The flames licked higher and higher through his home, a searing heat arose from it all, embers burning at his eyes, but the lone, dark-clad man who stood in the center of the hall, stood fast. He would not have appeared to move, as the burning whirlwind whipped closer to him, nor did he seem that bit fussed. Dagramir stood, encircled by a rising wall of fire, one that he could not have even hoped to have escaped..
But that was never his intention.
As he stepped up towards the drawers that sat on their side, in the center of the room, he climbed calmly up on top, taking a hold of the long rope that dangled innocently from the exquisite chandelier, that dangled dangerously above him. Hearing muffled shouts of horror outside of his home seemed to put a smile on his face, as he carefully slipped the noose around his neck. His blue eyes darted about his home. Pictures, and memoirs, from times long ago, that brung joy to his heart, blazed down into dust. Slowly, but surely, all that remained of the once proud 'Viper of Gondor's legacy, was being removed from the world. Piece by piece. Cinder by cinder.
Though, he did not seem to mind. In fact, he took solace in that fact. After the horrible decisions he had made in the past, he was glad to rid the burden from his shoulders. Tightening the noose steadily with one hand, a loose smile formed contrastingly on his lips, as in his final moments, his life flashed before his eyes, a cliché that seemed to greatly amuse him. Vivid memories appearing before him, from his time as a child, his father falling helplessly through a misty window before him; through to his time under the moniker of 'Black Viper', where many clouded rooftop chases lay before him; all the way to the dead that littered his conscience. A more reserved look appeared on his features, as the wronged, and the dead, suddenly flitted into his view.
Vraela, the first woman he had ever cared deeply for, rose out of the ground before him, her golden blonde hair shimmering with the flames, a gentle smile on her perfectly remembered face, before her figure soon retreated into the flames.
Jegauer, whom was perhaps his closest friend, soon calmly walked up before him. A disheartened look appeared on Dagramir's face, however, his old friend did not seem angry, nor upset. He watched him bow his head, before simply turning and walking politely away. A sentiment that Dagramir held with him till the end.
Annsuel, a woman he adored as a sister, who he had many a laugh, pleasurable times, and touching moments with. She stood there, seeming to smile, two bottles of whiskey shining from her hands, which brought a smile to his heated face, before she too, became engulfed.
Doctor Praesule Etheridge, better known as the Bree-town Ripper, stalked into his view, accompanied by a distant, 'gentleman-like' figure. His 'nemesis' seemed to laugh, an echoing laugh that Dagramir had once feared long ago. But no longer did he fear it. Nor did he fear him.
A few more apparitions past his mind. Those who made him smile, and those who brought hate to his thoughts. Aellwenn; Evangelline; Reagan; Taala; Goldgel; Aildur; Welten; and many more, though the names and faces were soon wiped from his sight as the flames slowly reached him. As even the wooden drawers below began to melt beneath him, two last faces appeared before him..
His wife, Tailia, walked up before him, seeming to hover in front of the approaching fire, with his daughter, Abriana, in her arms. Though, he smiled, despite their history. His wife stood smiling, the same face he remembered the night that he learned she was pregnant, and proposed, a night he still remembered as the happiest of his short life. While his daughter, sat there giggling, happy and content. How he had always wanted her to be. These faces remained in front of him, as his legs were slowly engulfed with flame. Putting the sharp burning sensations out of his mind, he smiled widely. His eyes watered for one final time, and his head raised high.
"I'm so sorry.. I love you.."; was all the 'Viper' managed to say, before the wood below him cracked, and split beneath his feet, and the young Gondorian sharply fell. As the rope stretched as far as it could, his neck jarred due to the unplanned nature of his hanging, and a quiet 'pop' could be heard between the flames, his spinal cord fracturing. His limp body dangled helplessly, as his roof slowly collapsed around him. Along with it, came the chandelier that the rope was connected to, tearing through the rope that hung him, pinning his body to the floor, as the fire continued to rage on through his home. Other parts of his house began to fall, and soon he became encased within a tomb of stone and metal.
Once the flames were put out, and stopped from spreading to other nearby homes, only a charred corpse of a home remained. A pile of burned rubble sat where his home used to be, his possessions and trophies lay scattered and burned around the site. Whatever memories the home had held, and whatever stories it contained, were nothing but dust.
The enigma of a legend that had once been, was finally off to his next adventure. One final adventure..
The 'Black Viper' was dead.
(continued - http://laurelinarchives.org/node/36796)
