"I came to kill."
The Myrian's answer was simple, and Razkar made it sound as valid and expected as any answer Vanator could have given. The more he learned of the Myrians, the more alien they seemed. Violence was not only a necessary part of life for Razkar, it was purpose, it was religion. The westerner was not evil, certainly. He did not kill for pleasure, though Razkar certainly did derive joy in battle, and even in killing an enemy. There was a virtue about his lethal purposes, an honor that one would not see at first look at the pierced and inked warrior. The Drykas did not fully understand it, but he was beginning to.
"Some time think was mistake. But most time? Not think so."
Doubt. It was a human quality, and it appeased Vanator to see that the Myrian was not just a killing machine. Razkar may not have been as different as the horseman had thought. Vanator took the offered Zith meat, now accustomed to the taste and grateful for the gracious meal. Then the Myrain surprised him again.
"Why you hate them?"
Vanator's dark eyes shot up to Razkar, who's smile further cracked the image of the mindless war machine. Van hesitated. Though certainly the other residents at Sanctuary knew some of his story, and how he came to be at Riverfall. But only Kavala knew everything. The Drykas realized that, maybe because the Myrian was so unlike everyone else, unattached to anything around them, he would be a ideal ear for Vanator's venting.
"The Zith have taken much from me." Vanator began, staring into the fire, his eyes no longer seeing the flames, but memories. "They killed my wife." Not only his wife, but the love of his life. No one that came afterwards had changed that. "She had tried to fight back. I thank the gods that they killed her and left her body." Vanator had seen first-hand what the Zith did to captured females. "I was not there to defend her." That was what brought death to his soul, he was not there. Old wounds were torn open as the Drykas spoke. "Then, a year ago, I was attacked. They killed my Strider and took me alive." Vanator's jaws clenched visibly, his hand gripping the Zith meat so hard it creaked. "They used me to try to breed slaves. But I supposed they found me too resistant. They should have killed me, but it was determined that I was worth something alive, so they traded me to slavers at the beginning of this season. That is where Kavala found me. So, I guess like you, I have a certain need to kill too."
Van tore a large chunk of meat from the strip and gnawed on it vigorously.
The Myrian's answer was simple, and Razkar made it sound as valid and expected as any answer Vanator could have given. The more he learned of the Myrians, the more alien they seemed. Violence was not only a necessary part of life for Razkar, it was purpose, it was religion. The westerner was not evil, certainly. He did not kill for pleasure, though Razkar certainly did derive joy in battle, and even in killing an enemy. There was a virtue about his lethal purposes, an honor that one would not see at first look at the pierced and inked warrior. The Drykas did not fully understand it, but he was beginning to.
"Some time think was mistake. But most time? Not think so."
Doubt. It was a human quality, and it appeased Vanator to see that the Myrian was not just a killing machine. Razkar may not have been as different as the horseman had thought. Vanator took the offered Zith meat, now accustomed to the taste and grateful for the gracious meal. Then the Myrain surprised him again.
"Why you hate them?"
Vanator's dark eyes shot up to Razkar, who's smile further cracked the image of the mindless war machine. Van hesitated. Though certainly the other residents at Sanctuary knew some of his story, and how he came to be at Riverfall. But only Kavala knew everything. The Drykas realized that, maybe because the Myrian was so unlike everyone else, unattached to anything around them, he would be a ideal ear for Vanator's venting.
"The Zith have taken much from me." Vanator began, staring into the fire, his eyes no longer seeing the flames, but memories. "They killed my wife." Not only his wife, but the love of his life. No one that came afterwards had changed that. "She had tried to fight back. I thank the gods that they killed her and left her body." Vanator had seen first-hand what the Zith did to captured females. "I was not there to defend her." That was what brought death to his soul, he was not there. Old wounds were torn open as the Drykas spoke. "Then, a year ago, I was attacked. They killed my Strider and took me alive." Vanator's jaws clenched visibly, his hand gripping the Zith meat so hard it creaked. "They used me to try to breed slaves. But I supposed they found me too resistant. They should have killed me, but it was determined that I was worth something alive, so they traded me to slavers at the beginning of this season. That is where Kavala found me. So, I guess like you, I have a certain need to kill too."
Van tore a large chunk of meat from the strip and gnawed on it vigorously.
