#arvanitis

It was abandoned when he'd found it.

Of course, he'd known about the place for years – it had been left empty after Faxon began pulling troops inward. The king's paranoia brought most of his army close to Tarneroth, and the forts they'd occupied were left vacant and silent. By the time Arvanitis found himself needing someplace to hide, it had stood alone in the cold for nearly a decade. His crew needed someplace safe, secure, and constant to call home.

The stone of the fort had began to crumble in some places, the howling winds of the mountain seeping through the cracks and chilling even the innermost sanctums. Great hearths were cold and empty. The barracks were stripped of everything but the frames of their bunks, and any food was long since rotted or scavenged by the beasts great and small of the peaks.

But with no one else to challenge for it, the fort became home.

Little Daiyan, the Ten bless him, had slowly but surely practiced his magic upon the walls, sealing up the cracks and letting the fires' heat remain rather than slip out into the cold. Mordra's tamed breezes – on the days she'd been able to control them – had dusted out the nooks and crannies, and the snow from the paths. Loot began piling up, lumber surplussing past what they burned, and the food stores flowed with meats, breads, and mead.

Slowly, the abandoned building, lost in the northern peaks, filled once more with light and life.

Rage, like all other emotions, can be mastered. Bridled to serve rather than to rule. Any dragon with a shred of dignity and civility knows this.

But the flames of anger – no matter your element – can be...difficult to ignore. They are a great source of power, and the urge to let the madness of fury blind you in return for its strength is a call that even the most level-headed headed of us can find ourselves bowing to.

Especially when something precious is threatened.

I thought the years had tempered my soul, and given me greater control of my emotions. And for many of those years, I was right. But we all have our limits...our weaknesses.

My mortal partner was mine.

...I am not proud of my outburst. Or of my abandonment. But...my mind was clouded by hot vapors of rage so pure, I thought I would melt the earth beneath my feet. Ironic, given my elemental affinity. But no longer could I stay where memories dwelt. And by the time I returned to the land where he had fallen...the body was gone.

And my shame kept me from his flock.

I have learned my lesson of fury. The cost of letting it bend your will to its own. These years have been spent in isolation, in my element...and the icy winds of my homeland have tempered me at last. I know now with certainty that I can face my foes and remain stoic...refined...poised.

At first...it was like a fire. An inferno. Every waking moment I was consumed, driven, engulfed by a need for blood. Blood of the shadow elf, and blood of the king. The men who damned my captain, my leader...my father beyond blood. Who stole him from me. From all of us.

But none can deny that it was I he favored.

Arvanitis...forgive me. Forgive my weakness, that kept me from saving you. How many times did you save my life? And the one time you needed me...I was not there.

And now...I feel shame. The flames of my vengeance are dying. My heart is failing – my bravery faltering. Every day that does not see me to my goal – that only seem to take me farther from it – wear at my soul.

And soon I fear it will slip completely from my grasp.

How far I have fallen, Arvanitis...how greatly I have failed you. I do not deserve your forgiveness.

What can I feed this fire, that has smoldered down to coals? What is left in his miserable existence of mine to offer that I have not already given? I feel the cold closing in...and I have naught the strength to fight it.

Perhaps that is to be my end – embraced by the chill of failure and death. A death that may bring me closer to you. But surely my dishonor would keep me from your side for all time.

I am lost, Arvanitis...my revenge is dying.