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Epitaph of Anguish: Embers Rise and the Sky Shatters like Porcelain

The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.

Translation of the Language of the Court: "௹|☌ლ✽ლ|Δ☌∀Δ-♠✤|☊♠☊࿏|ლ✤⑄|... ࿏♠☌|Δ☌∀Δ-✤|ლ✤⑄|...|࿏♠௹ლ✤∀|₴ლ|☌ლ∪-☊࿏♠-⑄ლ|₴ლ|v-vლ☌ლ..." "a rege propius nunc est ... cur propius est ... quaeso me relinquite me vivere ..." "he is closer now. By King,... why is he closer...please let me live..."

"₴♠⑄ლ⑄...|₴♠⑄ლ⑄...|࿏♠☌|☊∀☊|₴♠⑄௹|⑄?|ˠ-ƒლ∪-✤|ˠ♠-.|Δლ☌|☌ლ✽ლ₴,|ˠ-ƒ♠✤|ˠ♠-.|Δ௹|☌࿏ლ,|࿏♠௹|ლ✤∀,|௹ ꃼ|☄∀࿏|ˠ-☊ლ|⑄ლ☊ლꃼ☌௹|☌♠₴!" "Mutet... mutet... Cur non mutat? Fidelis fui. Per regem, fidus fui. Parce, quaeso, ab hoc fine tenebrarum!" "Let it change... let it change... why does it not change? I have been loyal. By King, I have been loyal. Spare me from this end of darkness I beg of you!"

"₴ლ☊ƒ௹࿏-♠₴!|₴ლ☊ƒ௹࿏-♠₴|....|₴ლ☊ƒ௹࿏-♠₴|....|∀₴☊ლ|₴ლ☊ƒ௹࿏-♠₴|....|☌ლ>|₴ლ♠✤|☊∀☊|ƒლˠ♠-⑄.|☊∀☊|₴ლ☌ლ∀☌|₴∀☌-.|∀₴☊ლ✤|₴ლ☊ƒ௹࿏-♠₴..." "Mendacium! Mendacium .... mendacium .... omne mendacium .... Rex meus non defuit. Non mereor mori. Omnes mendacium..." "A Lie! A lie... a lie... all a lie... I did not fail my King. I do not deserve to die. All a lie..." 

A௹ Bꃼ C࿏ Dƒ Eლ Fˠ G✽ H☄ I- J∅ K࿏ L∪ M₴ N☊ O∀ PΔ Q࿏ R☌ S✤ T⑄ U♠ Vv W♅ X> Yω Z⋰ Space: |  

௹ꃼ࿏ƒლˠ✽☄-∅࿏∪₴☊∀Δ࿏☌✤⑄♠v♅>ω⋰|  

_-_-_

drip... drip... drip...

The flask at Anguish's hip leaked just enough to leave a trail of high proof alcohol in between smatterings of ichor.

drip.... drip... drip...

The streets surrounding him were either ignorant of his condition, or too shitfaced to care.

drip... drip... drip...

Or perhaps, the credit was to go with the translucent sick-veil he shrouded his face with. Either way, he felt like a ghost as he wandered, attentionless, through the street.

drip... drip...

he'd run out. and stepped aside into a nearby alleyway. He looked up at the clouded sky, and quietly thanked his distant King that his court Doctor was safe away from the red court, hidden on the border of the Capitol so that he could be met later.

It had taken years for all of this to come to fruition. A part of him still regretted what he was about to do. A part of him still missed and longed for his life before. That brief, but fondly remembered period when the King had been well and free. Those fleeting moments he recalled of his youth where there had been warmth and happiness existing around the other lords, and when there had been no Ambassador to steal it all away. He knew that wishing, however, would amount to nothing. It was too late now. What was lost was lost. What was taken, was taken and had been gone for so long, that there was no returning it. He believed, though, that if he could at least find some form of vengeance... there would be peace in his own mind, rather than those clawing, damaging thoughts and clinging nightmares.

Anguish took a strike-a-light out of his coat pocket, and picked up an old, now black-smattered paper he'd been standing over, crumpling it and setting it down near the entrance of the alley where the last of his alcohol had pattered upon the ground. at that point, he kneeled, and with a bit of fumbling, struck the stone within with the curved piece of metal just as the Doctor showed him. The moment the sparks hit the dark residue of his corrosive ichor, the paper burst into flames, burning hot and bright, the flames travelling fast down the streets, spreading into a complex of twisting, fiery trails that filled the trenches of the cobbled road like fast-growing lichen across the lines of that evening's festival. Not long after, the wooden pillars of the nearby bar were beginning to catch and so, at long last, the Black Lord walked calmly out from the alley, strolling through the burning streets as flames twisted with angry yellows and joyful reds, destroying everything in their path.