A Chosen Tool
Orthael stopped by a small crossroads, the signpost and its accompanying shrine to the Fire covered in a sick, black tar. It oozed away from the point of Judgement, peeling back wetly when he swung it close and returning when he lifted it away.
Distantly, he was aware of a faint alarm. In his contemplation and studies there had been numerous mentions of this substance - but all attempts to recall them faded before the peaceful calm that seemed to blanket the world now.
He tried again, aware that this was important. But the concern and insistence seemed to belong to a man, just a man, and he was something greater now: an agent of the All-Consumer, chosen and prepared and transformed for just this point in time.
Just this point in time.
He listened to the flame that illuminated his days and chose the centre path. His Judgement burned a little brighter, as if to light the way.
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