Role

Chapter 2

Everything was going great. After years of looking for the lady
Rayihn, she finally found him, and in fact came to him! She came
to the Inn and they chatted some, and then she even stayed for his
second Heraldic event, Mystery Night. It was a great honor and great
fun for him, even if his second mystery was not nearly as good as his first!
He knows he will speak with her again, the talk having made him more,
not less interested in her ways. And oh, her face! Poetry won't do justcie,
but he is overwhelmed and will right of her beauty just the same.
Likewise he finally completed his guildtraining, gaining the final
title from the loremaster. An accomplishment he'd worked hard for.

Until everything was lost. A lifetime of walking the path of
peace, of dedication to the sanctity of a person's life, gone, in
an instant. "Sorry!" said Menthias, whose magic drew him into combat
with a lost soldier in the desert, and whose last breath was taken from
him with Bezzilan's blade in his gut, his lifeblood disappearing quickly
into the desert sand. "We're so sorry" chimed in Ailen and Korachath. As
if saying sorry could bring the man he'd murdered back!

Weeping, drinking, anger, shame, great great sadness. Hollowness.
Worthlessness. Failure. These are Bezzilan now. For how long, no one,
not even the gods, can know. Everything known about Bezzilan until now is
reversed. Chipper, polite, pleasant, friendly to all, happy to a fault, all
gone. Rude. Short tempered. Uncaring. Unfriendly. Get used to it, Thera.
Until he can figure out how to live with himself and his deed, that's what
you're getting.