Chapter Text
I'm rather against this, you know. Scrawling out the sordid tale. Dwelling on it so long after I've escaped and, more importantly, I've won. Cazador Szarr treats with maggots, as dead as I could make him with a dagger and two centuries worth of vengeance. His spawn are freed upon Faerun, for better or worse. His house stands empty and rotting as his corpse. I've ruined him thrice. Betimes I muse about returning just to set the place ablaze. After all, accidents happen in abandoned dwellings.
And yet I wake at night feeling the cold of the Szarr crypt, stone closing in like a weighted trap. A blade catches the light just so and I remember– ////////////////////////////
I remember too much.
Tav has been insufferable in their support, the fiend. They've promised not to read any of this. As though it will make a difference.
This is egregious. I might as well be talking to myself. Farewell, ineffectual parchment and ink pot! My quill is best suited elsewhere.