Location: Fanghorn, Kindeance
“I understand.” said Solomon briefly before he briskly exited the ruined dining hall. As he did so, he could hear the shuffled movement of the others as they collected their belongs. Packs shifted and armaments rattled as they left the keep one by one. Solomon knew that he might require a little more time than that what Matilda had expected. He couldn’t blame her though, Solomon’s words made it sound as though Chounan still stood among the living. Solomon also knew, otherwise. The only reason he would be able to hear the words of the samurai is if he had fallen.
It did not take long to find Chounan. His figured sat hunched over his own sword, blood dripping from the blade, soaking into the fabric of his trousers. Viscous flow of deep red pools around his face, his eyes closed, almost relaxed as though the pain he just endured meant nothing. It was a strange sight to behold. As Solomon looked over the scene, it was obvious what had happened. It wasn’t an antagonistic ploy, Chounan had decided to do this to himself. Solomon could not fathom why. What regrets could he have to have committed such an act here and now?
Solomon regained his composure as he took several steps forward, dropping to his knees once he reached chounan’s body. He repositioned the samurai, carefully holding the blade to prevent further damage. Though Solomon arrived as quickly as he could, Chounan had already lost so much blood. To further the dire in the situation, Solomon’s supplies were low. He resorted to using the samurai’s own kimono to help with some of the bandaging. Carefully, Solomon removed the blade and sewed the man together again. Though time was ticking, Solomon worked as diligently as he could. He needed to stop further blood loss. When he was finally done, Solomon’s sleeves were soaked in blood. The samurai lay on his back similarly so. The blade that committed the act lay across the room.
When all was said and done, Chounan was still lifeless upon the cold stone floor. If Cedar were here, he could take over and fully heal the stitches. Perhaps then the samurai could have a better chance. As it were, it would take a miracle. One that Solomon could not provide. It irked the necromancer to know that not only was this death preventable, but that Chounan had committed it himself. To make it worse, Solomon lacked the skill and power he needed to circumvent this death.
“You may have chosen this path for your honor...” said Solomon softly. For the moment where Solomon started to treat the wound, Chounan protested from beyond his grave. However, Solomon refused to listen. He did not know of the foreign ways Chounan attempted to explain, and did not care to. However, now that Solomon had expended all he could, it was left to him. “I will not offer you undeath. I do not understand your motivations, but if you find your path unclear, perhaps you may find a way to draw breath once again.”
Solomon slowly stood back up, his hands resting on his own knees for support. Even after all Solomon had done, Chounan lay peacefully upon the ground. Given the best of Solomon’s efforts, Chounan’s body lay stitched and bandaged. One way or another, the choice of life was within the hands of the samurai. Solomon removed the canteen, using the remaining swallows of water to wash his hands of the blood, though his sleeves started to stiffen as the blood coagulated.
Solomon returned to the dining hall. Petra and the shadow that was once above the keep were waiting. There were signs of others, but none could be seen. Even the surface where Reinhold layed was empty.
“They left.” said Petra.
“I know.” replied Solomon somberly. He sighed and turned his head enough that it cracked audibly. “Let us catch up with them. I’ve done all I can.” Solomon then focused as his body turned black as though he were nothing by a silhouette, his figure becoming nondescript. Without any further conversation form either Petra or the shadow, the shadow began to also become nondescript. It enveloped Solomon, their two forms merging into a levitating black mass. Petra finally left from her place near the stairwell and walked out of the keep like the party had done before her. The formless shadow collapsed into the ground, zipping in a straight line out of the keep towards the city gate, where the others would either be near, or not too far past. Petra cast flight on herself, and took to the air just enough to fly in a straight line the same direction. Solomon would arrive with the others first, but Petra would not be too far behind.
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