[Story] A Quiet Madness

[Sarias]

The hound whined, a stomach lacking food and sore limbs beginning to take toil upon its body. Marks of sorcerous healing was left upon thickened hide, handprints speaking quietly of costs paid in easing its pain. In bondage to loyalty and order it remained tucked below the small tree, red eyes peering into the depths of night having overtaken the Horuset Grounds

.......

I was glad you did not suffer loss of memory, when our spar saw your head bashed to the railing, Natsiji. A figure elusive, Sith Vipion's antics made be privy to your passions. Such was why I honored you with a rare spar, why my ear was held when you spoke of the ancient arts. Among the many, you were one of few who required not a second interview. And yet I granted you such an audience, simply to hear of your aspirations and reaches you would go, to see such freedoms.

A dedicated, passionated student of aspiration...One should grieve such lost potential

Why do I only feel you a waste of my time?

The image of that sobbing, shivering acolyte below my foot never did leave me. How close were you, I wonder? Of giving up on the robes and foil placed in your hand, missing the 'comforts' slavery had offered you. Would you have lived content, serving a slave in House Horuset's kitchens or within the depths of mines. Perhaps starvation or exhaustion would have taken you...but instead, ambitions fueled by onset of madness arrived. A thing expected, many have I outlived to witness walk the path you did, Zarchas. At your life's end, I wonder if you ever regretted asking for the foil back from my hand

A source of frustration yet insight of some interest and potential...One should feel pity, or perhaps joy

Why do I only feel it a waste, I could not drain you for more because your body turned into a husk?

Did you beg or were you simply sincere for once, when you stood before me asking for advice on how to lead. Perhaps desperations, still burnt from your most recent return to ashes. Set ablaze by your own ambitions, rising ever higher only to end back in a position worse. Ever rising, only to meet a flame by your own hand. A petty one you were, but one who's void shall be felt by the many. By me...and the children you never came to carry. For what little my words matter, I mourn the loss of a future for you, and Lord Saltaeon

A union upon the cusp of greatness, the ever-falling phoenix taking its last flight...One should feel sadness, perhaps even miss you

Why do I only see it a potential obstacle for my ambitions, out of the way?

.......

By dawn's arrival did the hound finally feel stirring, its creator only part clad in armour finally shifting from meditation. Remaining pieces laid dented, broken or misshapen before her - a little 'tapestry' of the fight fought. More than remained of Zarchas and Tarimra. Braids were brushed aside, finding the left side of her chest. Heart thudding harshly indicated a nightmare, lingering feelings attached to recent memory. Fingers clutched the undersuit of her armouring, grasping for the lingering traces of emotions - trying to hold onto water, slipping between fingers swiftly.

As it always did, replaced by logistical viewpoints and detachment to sufficiently observe and analyze any use such devastation might serve

I wonder when such madness, shall cease being quiet...

A placed meal and folded blanket laid affectionately nearby, surely offered in a gesture of quiet comfort. It took her an hour to even notice it.