The Purifiers

Chapter 5: Rising From the Ashes (Scene 1)

Midnight. A sea of clouds have come in within the last hour and draped the sky in a blanket so black that neither the moon nor the stars dare show themselves. A flicker, a trace of light, a single flame rousing to life, dancing along a series of piled sticks and calling all of its merry little friends to dance with it. What started as a single spark soon erupts into a myriad. E'Sarinn stands a safe distance away, watching, the ballet of fire reflected in his dark eyes.

"Another funeral pyre?" Rock stands not far away without a shirt or any boots. Of course why would he need any? Not even the mosquitoes nor the rocks could penetrate skin harder than a rock. "Didn't expect to see two on this night."

After the slight tilt of his head to obtain visuals on the Dwarf, E'Sarinn returns his focus to the melody of flames before him. "Nor did I expect to see any others out this far."

Rock sticks his pinky in his ear. "Yeah, well, there was too much talking at the other one." He takes a closer look at the pyre. "Wait, uh, is that your scythe in there?"

"Broken beyond repair in the battle earlier tonight." The Elf closes his eyes. "So I give tribute to its service and pay my respects."

Rock scratches his head. "Oh wow, seems a little excessive for just some weapon, don't you think?"

E'Sarinn opens his eyes again, his gaze still fixated on the blaze before him. "Even weapons have an essence to them. The forger gives it life, its wielder purpose, and finally even death. Weapons can hold just as many stories as those who wield them. That scythe meant as much to me as any other living being in this world."

Rock shrugs. "Yeah, whatever. Fair enough. So why a funeral pyre? Isn't that more a Dwarven thing? I thought you Elves bury your dead or something."

"Returning a body to the ground to complete the circle of life," smirks E'Sarinn. "Yes, that would indeed be very Elven of me. Though considering Horchurinn's origins, this seemed fitting."

There's silence. E'Sarinn turns to see the blank expression on the face of Rock. Turning back towards the flames the Elf continues. "Horchurinn was the name of the scythe, at least at the time of its end. When we first met, its name had been Horchugun, wielded by Baergun of the Empire's Flame, perhaps the strongest Dwarf I have ever had the honor of facing in a direct one on one confrontation. He wielded the scythe so well I could tell that both weapon and wielder had great power. Though in the end the fates decided in my favor, things could have easily gone the other way. In the end, I claimed Horchurinn as my own, hoping its strength would serve me as well as it did its former master. He did."

"So you're the one." Hearing the question E'Sarinn turns to face the Dwarven mass of muscle. "You're the one who killed him."

The body of E'Sarinn switches from relaxed to on guard. His eyes narrow. "Knew him well, did you?"

"You can say that. He took in me and my kid sister after Elves butchered our parents. Raised us. Looked after us. Never showed us any weapons though. Said he'd hope we might find some measure of peace after everything we'd been through." Rock looks down at his fist.

E'Sarinn doesn't take his eyes off the Dwarf. "So now what? Revenge?"

"Heh. What for?"

The tension in the shoulders of E'Sarinn eases and right eye brow raises. "You mean --"

"He said he wanted peace for us, but that kind of peace is just an illusion. The only peace is in death. So me and sis got good with our fists instead. I respected him, sure. But it was war, and not like you killed him in his sleep or anything. You said you killed him in a one on one fight. Can't think of it being fairer than that. So doesn't sound like you have anything to be sorry about. And who knows, maybe you gave him the peace he wanted for us."

E'Sarinn smiles. "You have a very enlightened way to look at things."

"Naw, nothing like that," Rock grumbles. "I just don't have enough hate to waste on that kind of stuff. I save it for those who truly deserve it."