Anger, rage, sorrow, betrayal, resentment, these were all they felt. Bound tightly in the enchanted bonds, the young adult looked upon the wizard with hard eyes and said just kill me and be done with it, finish what THEY started.
The wizard looked sadly upon the youth stating they would not die, but it was time they started to heal, and learned there was a gentler path to life. -- Anon Guest
It's easy to be angry, to paraphrase wise sages, at something you won't understand. When the opportunity for education is met with the pitchfork and burning torch, it's easy to brew rage. To grow it. To turn it into poison.
Once upon a time, such anger made a massacre. There were two survivors. One held captive by the other.
The Wizard kept the Fighter's hands and feet bound with magic, sheltering under a small overhang. The last of the fires burned under a cauldron, where a variety of stew was beginning. As for the rest of the battlefield, there was a great deal of death.
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