Lassiter
Sword of Vahl
To:
From:
Subject:
From:
Subject:
f2351@lsdfgj-cr
2dgs2@lsdfgw-cr
RE: Transcript #23-1B: Sinclair Firewalker
2dgs2@lsdfgw-cr
RE: Transcript #23-1B: Sinclair Firewalker
Most Honored Sword-bearer,
The following is a transcription from our psychometrists. Guy was off his chains, if you ask me. Good riddance to bad rubbish. At least we can spin it far more easily with the others than the last one.
// Hamish
The following is a transcription from our psychometrists. Guy was off his chains, if you ask me. Good riddance to bad rubbish. At least we can spin it far more easily with the others than the last one.
// Hamish
I still remember that day like it was my last, and in many ways I think it was. It had been brewing for a time, the discontent over where we were — no, where I was. Homeplanet, gone. Whatever holdings we had once held on Bastion, gone. The Ember had been delivered one more blow, just another slap piled on top of those that the ages ever so often put across our cheeks and nose like a bad parent to a petulant child.
For the longest decade in most of our lives, we still remained little more than whatever we had been able to steal and scrape for our flotilla, our vagrant fleet of wastrels and rabid dogs that had lost their chain. And yet that never seemed to phase her. As long as she was arms deep in the blood of someone else, a so-called deserter or a non-believer, as long as she kept being handed assignments where she got to show herself for the demon she truly was — everything was just peachy.
Except they weren’t. The others have already shunned me, and this woman — this beast — has most likely already taken note of it as well. Rage can only keep the flames fanned for so long before you start to question the point. Ma and Da had warned me as a child of these people, our people, and yet I hadn’t listened. Too consumed by the hatred and fear, too willing to find a greater purpose that wasn’t there.
I still remember the way that dossier had slid across her desk. Plastic against darkened mahogany, a wicked smile on her lips as she gave me what to her was just another assignment. A deserter, someone who wanted a better life. Or rather, Vermin. That’s what she called them. As if they were just another problem to fix.
Was this it? Was death all that awaited them? Part of me had to ask and yet I did not. Fear got the better of me. I made my mind up in that moment to do what had to be done. No longer would I allow myself to play slave herder for this woman that lacked compassion even for her own people. She was a murderer, she was a monster and I would no longer have it.
I freed those people, not of their lives but of their bonds. I broke the chains, and not long after that I knew that there was no way out other than to do what I had to. Knife deep in my sternum I will leave my message, a final note written with the only ink she understands. A taunt, a celebration of her failure and to tell her that she was too late. That those that she had sent me to torment are now safe.
For the longest decade in most of our lives, we still remained little more than whatever we had been able to steal and scrape for our flotilla, our vagrant fleet of wastrels and rabid dogs that had lost their chain. And yet that never seemed to phase her. As long as she was arms deep in the blood of someone else, a so-called deserter or a non-believer, as long as she kept being handed assignments where she got to show herself for the demon she truly was — everything was just peachy.
Except they weren’t. The others have already shunned me, and this woman — this beast — has most likely already taken note of it as well. Rage can only keep the flames fanned for so long before you start to question the point. Ma and Da had warned me as a child of these people, our people, and yet I hadn’t listened. Too consumed by the hatred and fear, too willing to find a greater purpose that wasn’t there.
I still remember the way that dossier had slid across her desk. Plastic against darkened mahogany, a wicked smile on her lips as she gave me what to her was just another assignment. A deserter, someone who wanted a better life. Or rather, Vermin. That’s what she called them. As if they were just another problem to fix.
Was this it? Was death all that awaited them? Part of me had to ask and yet I did not. Fear got the better of me. I made my mind up in that moment to do what had to be done. No longer would I allow myself to play slave herder for this woman that lacked compassion even for her own people. She was a murderer, she was a monster and I would no longer have it.
I freed those people, not of their lives but of their bonds. I broke the chains, and not long after that I knew that there was no way out other than to do what I had to. Knife deep in my sternum I will leave my message, a final note written with the only ink she understands. A taunt, a celebration of her failure and to tell her that she was too late. That those that she had sent me to torment are now safe.
SEE YOU IN HELL
LASSITER.
LASSITER.
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