Abe had seen his wife murdered in front of him. Her attacker was shrouded in magic that gave him no substance. Abe had seen this nebulous thief drag his wife to the ground, the shadows had tugged at her hair, and then plunged something into her, something sharp, something fatal. He was beyond control, as he approached her limp body he tore a limb from a local bench, it would make a basic cudgel, normally he would never have had the strength to dismember a town seat, but he was riding a wave of desperation, the surf of adrenalin, at this point in time he could do anything his body mustered. Except save his wife. Like a dervish possessed he twirled around her body, as if performing a rite of passage with a piece of gnarled and splintered wood.
He was making a vain attempt at striking the veiled terror that had run his wife through. His tears were distributed evenly in a circle, almost anointing the ground where she lay. Her deathbed was stone, hard, cold and unforgiving. He was the priest administering the last rites.
He was the husband, broken inside, longing for her touch again, waiting for her smile to make everything seem all right. As his metabolism slowed and his energy seeped into the cracks in the paving slabs, he slowly withered, like a beanstalk in the sun, with a heavy pod. His final slump was one of extreme gentleness, as he enveloped her body with his. Drive the sword again, he pleaded with Amon. Take me with her, I want to go with her. His age crept up on him whilst he was unaware. He wanted to die so badly, his heart was already a shattered vase, his soul ached to be with his wife again.
After what seemed like an eternity of sorrow, someone must’ve pulled Abe off her, and cleared up and sorted him out, because he awoke from his grief ridden stupor in his house, with other town folk milling about organising things, clearing things up and generally nattering away with each other in some strange language Abe didn’t understand. The language appeared to be casual speak, not fear encrusted hatred of all things living, especially all things transparent. He waited for it to all go quiet and he vowed he would find the one who did this to him. As old as he was, he would live to see his wife’s assailant be brought to justice. Even if it meant absorbing arcane magic himself to remain on this world.
Abe could hardly get on with life again, he just existed. His thoughts constantly on that day, and the proceedings. When news reached him of a strange man in custody of one of the local clerics over at Lunas, he was empowered to get dressed and go out and see this mans face, see if he could recognise the shape of his features and match those against the mouldings of air on that fateful day. He travelled like a balloon on the hottest air. Swift and with an agenda. He approached Lunas with the posture of a hungry animal.
With tears of hate welling up inside him, he approached a group of citizens encircling a wiry elf in dark clothing. He recognised Sister Ann Bright, the cleric, as she poured scorn and accusation down on this dark traveller, he recognised Fade Moonbow, an elven ranger girl who seemed to always be at Sister Ann’s side and he recognised Aahz an oddly built man with raw power in his gait. The robe Aahz wore seemed strangely big and effeminate for his completely manly build. But still it added an air of righteousness to him.
He could almost taste the blood of his wife melting over his tongue.
As Abe studied the darkened elf he could see the flare of hate encircle his head like a halo of fire. He could almost taste the blood of his wife melting over his tongue. The size of the offender seemed appropriate, the hooded face, with protruding features almost made him retch up bile as he fit the pointed features to the space in his memory where the transparent killer had been.
When he found out that this man had his wife’s necklace on his possession, Abe was fuelled from within, as a spark of bloodlust lit his bonfire of hatred. This man, whose tongue danced around excuses and whose lies exuded from him like a green suffocating mist, this man, killed his wife, for that he was certain.
Before anyone had noticed Abe was lunging forward with the power of a forest bear, his fingers would crush this demons windpipe before he would utter another lie. Before he would silently kill again for trinkets and baubles. The blood in his veins on his forehead, pounded out a war dance for Abe to follow, like a child after the smell of Woodland taffy. He would gorge himself in this mans blood, like that child in the sugary sickly sweetness.
A strike to the mans head was all he could muster before Fade and Aahz stepped in and restrained them both. The dark clad elf shrugged it off, like he’d seen much worse. Abe’s age rapidly threw a shroud of tiredness around him, he could hardly breathe, he was so bitter the air could not feed his hatred with enough oxygen to carry on. With his body empty like that of a flannel wrung dry, he bowed his head, and he cried for all the times with his wife, he will never have again. It was time to wait for the judge to arrive. This elf would be tried in a court of law.