Skandra slumped against the sideways banister which had fallen to the ground. It was everything he could do at that moment, and the rest of his willpower went to making sure he didn't fall over. He wished he'd never listened to the old man. She should have let him kill Shantar. The way all of this was going, they could have used an extra hand, and not just someone to whine about how their son deserved another chance. Gershul had been given all the chances he was owed, and that was that. Skandra didn't know how much farther he was going to go on this head of steam by itself. He should have been annoyed by that thought, that he could be slowed so easily, but for the most part he just...
...wanted it to be done.
The hatred that had been fueling him, the anger he felt whenever he looked at Gershul, was fading into something else. Resignation. He'd chased the bastard for years. If there'd ever been a sign that Gershul could do what he threatened... but there wasn't. It was talk. It was the cheap talk of a man who was near the end of his life and wanted to believe that it was worth something, that he'd done something to change the world and avenge the family he'd lost. Skandra thought it was mostly bullshit. Gershul was a vain and hateful man. He'd have found a reason to hate the elves even without the history he'd had. If not the wife and child, then someone else. It was never about them.
It was about Gershul.
"I never much liked magic," Skandra said with a false laugh. "But I'd take a dot of it right now, for sure."