It is over. I have yearned for this moment for three long years, and now, it is finally over. The man, the beast, he who was once known as the Black Tide draws breath no more. Struck down by my own hands, a deserving revenge, lavishly extracted... A revenge that tasted sweeter than the sweetest wine.
What irony, to witness the man, whose name was enough to raise fear and dread in the most stout of hearts, now crawling like a worm on the deck of his so fearful ship, tearfully begging for mercy and forgiveness. Pathetic. It was too late for that. There was no mercy, no sympathy to be given, no forgiveness for his deeds; Naught but a slow, painful, agonizing death. A life, for a life.
It must have been a breathtaking sight to behold from Pelargir. A majestic Haradaic battleship engulfed in hungry flames that lavishly turned wood to cinders, vainly trying to satisfy their destructive hunger; and in the midst of this mayhem, a man with eyes torn, stumbling, wailing, and burned alive amidst piles of plunder, and the corpses of his men.
I write these lines in a small, peaceful room, in a tavern in the middle of nowhere, feeling a soothing calm, and an inner peace, the likes of which I have not felt in many a year. At last, after what seemed and felt to last a lifetime, the tormenting thoughts of his dreadful existence have grown silent, and I no longer crave for revenge.
Soon, word will spread about the Black Tide's death in the southern cities, ultimately reaching Harad. So be it... The hunt is only just beginning. And crows are known to be persistent creatures.
[Originally written by the player of Crow (Derakoth)]
