...










“Valas…” I say, stepping out into the moonlight, “is no longer. I have left him behind, even though he is me.”

“In Her embrace, am I reborn.” The Dark Sisters humm and sing around me as I dance the Changedance.

I look beautiful. I’ve been crying since I put it on. Words can’t do the outfit justice, I…. I can’t even describe it. It was like shimmering lunar mist, wrapped around my figure. This felt right. Sure, the armor would always be needed… Violence with swift violence, after all… but…

You ever actually woken up on the right side of the bed? Have someone… genuinely… smile and tell you good morning? You check out the news for today, and there’s no news of attacks, no terror in the streets… just the forecast. It’s a clear schedule. A wonderful thunderstorm to end the day with a nice book read by a warm fire, and a mostly cloudy - but pleasantly warm - morning to walk with a loved one, just… chatting about the silliness you’ve gotten up to lately, no real agenda.

It was like wearing that.

I said a lot of things that night. Sang, a lot of things, I guess. I was never very good at singing. Or dancing. It never matters. The song went on forever. I’ll never forget being enveloped by it all. Like I was finally me. Finally free to be Me. Eilistraee demanded nothing. No service. No expectation. This was no quid-pro-quo. She delighted in my delight. She took joy in my joy. And I in hers. We danced. I danced with her, Kiira.

*I know. I was there.*

We danced. Do you remember how hard we cried?

*I remember.*

It hurts, Kiira.

I know. It’s okay.

Will I still be me?

She’s made sure of that.

Just then, an intense necromantic force blows into Kiira’s side - my side, on her left - no, my left, as a dead hand reaches out to pierce her very soul, snuff it out. Bring the light to an end.

...

But it doesn’t.

If at least for the last time, she persisted.

If at least for one last time, she danced with Her.

And it was everything she needed.

Don’t feel bad. It was nice while it-

Somewhere in the Arcanum, an Inquisitor rolls up his sleeve, and does the job the old fashioned way.

Previous characters of note: Cerce Tentones, Kithara Dreamcrusher, Redrilkiira "Kiira" Despana, Elkaun'al Tesmur'na, Odeta Sorovska, "Rimmy"


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