"One End, One Beginning"

His blue hair singed, and coat in tatters, Ieh'son staggered outside of the citadel.  His weapons were heavy.  Dropping Twin Hex to the ground, the swords once forged by the demi-gods themselves clanged and clattered unceremoniously on the broken pavement.  Dust and sweat invaded every fabric of his bones, and the stench of burned-out gears, stretched leather, and dead bodies overwhelmed his lungs.  Destruction was everywhere.  It was appropriate to the destruction this war had caused, both here and in his homeland.  So many sacrificed, so much potential wasted.  For all the small gains, what a terrible loss.

Ieh'son laughed.  He laughed because if tears were shed, he would fill oceans within the Void.  He laughed because if he screamed in rage, the entire Nine Hells would cower in fear.  He laughed, desperately trying to hold onto his humanity for all it was worth.  After what he had seen, even the smallest amount was worth salvaging.

"You tried." Durr said, wading his huge body through the mutilated throng of war.  There was not a fleeting touch of sympathy or victory in his voice, merely resignation, weariness, and trepidation.

"I succeeded," Ieh'son shrugged helplessly.  "I unearthed knowledge not seen since two ages ago, sacrificed thousands of lives, and lost the one person who truly loved me."

"And you destroyed him." The half-minotaur said, with a touch of confusion reaching his tone.  Ieh'son nodded, and shrugged again.

"He,"  the blue haired mage caught himself, "It, was merely a tool.  An illusion for an evil much  more ancient and sinister.  Yirshen was right, his soul was forfeit a long time ago."  They stood there, listening to the sounds of the dying fading on the wind, replaced by a silence that was more deafening than all of the machines from the war.  Baen, the arcanist who had destroyed entire legions of Delim Tar'lith's army with a single wave of hand, approached cautiously.  He watched as Ieh'son gave a small gesture, and the swords Twin Hex vanished into the dust, while Gleam Scythe appeared in Ieh'son's hand.

Ieh'son sighed as he felt the healing magick's flow into him.  He grinned tiredly at Baen's look of wonder.  "You can study them soon, my friend, if you plan on following me," he said.

"Where will you go now, Blue Hair?"  Durr asked, raising his axe and signaling what was left of his war band to prepare to move.

"West,"  Ieh'son said, studying the fine groves of Gleam Scythe's handle, "I need to finish what I began.  Even though it's true beginning is much older,  I must be it's conclusion."  Baen looked confused, but Durr simply nodded.

"One end, One beginning,"  He sighed, as if recanting something everyone had always told him, "an old saying in the War Band."  Ieh'son let go of Gleam Scythe as he began to walk, and it vanished before the blade touched the dirt.  He looked to the West and grimaced, knowing that his journey was far from over, and dreading the unknown toward which he was walking.

"I will follow you, friend,"  he heard Baen behind him, and he glanced back to see Durr nodding in agreement.

"Our homeland is in the west, as well,"  Durr said, his voice returned to the solid steel and iron that Ieh'son was used to,  "The War Band will travel with you until we must part ways."  Ieh'son managed a grateful half-smile.  Allies were few in the Western Lands, and enemies were bound to be plentiful.