Role

Chapter 12

Cursing loudly, Zah painfully pulls himself out of bed. Aches and pains
plague Zah's body, punishment for a lifetime of warfare. Cracking his
permanently blood-stained knuckles, Zah removes his grimace and puts on his
usual fearsome visage. It would not do well for the younger Villagers to see
him wincing in pain.

Floating out of his hut, Zah coughs violently, blood appearing on his hand.
Grumbling to himself, Zah knows this is not one of the usual symptoms that
accompany him. His body is weakening and Zah knows it.

Both time and battle have taken its toll, but it was not for nothing. Looking
about himself, Zah swells with pride. The Village remains strong, despite
weakening since Grord's leadership. Looking down, he flexes his hands:
blood-stained, scarred and hardened, his primary tools of destruction. The
left hand hums gently, the ever changing helix tattoo circling the wrist.

Commander, Drillmaster, Commander again, Champion of the Massacre, the
lessons of the Winter of Fury, his mark of favouritism, numerous wars, epic
battles and foes. Zah has lived his life to the fullest, leaving a swath of
destruction in his wake.

But now Zah can feel that life coming to an end. He is not saddened by this
thought, he knows better than most the futility of mortal life. The mere
moment of existence, in which one can blaze brightly or pass by unseen,
forgotten.

With the end in sight, Zah does not plan on passing peacefully. These final
years will be his swansong, a crescendo of devastation that ends only with
Zah's own destruction.