More writings from the disc I found from 2003. This one is called War Epilogue.

——-

The pale moon served only to illuminate the faces of the dead. Their blue drow skin glittered in its radiance. Wretched fogs crept between the valleys and hills and naught but for moments eased their presence so Belimar could heed his gait. He stumbled, tripping over foul brethren of Arkenndar and adversaries of Rilynghym alike. His sword was called Arkenrae, after the drow Goddess of Godet’tar and the second spirit of Kiliryn. The blade seemed saturated through with the black drow blood. “Doth thine fate tempt thee, oh Kiliryn? Dost thou wish to see thine head ‘pon a post? A perfect target for pebbles of Rilynghym children. Answer me you foul beast! My cursed tongue is black with blight and wretched tears form acid pools. You are not a trustworthy deity. I have forsaken thee. And my sword shall no longer be bred by your name.” Belimar held his sword to the heavens. “I name my sword Arabsek! ‘Ter the foul demon who argues with fate. I renounce you spirit, and Godet’tar. Thou’st claimed heresy. My honor challenged, I will live up to these claims and become a heretic. Thou hast decreed it, thine actions reflected. Make no more mistakes, spirit. I’ll be watching you from my own citadel in the after life.”

Belimar plunged his sword into the torso of a young dead female warrior. Her name once was Dirzjra. “My blade cuts her, foul spirit! It punctures flesh and dirt once ran through.” The corpse lay face down in the mud, now held in place by Belimar’s infernal stake. She was his lover before this unholy war had began. Now his sword pierced her flesh and organs. “My love died by the hands of my enemy. I loved her. Now my blade stands, towering over her delicate frame. Her nubile vessel rendered a soulless shell. What divine sprit would allow this? None that I would worship. My blade plunges her tissue as an assurance to me that she has actually died. My blade never lies, and the visions it brings are always true.” He sighed. “She is truly dead, then must I be as well.”

Belimar knelt beside his lover’s corpse. “My love. My dear sweet Dirzjra. Promise me that you’ll meet me in our Hell. Promise me you’ll be there waiting for me.” He struggled with the canteen that hung from his belt. He finally managed to release it, then unsettled the cork in a swift motion. With his free hand he cupped her forehead and turned her face skyward. Her neck turned easily with no resistance. Her beautiful crimson eyes as red as they had been when she lived. “Such beautiful crimson gazes.” Her mouth hung open, lifeless and dry. “One final drink of Faelochar’s wretched nectar for thee, my love.” He slowly turned the canteen over, delicately pouring a green liquid into her mouth. Just enough to be considered a healthy sip. The canteen fell back to his thigh as he held both of his hands on each side of her face. “My dear Dirzjra.” A tear rolled down his face. “I shall steal one last kiss.” His lips touched hers. The kiss was short and painful. “A kiss riddled with absinthe.”