Epilogue: The Yuan-Ti

Chromatic energy continued to pulse out from the bell tower as Toorilkov leaped out of the closest window; his grandfather’s sword grasped firmly in his hand. As he feather-fell towards the scorched earth, supernatural things continued to happen all around. An arid smell filled his nostrils as the surrounding sea turned green and acidic. He could only float and watch as the whole army and all of their mighty warships melted down in an instant. Hundreds of warriors, his friends, his brothers and sisters, gone…  just like that. 

His kind; the Yuan-ti, were always pinned as “the bad guys, the aggressors”. Well this mass murder at the hands of the new World Dragon was cheered and celebrated. Toorilkov was now one of the last of his kind. The others: Trasta and her “pacifists” also celebrated this tragedy. In his eyes, he was the last of his kind. The few Yuan-ti that made it off the ships continued to be mauled and gunned down by the library’s golems and Trasta’s Tau’s.

Many pangs of sadness were felt, but this next one hurt the most. The white blade of the sword turned a crimson red, a pattern made as if splotched with blood. Toorilkov felt it in his heart: Tt’ubokyul has died. Until recently, he had never met him, only heard stories from his father, Tooril. He hadn’t even known Tt’ubokyul was alive until a couple months ago. No one had. But in his short time serving with him, Tootilkov knew that Tt’ubokyul wasn’t the monster everyone always painted him as: this warmongering genocidal maniac. He did what he did for the good of his people; to save them from persecution and exile on that hellish island. Now he and all of the people he fought so hard to protect were dead.

An anger filled Toorilkov; fueled, unbeknownst to him, by the power from Tt’ubokyul’s sword. Now that Tt’ubokyul, the one previously attuned to it, was dead, Toorilkov was now it’s owner, and he gained Tt’ubokyul’s strength. As he landed, Toorilkov did not scamper into the woods like some cowardly rat, he charged towards his enemies with fury. As his lineage would have done. When the dust settled, you could barely tell the area was a beach. Shattered stone and glass, broken circuitry and metal, scales, blood, and bones.

His bloodlust fading and with a great sigh, Toorilkov looked back towards the Library of Jakardia one last time. He saw a large, dark blue tail shoot into the sky. It was time to leave. He grabbed whatever supplies he could from the area and tore off into the woods. The World Dragon would be after him and the sword next. A sword forged by Tt’ubokyul from a scale of the dying Ouranos: it was the only part of him Toorilkov had left. Now it and it’s legacy were carried by Toorilkov. He would make sure his people’s killers got what was coming to them. The traitors would be first. He started with Trasta.