Likely a little too late, Faaid calls out to Torstein, "Don't kill the man, he must be questioned!  Faaid has questions!"

The half-orc turned to face her and readied himself. Ahvylyn was many thing, but s killed swordswoman was not one of them. Long practice and experience gave her some ability and the fact the brute was leery of Torstein behind him was helping her, but she would need more than that. Luckily, she had her mind to assist her. AS long as the orc was focused on her, then it was not focused on the real combatant. Her first blow might have convinced him of that. Still, as long as it was on full defense, she had little chance of breaching his defenses.

She flipped the dagger end for end in her off hand, prepared to throw it if needed, and put herself into a defensive position as well.

While I still have a tiny CMB after his parry, it's not enough to gamble on and I can't parry and attack. So, full defense against the orc I am engaging. Raises my defense against that orc to 50.

The Man in the blue cloak fell to the ground after Torstein's attack hit him in the leg. He dropped his short, curved blade and clasped the wound. He tried in vain to stem the bleeding, but all he accomplished was covering his hands in blood. He soon passed out, hands falling away from his bleeding thigh.

The half-orc that Ahvylyn and Aleesia engaged, rather than turning his wrath against Ahvylyn, decided to try to make a break for it. He looked cautiously between the High Man and the Half-Elf, and kept his weapon up in a guard position against the latter.

Faaid's target grasped his injured side and snarled, but it was all bark and no bite. The cut to the side precluded a counter-attack and forced the half-orc into a compromised defensive position.

The remaining unscathed pair of half-orcs sensed the turning tide of the fight, but they did not ask for mercy or try to flee. Instead they swung their clubs at Torstein, intending at least to take the High Man down. One grazed with a superficial but still damaging blow, and the other struck the High Man's right arm with punishing force.


The Man in the blue cloak is Incapacitated now, and with 4 Bleed he is not in good shape right now, but also not a threat.

The half-orc Ahvylyn's engaging is going to Disengage, and devote all of his CMB against Ahvylyn, bringing his Def up to 55 against her. He's also moving to face her, so she no longer benefits from Flanking him. Torstein instead gains tht benefit.

Faaid's half-orc is parrying to the best of his ability while Stunned, brining his Def to to 35.

The other two will once more wail away on Torstein.

Continuing his assault, Faaid dances around his dazed and clearly outmatched opponent, faking jabs here and there to open up the defense.  Finally, an opening presents itself and the desert warrior has an opportunity to leave a slice across his opponents chest.  While it gives the half-Orc the opportunity to react soon, the opening was too good to let go.  After the slash, blood begins to well as the cut and slowly pour down its chest.  Not the worst wound, but not the best.

---

Full Action: Melee Attack.  Faaid makes a Melee Attack with a Short Sword against the same half-Orc as before.  His weapon range counts as Short.
Result: 15 Damage and Minor Chest Wound: +3 Damage, 1 Bleed, -5 to all actions.

20:44, Today: Faaid rolled 120 using 1d100+30.  Melee Attack vs Half-Orc (+45 Blades, +20 Stunner, -35 Defense).
20:45, Today: Faaid rolled 48 using 1d100+20.  Critical Effect (Moderate).

Torstein grit his teeth as the metal-shod club struck his arm. The impact was intense, but he managed not to lose his grip on his weapon. It was an effort to keep hold of his weapon after suffering such a blow, but he managed. He was not sure how much more of this he could take, but he was not about to surrender. There would be no mercy from those arrayed against him.

Grim-faced and grim-hearted Torstein readied his huge sword, and the weight of it was not easy to bring to bear with his battered body. His swung in a brutal arc against the half-orc who struck his arm. Blood for blood.

The blade flashed in the air and the years of brutal training in the fortress-monastery of the Order bore a bitter harvest.

The half-orc's face was cloven asunder as the greatsword struck with righteous force, and the bandit was laid to waste by the Acolyte's attack.

22:07, Today: Torstein Svanir rolled 176 using 1d100+80 with rolls of 96.
22:08, Today: Torstein Svanir rolled 21 using 1d100 with rolls of 21.
22:12, Today: Torstein Svanir rolled 130 using 1d100+50 with rolls of 80.

Critical Strike. If the target has no helm: face split in half, instant death.

