rival spellcasters work their magic to conclude the First Race War.
But Good prevailing over Evil is far from being determined, as Fate and
live a life without regrets, it’s even harder to die a death with them.
Wizardly arrogance generally left them immune to misgivings, except
during times of great stress. With so much left undone, Maldoch started
regretting his many failures and conveniently skipped his many
failings. He bemoaned letting Omelchor so often gain the upper hand in
their eternal tussle; he lamented Parndolc’s stubborn rejection of
sobriety; and he bewailed missing the opportunity to fathom Garrich’s
unrealized potential. Most of all, he regretted being too busy as
Terrath’s watchdog to take the time to smell the tulips – they, not
roses, were his favorite flower.
The acute shortage
of air searing his lungs made Maldoch rethink the ideal of sacrificing
himself for the cause of Good. Dying with dignity reeked of
contradiction. There was nothing dignified about departing this life,
giving up the ghost without fighting to breathe your last. In fact, the
prospect of going to meet his maker did not faze him at all. His
intellect welcomed the thought of eternal rest, to be finally done with
battling badness. Yet his body rejected the sentence of death and
resumed its futile struggles as Maldoch’s composure finally cracked.
I’m too old to die! he screamed
in the quiet recesses of his mind.
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