Finished Project today, sat down and started to write. Hell, does it feel good ;)
Hurts.. body hurts, soul hurts.
The torture, the betrayal.
He wanted to scream, but the only sound was a gurgled breathe.
"Please" barely audible.
He was beyond pride.
They had sold him. His comrades, his commander.. they had sold him to the worst enemy imaginable.
Chary'ak.. living dead. The Nekromancers.
Why? Because he was a half blood, because he was the one, they wouldn´t feel bad about, after they had made him their toll, to pass through the Kyin mountains.
They had deemed him less worthy and that had been the first tear in his mental armor.
Before him in the dim dungeon cell stood a man as scary and as cold, as any.
The one man, Jaimé had learned to fear.
This man had seen all of him, the strength, the courage, the rage, the pain, the fear.
Jaimé´s body and soul bared to him.
And now he was smiling.
"Fear not, you will not suffer for longer."
Jaimé did´t have anything left in him to suffer. All he wanted to do was die.
Just, please, die. Relief him from this agony. Kill the memories of his wife and child. Kill his sense of duty, his oaths, everything he believed in.
Go and fade and be no more.
He couldn´t stand one ore day when the skin pulled from his body, when cold unfeeling hands touched him, whispered soothing words, that made him sick. Not one more night of fever, when his body tried to battle the inevitable.
The man, Orthen, knelt before him, the slim, perfectly crafted ritual sword in hand, Jaimé sobbed from happiness.
"Wont you thank me, young one, for the privilege I am granting you?"
Pride? Which pride? There was nothing left, to be proud. Nothing, that kept him from demurely lowering his head and whispering.