Lyn watched combat closely. Furtive glances out of the corner of her eye saw the leader and another half-orc felled by the obviously seriously injured human. She also saw the brute opposed by Faaid severely outmatched. With just three assailants left though, she was faced with an opponent she could not beat as it was. Granted, she was skilled enough to keep him from doing anything as well. That sort of stalemate would not last long should Torstein fall though. Still, with its new found attention fully upon her, there was little she could do but hold the line. <pink>"Faaid,


Half-action: aim with thrown dagger.
Otherwise, full parry. defense 50.

While pretty glad that the two orcs were running, Aleesia still hesitated: on the one hand, striking them as they were fleeing wouldn't be particularly honourable. On the other hand…if they managed to flee, there was no doubt they would be trying to find other brigands to team up with.

In the end though, she decided to focus on the two still fighting: they were an immediate danger, and as such a priority. So once again she nocked an arrow on her bow, drew the string and release in one smooth movement…only to see the arrow fly above the head of all the combatants.

15:38, Today: Aleesia Valhorn rolled 53 using 1d100+10.  Attack remaining half-orc.
All that for that :o

One of the half-orcs disengaged and began to move away from the melee.

The half-orc that Faaid struck grasped his chest, and looked at his hand as it came away bloody. He lost strength in his legs and they collapsed under him, leaving him in an unconscious heap. Blood pooled beneath him; he would bleed out and die if left without treatment, just like the Man in the blue cloak.

The half-orc that Torstein attacked was brutalized by the High Man's two-handed sword, and dealt a wound that immediately slew him. The other half-orc, although as of yet untouched by the melee, threw down his weapon and held up his hands in surrender. He decided against attacking Torstein further upon the sudden, violent death of his companion.

"Enough! Enough!" He cried, all bravado lost. "I surrender! Let me go and . . . and . . . I'll show you where we hid a cache of coin!"

The disengaged half-orc has moved away by 15 meters. He'll flee the scene and escape if no one tries to stop him. He is bleeding and likely to leave a trail if anyone were inclined to follow.

The Man in the blue cloak and Faaid's targeted half-orc are incapacitated and bleeding, with the Man suffering the worst of the two.

One half-orc is dead, which leaves only the surrendering half-orc in engaged range.

Fight is over, basically, and we can resume non-combat posting. If anyone does elect to launch a ranged attack against the fleeing half-orc it can be freely assumed they will hit and Incapacitate him, no rolls needed.

Immediately, Faaid drops to his knees and uses his blade to cut several strips of fabric from the blue cloak.  He attempts to bind the wounds of the Man, but speaks to his companions.  "Faaid thinks we should learn about this cache, as he will owe us for sparing his life.  I also wish to have words with this man, for I recognize him to be of great evil.  More sinister by far than a common bandit."  As he cinches the bandages down on the man, he tightens them perhaps more tightly than necessary.  "You will talk to me," is all he says at first, staring daggers at the man in the blue cloak.

---

10:20, Today: Faaid rolled 115 using 1d100+30.  Healing.

Aleesia warily lowered her bow, then looked around for a second or two, clearly not quite sure about what she should be doing at that point. Besides grabbing her staff back: it didn't allow her to do much of anything by itself of course, but it still felt reassuring.

Her head tilted to the side, she considered what Faaid said. She wasn't entirely sure she agreed, but she still approached what had been the centre of the fight. Instead of helping an orc though, she first helped Torstein with his own wounds. Using bands of cloth slashed from the aggressors' clothes, she tied a few bandages around Torstein's wounds, but her hands shaking a little made things a bit difficult and it was doubtful that the bandages would last for the day.

Nervously biting her lips, she watched her work, grimaced, then grumbled under her breath. Finally, she focused for some time on her staff which started to glow a little before touching the man's skin with it, the blue light being briefly transferred to him and propagating through his vein.

No idea how much Torstein is hurt, but:
01:52, Today: Aleesia Valhorn rolled 76 using 1d100+40.  Healing.
Stops light bleeding if any, but with some kind of complication

01:58, Today: Aleesia Valhorn rolled 206 using 1d100+125.  Healing Spell (Touching, 4 rounds preparation, static target).
Outstanding success on the spell, but there aren't any useful options. Unless when it's said "You can choose to add a Warping option to the Spell for free, provided that its cost is no more than half the cost of the Spell itself." that it's minimum 1?

Torstein gets 10% (or 20% depending on the Warping thing) of his HP back.

