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The sound of metal clinking against metal echoes throughout the inn room. Belts are fastened, armor is fitted, and a solitary man's heavy footsteps shake the very foundation of the unsuspecting building. The final piece leans against the wall: the greatsword, unfathomably heavy with the blood of the fallen, its unblinking eye ever seeking more. Armor-clad claws, blacker than the abyss, grip it with unwavering purpose. Anticipation. Delight. He can feel the sword grin. Soon it will feast.
He'd been waiting for this since the day he was born.
For your sake, Rhiki... Please stay asleep for just a little while longer.
Fray wastes no time departing. The innkeep hardly recognizes the man who checked into the room, only able to identify him by his warm red hair and the ominous sword pressed against his back. Fray leaves without a word, his mismatched eyes fixed firmly on the task at hand. His aura threatens to crush anyone who gets too close, and passersby watch in awe as this small miq'ote commands such a presence.
It won't be long.
Fray concentrates, and aligns his aether with that of the large aetherite crystal in Forgotten Springs. He feels himself pass into the aether currents, then the golden sand beneath his heavy feet as he materializes. He lifts his head, his very pores seeping with rage, and strides through the gate to the Sagolii Desert. He pays little heed to the tittering and twittering of the U tribe around him, let alone the harsh desert sun threatening to roast him alive. Fray grins to himself. Soon the sands will drink deep, the parched land's thirst quenched tenfold.
Please stay asleep.
The unforgiving star beats relentlessly against Fray's jet black armor. The heat reflected off of the sands push back into Fray's face as he presses forward, shoving through the burning tides through the sheer force of his rage. By the time he sees the tents of his tribe in the distance, the fatigued sun begins to paint the sky orange, purple, and red.
“I'll dye the heavens themselves,” Fray says out loud. “The very stars you love so much will taste the bitterness of those who have wronged us.”
Just as long as you stay asleep.
The children gaze at him in awe as he approaches. Their mothers shush them and turn them away, murmuring and chatting worriedly as their ears flatten and tails bristle with fear. Fray advances towards the Nunh's tent, heavy clanking footsteps accompanied by the frightened sounds from growing crowds. The Nunh comes out to meet him, hearing the discontent outside the canvas walls.
“What a homecoming!” Fray exclaims, his voice laden with contempt. “Thank you for deigning me with your presence, father.” The miq'ote tribe leader stands a full foot and a half taller than Fray, deep amber eyes glaring daggers at his progeny.
“What is the meaning of this, Tia?” the Nunh hisses back, denying Fray the dignity of his own name. Fray shrugs exaggeratedly.
“Whatever do you mean, dear father?” he spits. His venomous words burn holes in the sand where they fall. “This is merely how I've pledged myself to the 'betterment of superior life.' Is this not what you wanted, dear Nunh?” The tribe leader visibly bristles with anger and irritation.
“You know gods damned well that this is not what we raised you for.”
Just a little longer.
“Oh? Not what you raised me for?”
Please stay asleep.
“What did you raise me for then?”
Please let me do this.
“To serve, to save, to slave?”
Let me do this for you. For us.
“To be little else than animal stock? Meat for the hungry? Labor for the lazy? Flesh for the lascivious?”
Let me free you from your shackles, Rhiki...
“I will gladly serve the betterment of 'superior' life. And I will do so-”
I can't bear to see you like this.
“-by letting this twisted tradition end with me.”
I love you too much to see you suffer so.
In a flash, Fray lunges forward, Deathbringer outstretched, and sinks his blade through the chest of the Nunh. He gasps as his ribs crack and his lungs fill with blood, looking up into Fray's eyes with horror and disbelief before they see their last and roll back in their sockets. Screams fill the air as the gravity of the situation sets in to the citizenry. The dark sword drinks deeply of the Nunh's sinful blood before turning to those who stand closest.
Keep your eyes closed.
One by one, systematically, Fray culls the men, women, even the children of the T tribe. The thick running blood warms the rapidly cooling sands, paints the tents, drips from Fray's night-black armor. Deathbringer murmurs with glee as the last of the anguished screams fades away into the desert.
...Fray?
T'rhiki rubs his face sleepily, and the sensation of something wet and sticky across his cheek snaps him back to reality.
“Fray? Where are we? What's going on?!” He looks around to see a field of corpses surrounding him, a sated Deathbringer at the epicenter of the disaster.
“What did you do...”
In disbelief, T'rhiki looks at his armor-clad hands stained with blood and viscera.
“Fray, what did you do...?” he gasps as his throat clenches shut. He falls to his knees as he tries to scream, but not a sound escapes him. His disbelief-stricken eyes wander to the sky, seeking the tried and true comfort of the stars.
T'rhiki finds no solace in his old friends as the sky glows faintly red, his once happy stars now like twinkling rubies against burgundy silk.