Death After Death

Mentally and Morally, Simon was deeply opposed to blood magic, but after he’d seen what the Murani had done with some of their spells, he understood the appeal. Whether he was willing to do something like that to an actual human was out of the question, but a goblin was something he was more open to, even if he hadn’t decided one way or the other.

Thanks to the coma he’d drifted in and out of for who knew how long, what should have been a desperate need to devour their life force was just the slightest tickle at the back of his skull. That wasn’t the driver. It was that he’d allowed secrecy to stymy his creativity in his final years in Ionar. Until that final battle, he’d worked hard to keep his secrets under wraps for reasons that were both personal and political.

If he’d had the chance to run back to his rooms, he could have retrieved some of the rune-carved arrowheads he’d crafted to try. They weren’t quite grenades or shoulder-fired missiles or anything, but it would have been fun to see them in action just the same. Simon had other ideas, too. Honestly, he probably had too many. He still wasn’t sure how far he wanted to go down the road of magical warfare, but he did kind of want to test some of his ideas out on the little green vermin while they were around.

They could help him lose weight. He definitely needed that. Being back at the beginning of things felt like he’d been shoved into someone else’s body. He no longer recognized, or even identified with, who he’d been when he’d come here.

It is nice to feel young again, though, Simon thought as he walked outside and into the sunlight.

He’d felt old for so long that he’d kind of forgotten what it was like. He’d just stayed fiftyish for a decade. Even with his excess weight now, he could feel the difference in his joints and in his lungs, and for a while, he just stood there, feeling the breeze and the heat of the sun play upon his skin.

It was only when he felt revitalized that he walked to the stream. This time, it wasn’t to fish or get some cool, clean water. He just wanted that soft, clean sand to draw in as he tried to come up with the right tool for the job.

He had a sword and a dagger, and though neither one was of particular quality, they were both acceptable enough to be imprinted with magic. The question was what spell to fix them with. Having grown old more than once now, Simon was becoming stingy with his years, and he wasn’t so happy to fritter them away as he had in the past.

“Age catches up to you quick, even on runs where my not-wife doesn’t make me wait a for A FUCKING DECADE to see my son,” he grumbled to himself.