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English
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Published:
2026-07-02
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329
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1/1
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azzlore the dreaded

Summary:

After the battle in the mines of Pyrite I think this is something that he would write in his journal. In my head he started to write stuff down after he and the party almost died, and this is one of many entries.

Notes:

this little word vomit is loosely inspired by emmylou harris' "prayer in open d"

if you wanna get into the spirit you can listen to it while you read, emmylou's version is more country twang, and if that's not ur vibe phoebe bridgers has a cover that is more wistful imo

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

I think about my own mortality a lot. Death surrounds me at every moment it can, and when I peel back the folds of my life I see its stains left on my soul. There’s a belief that being around death means that it’s coming for you in turn, and while logically I know that’s not true I can’t help but wonder. 

 

I never really considered myself a religious person. Not through a lack of belief in the existence of gods, but because their existence is undeniable. I witnessed it myself. So to deny their existence would be foolish. 

 

We know that Nexis guides souls to the beyond, but what happens once the soul has crossed over? What happens when the door closes behind you, and you’re faced with what comes after death? 

 

What skeletons will I face when I meet my maker? What eternity do I get to have when I know in my soul I don’t deserve it?

 

Will I see Colt? The man whose life I robbed from, and then gloated about until he faded to ashes?

 

Will I see Rose? A cruel reminder of what I couldn’t do no matter how hard I tried?

 

Or even worse. Will I see faces I don’t even recognize? Lives I’ve ruined that I don’t even remember. 

 

I know that I am not a good person. Good people don’t do the things I’ve done. There’s no glory in the life I’ve lived. There’s no honor behind my rationalization. 

 

Maybe before I could delude myself into believing that I could atone. Balance out the bad deeds with good ones. Save lives to make up for the lives lost. But now I know that there is no redemption for me. 

 

I may be Azzlore Nightingale. Or Azzlore the Coward, whatever anyone wants to call me nowadays— I don’t care. But yesterday? I was Azzlore the Dreaded, through and through. An old version of me brought out at the remembrance of you. 

Notes:

azzlore thinks he's going to go to hell :(