Vengeance

The designs of the Traveler Rust are often called into question by lay folk, particularly because of the way his followers present; Madness, loss, relentless will and determination that brandishes a terrible, terrifying power that, while achieving deeds of great importance to the denizens of Ir'resthel and beyond, do little to reassure the hearts of those who see it wielded. Far beyond the borders of Ir'resthel, rumors tell of one warlock so fearsome that a scribe who had witnessed his terrible power was driven mad with terror. The scribe went on to illuminate the manuscript depicting what he saw in soot in blood when frenzied scratches of quill and ink failed to convey the horrors he saw. 

Ancient beyond comprehension, and thought to once have been an adventurer, his mind and body now twisted to a dragon's bidding. Second- and third-hand accounts often regale terrible tales of pestilence, fire and death spreading in his wake. To this, there is truth; those finding their regimes uprooted and their ruling classes decimated rarely identify themselves as evildoers, yet the only power structures that have been toppled by the warlock were built upon the backs of the weak, poor, and hungry masses.

Vengeance is as much legend as truth to most in the world, though to some, he serves as a haunting, ever-present reminder in the world that Travelers are not inherently good nor evil; they honor the inevitability of change above all else.

---

It was fading, but you could still see her ghostly silhouette against the backdrop of amber, worn smooth by years spent against his chest.

"It took so long, my love," he whispered as he kissed the shallow, smooth depression of her visage where it was once etched in flawless detail onto the pendant, "I've gone so far, and over so many lifetimes, but I've finally found my way home. Everything I did, I did for your memory."

A ghostly wisp of ash fell into his palm beside the pendant, and then another. He clutched the pendant into the safety of his gauntlet, shielding it from the taint of the ash that began to rain from the sky. His gaze rose to the ruin before him. From the hilltop, the entire kingdom laid before him. The light of the fire against the night was so bright it hurt his eyes to look at for long, but in spite of the sting in his eyes he stared, hard, at the monarchy crumbling before him.

"I used to be so naive in my assumption that some things were too precious and powerful to ever be claimed by time. Now I know the truth. With enough time, even the strongest stone will crumble to dust. The only memory that remains within me is that I loved you with the same fire in my breast that lays out before us now. I hope that you'll forgive me, my love. Forgive me for forgetting your name. Forgive me for forgetting your face. I've forgotten my own too. But I continue on," he whispered to no audience. He reverently placed the pendant back under his robes and armor, where it had been kept safe for so many centuries. He picked the weathered, age-hardened wood staff at his side up, and felt satisfaction still lingering within the gnarled, twisting branch; his connection to his patron.

"I've continued on, because I've found new purpose beyond your memory. A new name, given to me by my patron. A name that all evil will know and fear, until never again will someone suffer as you have. As we have." the man solemnly spoke to himself, to the vague and fading memory of now-ancient love. A subtle wind wafted smoke and the smell of sulfur and brimstone from behind him, and he smiled over his shoulder to the towering fire dragon. A dragon patron whose name in itself stood as testament to the constant wear of eternity's unyielding current. The dragon spoke, yet its mouth did not move. It never did. The dragon spoke to the man, and the man alone.

Have you been satisfied, Vengeance?

"At last, my beloved Rust, I believe I have."

And are you ready for what comes next?

“As long as I still breathe, I am your weapon to wield."