Vengeance

OOC - Author's Note:

Instinctively I turned my betrothal ring on my index finger, finding comfort in the action. My fingertips traced the design, the diamond stars embedded in the pattern of the Calarcirya, to ‘watch over us, always,’ Estarfin had said. I smiled at the memory.

Es was a man of efficiency. Excellence was an art, and self-inflated bluster was its opposite.

Reason and logic were the flavours of grounding and sanity. However, he did allow room for what was an important phenomenon in his life:

Es did not believe in coincidences.

The men were nothing to him, beasts for the slaughter, ants beneath his boot, a disease to be eradicated. His sword in hand, Arenborn Kolten marched forward slowly, with very little care to protect himself as he cut through them. Twenty years ago he might have considered showing mercy. Not today, not in this narrow corridor, not after what they had done.

((to read the previous part of the story, click here))

He dreamt of a shining face of some ancient spirit, caged within a sullied blade.

And thus spoke the voice that was within the sword:

Traitors! Defilers!

A storm raged in his mind. He felt his blood boiling, he heard the voices from the past, their chattering, their screaming and shouting rising again, until they reached the gates of his Fëa. And all the time, he saw him in front of the eyes of his mind: