My heart just wasn't in it. It was everything I look for in a mission: a worthy foe, excellent coordination, a specific and daring objective, and gods yes, an exit strategy that we all agreed upon. Even Kheops the Paladin, he whom we often had to drag out of the temple (unconscious or otherwise), was satisfied with just the dragon. And what a dragon it was! An elder white with breath as cold as the Scandinavian dawn and a tail that could snap a troll in two. It was almost beautiful. The tracers of light from Euranna's swings inscribed a composition of bravado and glory in the crisp midnight, punctuated with roars of agony from the great lizard as the blade bit into the neck.
I even bring home a souvenir – enough hide to fashion a new suit of beautiful white scale to match the well-worn black. Sorak grinned at me like a madman as he carved out his own piece. “It's better quality than the black, you know. If those fucking Norse think they can't lay a finger on me now, just wait until they meet me wearing this!” Good ol' Sorak, priorities always in the right place.
Speaking of madmen, Helmut swaggered up to me as we prepared to leave, laughing at some private jest with his sword (which, he claims, talks to him in a voice that only he can hear) “Hey Fjord, wanna lick my sword clean? HAR!” But as I stated, my heart wasn't in it. The usual snide comebacks weren't forthcoming, and I didn't feel like playing along by actually having a taste of the blood. Instead, I ignored him, and he was soon distracted by an opportunity to make offensive gestures toward Kella. “Maybe she'd like to lick my sword, eh? Or she might if her face wasn't buried between Cedrica's legs all the time. HAR!”
The thrill of victory eluded me. I had hoped that rushing back into battle would be therapeutic after my death at the hands of that vile lich. The humiliation of dying with nary a scratch on me was a chilling reminder that each moment was heavy with mortality. Why would the gods give any individual the power to kill without contact? A wave of a hand, a few dark mutterings and Fjord falls lifeless to the earth. What prevents this from happening again? They tell me they got him in the end, that the battle was a great victory. It consoles me not at all. And slaying this dragon wasn't slaying my inner demons.
It won't be long before the real battle begins. Time to put these thoughts aside. Soon I can rest, but for now, the daily bloodbath continues.
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