>>5445191>>5445205>>5445191You consider a number of things you could ask. Maybe… Maybe about the Green Knight? That emerald ironclad nightmare still haunts your sleep, and you know deep in your dragon soul that his advance is inexorable. You are FATED to fight him. Information— could mean the difference between life and death when that day comes… Or maybe you could even just ask Death to deprive him of life, and save yourself the trouble?
But no, the cost would surely be too great.
Maybe Death could make an appearance before those Drow of little faith, to better impress his might and majesty upon them?
But… No, that is a petty thing. Besides, it’s not a matter of belief in the God of Death’s existence—the Drow who refuse to pledge allegiance to the tenets of True Faith do so on moral principle. It is a matter of stubborn tradition, a bitter grudge to put even the dwarven slaves to shame.
Dwarves…
Thinking of them immediately brings one face to mind. Auburn hair, braided and beaded in endearing imitation of a beard. Freckled cheeks (and chest). Blue eyes full of hope and wonder, almost worship. The smell of fresh cooking, the warmth of a small, squeezable body curled up in against you as you slept…
>“S-sir… I knew you’d… Come…”You gnash your teeth at the memory of her death… Of your failure. So worried about appearances and approval that you let your loyal lover perish to preserve your reputation. Since then, you have chosen the path of love anew—not just of community, but personal connection, even romance. Since then, just as the Green Knight haunts your sleeping mind, the life and death of Davora the Herbalist has troubled your waking moments.
“You have a favour to ask of me,” Death intuits, tone unchanging. “You know that I do not give freely.”
“I understand,” you say, bowing low in supplication. “I need to know, though… Davora, the dwarf… What has become of her? Is she… Happy? AT peace?”
Death does not answer right away.
“You should know that the answer may not bring peace to you.”
You flinch, but such an enigmatic response cannot help but pique your curiosity even as it fills you with dread.
“Very well,” Death replies to your unspoken resolve. “She is gone.”
You blink.
“I know she is gone,” you reply slowly. “I all but saw her perish. But where is her soul? Is she with the Serpent Ascendant? The Mother of Dragons? Maybe… The Master of the Insightful Eye?”
“No.”
Your heart falls. With the dwarven god—The Mountain King? Still, after all her displays of great loyalty and resolve? She died for your cause! Will you truly never be reunited with her?
“No.”
You look up from your woe, confused anew.
“She is not with The Mountain King of the Dwarves,” the Lord of Endings explains. “She is no more.”
