Cold Revenge

         Kro-en fell to her knees and buried her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.  Around her the corpses of many men laid about, most of them dead by her sword.  They hadn’t died without honour though; Kro-en hadn’t allowed that.  Yet now, she thought that killing them all wouldn’t have truly been the best course for her to take. 
         Every face she would see when she took her hands away would haunt her forever, she knew each one by their first, last and false names.  She had trained most of them for combat and she had thought she had even taught them better her wisdom of why to fight at all.  Apparently she was wrong.
         The wind started to pick up, blowing sand into her elven frame and making her sob all the louder.  The sand would be a reminder to her the times of happiness she held with her friends and now it would hold the memories of their death. 
         She couldn’t bring herself to believe that no more than an hour ago she was standing beside these great men, defending them and protecting her home, Terrag.
         They had all lied, she would tell herself but never could she believe that.  She would never before hurt her friends, or even accuse them of lying, but her rage was too much, Sûrgoth’s death had pushed her too far.
         Or perhaps it wasn’t just his death.  Perhaps it was also the betrayal of Conrad that enraged her so.  Yes, it was all Conrad, that’s why she had to kill them all.
         But again she conflicted with herself, thinking her friends to be faithful and loyal.           And again she felt it hurt her insides, these conflicting opinions. 
         She seemed like an infant first learning to crawl when she moved to the body of Sûrgoth, the only friend she didn’t kill.  The only friend she truly had.
         She took his head in her arms and again she wept, this time he would not return.
         She felt hands on her shoulders but she no longer cared.  If anyone killed at least she would be relieved of this pain.
         But these hands did not harm her, and she soon realized who it was. 
         “Thank you, Omas,” she said quietly.  “But I must be alone right now.”
         Omas nodded and turned away from the elf, to the bloodied bodies of the Kilnoth Mansion guards.  He hadn’t personally known any of these men but he felt Kro-en’s pain.  Not too long ago, Shuri Kotas, his best friend, had died by Conrad Kilnoth’s hand.  And earlier still than that did his other friend disappear, leaving them for an unexplained reason.
         So Omas walked to the edge of the mansion’s roof and looked down.  Looked to the many folk who had lived in Terrag for more than five years, waiting for this day to come, the day that Ar’Ro Forg be relieved of his power over the Verrit’Ack-Namide desert.
         Ar’Ro Forg had died, every one of these folk knew it, but at the cost of Sûrgoth Kilnoth, the greatest hero any of these men and women would ever see. 
         But ultimately, the weight had too soon settled in.  Sûrgoth was dead.  Shuri was dead.  Too many people had died today and Omas would never be able to fully get over his loss.
         He turned back to Kro-en, who had stopped crying but was still holding Sûrgoth.  Omas couldn’t look at the man right now, the man that had done so much for him and for the people of Lithdohrlach and Terrag.  He was stunned to see Kro-en stand and walk to him, grasping him around the neck, pulling him into a long embrace.
         Silence bound the two together, neither spoke a word and nothing else could be heard from the people standing around the mansion.  They were all felling the same thing.
         But how long would it last?  How long before they all would be free of Sûrgoth’s grasp on society?  Even in death he seemed to be a significant symbol of what he stood for and what he believed in, which was what everybody there at the mansion stood for and believed in. 
         It seemed to Kro-en as though it wouldn’t end.  Sûrgoth could not just be forgotten after all.  Not after what he had accomplished.
         And of Shuri, Omas had no idea what he would do.  The large man had lost his family to the Ar’Ro when he was far younger.  With the Ar’Ro dead, Omas could only hope that Shuri was resting peacefully somewhere in the other planes of existence.
         And it was from that day forth, that snow started to fall from the sky to land on the desert floor, on the warm but cooling sand that made up the entire continent of Verrit’Ack-Namide.
         
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