Love Lost: Postscript

In the frigid days of the new year, the Unholy Sister, Emalaith brought glad tidings to the Tyrannus of Mhaldor.

Swiftly the servants of Malevolence gathered to mete vengeance upon those who would use the instruments and servants of Evil as nothing more than an advantageous tool. They marched at once, following the trail laid out by their agent; soon, they stood under the rushing waters of the Morland waterfalls, in the Vashnar mountains.

There sat Viol’aa, the dispossessed, defeated but still defiant. What words were exchanged in that moment of meeting, who can say? Whatever they were, there was never much to say.

The whip of barbed teeth which which the Mhaldorians subjugated a demon in the name of the Conqueror Iniquitous once more unfurled from the Tyrannus’ hand.

A first strike cleaved skin and muscle alike from bone, and a second silenced any reply. The unbeliever was forced to kneel upon a shattered leg, and as the Mhaldorians watched on, Sartan’s Chosen Tyrant ripped apart what little was left of Viol’aa’s mortal flesh, leaving her pinned to the ground upon her own spine as so many other infidels were, before her.

Despite her ambition, she amounted to nothing more than a common criminal. The cold and unfeeling hand dispensed the same fury upon her that any other who steals from Mhaldor is due to receive: a note pinnedd to the shattered sternum echoing the time-honoured words all victims of Necromancy are graced with. The corpse will there remain, as decreed by this new Tyrannus.

Thus opens the year of brutality in the West.

Penned by My hand on the 9th of Sarapin, in the year 985 AF.