Role

Chapter 3

Eight times he'd come before.

If Foraxien could measure time, he'd know it had been around every hundred
years. He couldn't though, so all he knew was that eight times he'd been
spared his anguish for some brief moments.

He awaited those moments with a sick sense of fear and dread. Anticipation,
for the few moments of respite. Dread, for the implication.

The black saviour came a ninth time. He stooped above the ice and whispered
his sweet poison to the damned paladin. Made his offer of twisted salvation,
of a way out.

There will always be tests. Opportunities to do the right thing, despite
everything. Perhaps Foraxien could have even found his redemption, even now.
Perhaps this rejection would've been the one that would've wiped away his
crimes, where the eight times before had failed. Perhaps a defiant no in
this moment would have set him free.

But on the ninth time that Akkabal came to offer his dark pact to the giant,
Foraxien finally said yes. Who could blame him? He'd suffered so much.

It was not for a good cause.