Chains of Fate Vol. III
Oris of Wethrinshael
"Did you miss me?"
Never before had Death’s clutches held him so loosely. When he awoke in the bowels of Hell with the blade of a Demon Prince’s lieutenant held in his backwards hands, he knew that something was not right. He had done all that he thought was right, but somehow he had been wrong. Perhaps, he’d thought, he should not have killed a king to appease a god that once had served, as he had, as an angel. Perhaps he should not have betrayed the tenants of Pelor. Perhaps he should have let Kat suffer an eternity of torment and suffering beyond the wildest imaginings of depravity…
No. He knows in his heart that he acted right. The Wethrinshael had never been strictly held to the tenants of Pelor, though he knew that were certainly aspects that were too concrete, even for them. Was this one? Certainly it was. If not, why would he have returned as on of the Rakshasa, the Hated? Well, Pelor’s Light may have left him, he may have lost his god, but his god would not lose him, not yet. Oris would do what need be done. He would avenge the will of Pelor against Nagil and Tharizdun, as he knew now was always his destiny. Then, when he was done, he would avenge his own betrayal of Pelor, and he would finally slip into that state of being he had never known.
All of this and more he thought even as he saw the unconscious body of Argos, the man he had once called a friend being dragged to potential salvation. Not if he could help it. A growl resonated across the chamber as Oris leaped toward the last two Jannisaries…