It was in Ahvylyn to hurl the dagger after the retreating figures, but then she relaxed and flipped the dagger again to grab it by the hilt. The dagger wasn't hers though she was just petty enough to attack retreating enemies. Standing and watching things progress, she noted the other two seeking to help others. An eye adept at spotting skill saw more than she was capable of, so she allowed her tendencies to have their way. Slowly, she slipped her shortsword back into the sheath on her back then handed the dagger to Aleesia, "Thanks for that." She then looked over Torstein and nodded. "You can take and hit and deliver one, for sure." She then crouches down and tries her best to help Aleesia with the bandages.

Ahvylyn Brightsong rolled 72 using 1d100+15.  helping. +12 to Aleesia's Healing Roll.

She looked to Faaid's efforts as she held a bandage in place and commented, "Greater evil? A larger, more organized bandit effort? political? Or a more existential evil? Also, what concern is that of ours?" She bit her lip as a bit of blood got on her fingers and grunted darkly. She then turned her attention to the scholars and the now rescued assistant, "And you? Best show some appreciation to Torstein here. If not for him, that evil might have visited itself upon you."

Lyn is watching how the old researcher reacts to the situation and the discussion of 'evil.'

Ahvylyn Brightsong rolled 135 using 1d100+35.  perception. Uh, natural 100? haha

It was not the promise of coin that stayed Torstein's hand, but honour. His allegiance to the Iron Code demanded it. It would be evil to kill an opponent that surrendered. The fleeing half-orc was owed no such consideration. Torstein thrust the point of his huge sword into the ground and in smooth, practiced motions drew his short bow and an arrow. He inhaled, took aim, and released. He drew another arrow and repeated the maneuver. The first arrow struck the fleeing half-orc in the back, and then the next. The half-orc fell to the ground and Torstein returned his bow to his back and moved to where the body fell. He retrieved the arrow, and carried it back to lay it beside the other dead half-orc.

He looked impassively as Faaid worked to save the life of the Man in the blue cloak.

The blonde male bowed his head in thanks after Aleesia and Ahvylyn tended to his injuries. "My thanks." He said softly, with genuine feeling and gratitude. The High Man also bowed his head again to Ahvylyn, and managed not to puff his chest out at being complimented by the beautiful female.

Torstein retrieved his sword and cleaned it. He looked to the half-orc who surrendered, and then went to fetch a shovel from the expedition's supplies. "You will dig a grave for your fallen comrades." The High Man ordered, holding out the tool for the half-orc to take. He held his greatsword in his other hand, ready in case the half-orc thought to attack him the shovel.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:40, Fri 15 Oct 2021.

I'm going to say the language permits you to choose that option, Aleesia. Torstein, consider 20% of your HP healed.

Being incapacitated, the Man in the blue cloak was unable to respond to Faaid's order or to register the bandages being wound extra tight.

The scholars began to murmur amongst themselves, except for Atrocles, who ran to Persens and embraced the youth in a soothing and protective manner. Persens trembled with fear and buried his face in Atrocles's robes while the elder scholar stroked the lad's hair and murmured comforting words.

"We are, of course, quite grateful." Atrocles said quickly to Ahvylyn. He spared a glance at the High Man, but his expression betrayed fear instead of gratitude. "I mistook the lion for a lamb, good sir." He rose to his feet and Persens rose as well, wiping further tears from his soft face. Atrocles led Persens to one of the wagons and had him sit within, harshly calling to one of his other assistants to sit with Persens.

Atrocles returned to the site of the skirmish, and looked upon its aftermath. He clasped his hands together, and the academic seemed unsure what to say. "Please do not think less of Persens. He is a very sensitive lad, and he has never so much as seen an animal slaughtered for meat, much less any violence like this." The old man said. He looked between all four of them.

"What say you, bandit?" Atrocles said to the half-orc who remained. The half-orc shrugged.

"Got no idea about no 'great evil.' 'Cept maybe that Baddar wouldn't let none of us have a sip of spirits while he was running things. Isn't right, I tell you, just drinking water." The half-orc shook his head, hands still up and peaceful.

The half-orc took the shovel from Torstein, and then backed off and started to dig. After seeing what the warrior had endured and doled out, he was disinclined to refuse the order.

"Deep enough for you, boss?" The half-orc asked Torstein by the time he'd dug about three feet down.

Atrocles is genuinely dubious about the pronouncement there is something greater at work here than common banditry but is not immediately incredulous or dismissive of the notion. The 'great evil' part strikes him as hyperbole and he disbelieves that. Mostly he seems scared of Torstein.

