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EXTINGUISHED BY A BLACK HAND


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Spoiler

 

 

 

EXTINGUISHED BY A BLACK HAND

 


 

A vivid recollection of a seaside palace nestled between the palms of a remote overgrown resort came into view. The weather was clear, as always, and sat on the crumbling terrace were two dwarves who conversed over a glass of whiskey at an old table. Their words were warped as they weaved between the ocean breeze.

 

“Conan, It’s good to see you back here reunited with family…”

 

“Times are tough, as you can see. Akueli is dying because of Bakir’s greed…”

 

“Don’t listen to the lies, Conan. The Grand Kingdom is not what it used to be. This iteration is rotten, fueled by hypocrisy and blood. The only hope we have for our kin is here in Akueli…”

 

The scene continued for several more hours until the elder dwarf departed, leaving the other alone. Night fell, and as dawn broke upon the sea, the seaside resort was nothing but worn stone and overgrown tropical greenery. Atop the palm trees sat two dwarves upon a checkered tablecloth conversing over an Adrian-styled dish.

 

“You think you have what it takes to be Clanfather, boy…?”

 

Spoke the dwarf with golden eyes.

 

“You are young, malleable, and weak. You’ll become corrupted like the rest of them and bring shame to this family. Your goals are nothing special, and I doubt you truly see what our people need in this world.”

 

He berated the young dwarf coldly, speaking over him.

 

“You don’t have the guts to do what I did, to take risks for a chance at true freedom. You cling to the coattails of false idols, listening to them instead of family, and more importantly, yourself…”

 

“End it... end this pathetic family so I may be free of it!”

 

The fiery dwarf reached forward, his hands digging into the chest of the younger dwarf, hoisting him up toward the rising sun. As Torsun’s eyes stared into Thalgrim’s, the scene twisted as stone walls closed in around them, reminiscent of the family halls within Kal’Kadrelaz.

 

“You do not have what it takes to be Clanfather, Thalgrim. And for your worthlessness, I release you from your pitiful existence.”

 

His metal arms grinded with hatred as they kept the boy suspended, his jagged knuckles tearing into flesh and rupturing his internals in a gruesome show of blood and gore. In one slick motion, Thalgrim’s body was torn in two, showering the Machine of Death in crimson rain of his own cousin. Now standing tall upon the bodies of his own family, a disembodied metallic voice resonated throughout the hall.

 

“Does anyone here have what it takes to challenge me!?”

 

Whimpering was heard in the corner of the hall among the bodies, an old dwarf identical to the one seen in the seaside vision. Battered and bloodied, he crawled out from the corpses until his hands met something lifeless and cold. Slowly his vision panned up to the sight of his family’s butcherer, a dwarf warped and twisted by the gift of metal. Incoherently he begged for his life, his cries quickly extinguished as a metal foot came down upon his head.

 

“Mercy is disgusting.”

 

Silence washed over the bloodied hall as life ceased to be.


“With no other pretenders left to contest, I declare myself the last TRUE Goldhand and Clanfather. This weak lineage has met its end by my unforgiving hand, and with kin's blood staining my grasp, I embrace the name Blackhand. Let it be known that anyone foolish enough to dare revive this pitiful family will find themselves facing the very same doom that met them today.”

 

 


 

 

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