Role

Chapter 4

For those who hated society, they sure talked a lot. That was Irgech's conclusion, as the voice of yet another tree person filled his ear.
What was the name, outsider... Out... Outlander. Yes, that was the word. He snorted, and the breath stirred the ash in which he sat.
Nothing but talk talk talk. Nature is strong. Cities are weak. Burn the cities, protect the trees. Join us.
All these words and more rolled over him, turned around in his mind with slow, methodical consideration. He could not understand it. What was so special about trees, really?
They were weaker than most, if anything. Couldn't fight back at all. Well, without help. That animated tree had been a bit of a fighter, but not for long.

Still, it was their insistence that they were just like him that irked him the most. They thought because they burned for a goal, they were, what. Kin? Comrades?
Rage sparked alight within him, the sudden will to destroy, and with it came the heavy pressure of the Lady's cloak upon his broad shoulders. Desolation. His one true companion.

He despised the Outlanders for their clouded vision. They treated the world as if there were some invisible line, that which should burn and that which should not.
The weakness of it gnawed at him like a rat in his gut. They had told him they were different, and so he had listened. But no. They were akin to every other place he visited.
They were weak. They were soft like sheep. They were... Limited, but they thought themselves otherwise. That was the true crux of his hate.

Irgech lifted his eyes, gazing around the still-smouldering scar he had made across this once pristine forest. The fire had no limits. The fire accepted no lines. He would show them.
So it was that when a lizard baring pearly fangs and calling himself the Chancelor stepped from the swirling ash and asked him which enemy he hated most, the answer was simple.
He hated the lot. But he hated those who swore they were like him the most.