When I was younger, they called me Ka’liil, “the joyful one”. Now that they are no longer here I name myself o’Taag. For I am one with the sky fire. One with the wyvern’s scream. One with the EarthLord’s molten roar. I am o’Taag. I am Fury.
- * * * * *
The Clansman pulled a length of the braided leather away from the Sacrifice Stone and wondered whether it would have been strong enough to bind him. He intended to use the leather to clean the opposing blades of his Tonaag – a great axe that most men would struggle to lift, much less wield. However, as the final shudders of the Clansman’s battle rage fled, he looked past the leather bindings in his hand and focused on the dissevered skull of the drow. The drow who had freed himself from these very leather bindings.
“He is drow – what care I that his own condemned him?” The Clansman spoke out loud as if he were once again in the Round, seeking guidance of his brethren. “Had I not gutted his captors, his death would not have been so swift”. It had been nearly three seasons since the Clansman had stepped in the Round. Three seasons since he last had brethren to guide him.
Putting the troubling thoughts aside, the Clansman quickly traversed the still smoldering area to inspect the drow who had not burned and the other two who had. The three would have been the bound one’s executioners had events unfolded as they had planned. The Clansman could not help but notice a knife wound on the arm of one of the burned ones. Minor as it was, the wound was not the Clansman’s doing. He and the bound one had shared a common enemy this day.
As the Clansman climbed back up the rocky embankment where he had lain so long in wait, he felt no elation. Though he looked over his first true stage of vengeance, its significance was neglected. The Clansman’s mind still scratched at the braided leather, a length of which now adorned his Tonaag.