Fourth Target: The Dweller in the Dark

[Godhand]

Godhand walked through the city with the small contingent of soldiers leading the way. The city had truly been ravished by Xem'Zund; if anything, the elven sergeant had been sugarcoating the situation. People were ready to kill each other just to get the other's ration of rotten fish and haphazardly washed herbs. Every so often the woman would pause to point out a particularly horrible scene, like a soot-faced child tugging at his mother's dead hand or a soldier tossing another body unto a soon-to-be-burned pile to avoid the city becoming overrun with plague. Just when Godhand believed he'd seen the absolute worst, a new horror greeted him. It was enough to make him grit his teeth.

Then again, it was nothing he hadn't seen before. Perhaps he hadn't witnessed this sort of devastation on such a large scale, but war is war. The elves had stayed too neutral too long and this was what they'd received for their hubris. The once glorious Raiaerian city of Anebrilith had been reduced to little less than a ramshackle port, with people from all four corners of the country scrambling to get out. They knew which was the tide was turning. While the elves had been singing their songs, the Necromancer had been solidifying his grip on Raiaera. While they'd been sculpting their statues, the scourge had spread as far as Alerar. While they had been studying the architecture of the ancient buildings, Xem'Zund had summoned the Necrosition. The elves had refused to see the danger until it had set upon them, and by then it was too late.

Godhand knew that he'd gone about as long as he could without a cigarette. He pulled a lighter out from his pocket and flicked the top open, easily catching a spark and lighting it. He took the first deep, long drag. The best of them all. Verryna watched him intently, studying his face for any sort of a reaction. The swordsman didn't have anything to say. He was just tired. Tired of this. Tired of having to cut himself a path everywhere he went. He hadn't rested in what felt like a thousand years, and it seemed like the smell of blood would never go away no matter how much he tried. And now this girl was looking at him to be their hero. Hell, he had probably murdered more 'heroes' than any other type of person. Where was Letho? He'd know what to do in a situation like this. He'd don his golden armor and lead these people to the promised land, vanquishing Xem'Zund forever. Godhand didn't have golden armor; just a tattered old trenchcoat. Finally releasing the breath of smoke he'd been holding all this time, he turned to Verryna and raised a weary brow.

"Well? What do you want me to do about this?"

She looked at him like he was crazy.

"I want you to fight!"