Lion Head Mesa a final inundation

Nokht will be assumed missing

It was not enough. 

He had suffered and suffered and still it wasn't enough for these gods he hardly knew.

His crime was birth, and it always had been. He was borne of secrets and of scandal, sculpted where the gods eyes did not reach, it was no wonder then, that they saw fit to destroy this infiltrator, to break him and condemn him and smite him when it was all over. Perhaps the rumbling in these caverns came as a rage that his spirit had been denied to them the first time it hung at their mercy. 

Nokht was a giving boy once. He was the sort who looked for pretty flowers to give to his mother. The sort who rose to block the light when it threatened to awaken his siblings. The sort who was born with good intertwined into his very essence and now—

The gods had taken every last drop.

And so what was left of the boy Nokht, beyond a shattered leg and a beaten conscience? 

A desperate will to continue living, no mattter what he might've become.

He was carried on Khusobek's back, and when the great stones began to fall, Nokht's head would whip around, cries and screams filling the air; that all too familiar feeling crept its way back into his heart.

Terror. Had he not had enough? When would it be enough?

Before the boulder fell, he was thrown from his Khusobek's back and tumbled a ways down, rolling rolling, until he hit wall. Spared the crushing death that befell the man in his place, the image would not soon leave his mind. His eyes would catch the bloodied splatters painting the walls and the floors, the flurry of legs as they ran in panicked waves, trying to save one-another, trying to evade the cataclysm that fell onto them from above, from the gods very hands. To be small was a blessing in this terrible scene, he stayed shaking, frozen to the wall. 

And it hit him again, that old feeling. He was spurred to this necessary act, one of defiance again.

Whether it was body or his soul that escaped this place, it did not matter. He would peel himself from this grave, this one of stone and darkness, and he would limp as far as his ruined body allowed him, before he was swallowed by the dust and the dark.

He thought of family. He knew now, he had none.