Faaid finally notices that the man is not conscious, having been so focused on the situation rather than his own status.  He uses more scraps from the cape to bind his hands and legs, before nodding at a job well done.  "Faaid saw this one in the village, though he did not have any reason to suspect this one of foul deeds.  This man was leaving the general store, where Faaid was supposed to meet with Jok.  Jok was not present... I think we know why, now."

"It will serve." Torstein replied in a flat tone to the half-orc. He watched from the corner of his eyes. The blond male felt a touch of envy at the way Persens was treated by Atrocles, and for the innocence that Persens had. It lasted only a moment before Torstein quashed the sentiment, but it was there for a fleeting time.

"And what of him?" Torstein gestured with a free hand towards the other incapacitated and bleeding half-orc. "Will you bind his wounds as well or shall I deliver the mercy stroke?"

Faaid gives only a small wave, almost imperceptible.

Ahvylyn stayed focused on the wounded and felt an itch to scream at people. Well, to scream at the researcher. But when Faaid spoke again, she only blinked and regarded the man in blue, "Oh. OH! He seems infinitely more interesting. But you should really be careful bandying words like 'evil' around. What you just described is little more than mischief in the grand scheme of things."

She blinks as the death blow is delivered to the wounded half-orc and pursed her lips. Shrugging, she moved toward where she had left her pack of belongings. There, she stood looking at the assembled lot for a bit then approached the half-orc, "Now, you've got quite the conundrum. Your ilk are seen as servants of the Pale Son, no exceptions. I doubt that is true, but you'd still be lynched if we force you back into town. We could just cut you down right now..." She glanced back at Torstein then shrugged, "I somehow doubt that's an actual option. Last, we let you go back into the wild. Out there, being what you are, you'll go find your buddy that just ran away and join up to raid some more honest folk, yeah?" Lyn shrugs as she thought about it, screwing her face up mockingly to demonstrate the depth of the thought she was working through, "Really, you should run off. You're not the Pale Son or his direct servants. I doubt he's more than a name to you. My recommendation, go find a nice lass and settle down somewhere. It's not a glorious..." She looked down into the open grave and raised an eyebrow at the half-orc, "That's where glory gets you. Now or after a long successful life, glory will get a sword in your guts. One in a million get the long successful life though. But a warm wife? A few brats running around? A bit of land? Trust me, there's happiness there if you can see it."

08:49, Today: Ahvylyn Brightsong rolled 119 using 1d100+35.  perception.
Ahvylyn will watch the brute closely as she mentions the Pale Son. See how the brute reacts. She also watches as she mentioned the fate of most glory seekers.

Torstein delivered the mercy stroke to the wounded half-orc, quickly and painlessly ending things. The dead were placed in the impromptu grave and soil placed over the bodies. The remaining half-orc shrugged his shoulders indifferently at the mention of the Pale Son. His reaction to mentioning the fate of most glory seekers was met with a similar reaction.

Atrocles was shocked and made a superstitious gesture to ward off evil at the mention of the Pale Son, but he kept his peace, not wanting to risk anyone's ire.

"Aye, just a name and an empty promise bandied around since the time of my grandfather's grandfather and well before, I'm sure." The half-orc answered Ahvylyn, shoulders sagging. "I am what I am, miss. Ain't out for glory, or having my name in a song. Just enough coin to get by and maybe a little extra for harder times." He said of raiding honest folk and settling down. "Ain't in me to toil like that, but maybe instead of banditry I'll go sign on with some mercenaries. Always someone in the Realms with coin and a need for fighting men. Honest enough work, yeah?" He hedged to the group.

"Anyhow, I promised you to tell about a cache of coin. About half a day's walk north-east from here there's a tall tree with bark white like fresh cream. About . . . oh, some fifty feet high, with a fine scent to it. Coin's buried on the south side of the tree, amid the roots, about four or five feet down in a wooden strongbox. Reckon as I can go now?" The half-orc asked, and once given permission, he left without incident and due haste. Any further questioning would make it abundantly clear that he was just a hired strongarm with no real knowledge of Baddar, the man in the blue cloak, beyond trivial details such as remarkable - by the standards of the half-orc - fastidiousness, cleanliness, and a sharp insistence on temperance.

The research assistants returned to their work, although without the same heart and enthusiasm that marked their worked earlier in the day. They were skittish and nervous, constantly looking over their shoulders. Atrocles rejoined them and while the older scholar tried to project strength and certainty for his students, the brave front did not do much to hearten them. Eventually, towards the end of the day, they did settle when no further violence threatened. Persens eventually emerged from the wagon and began to contribute in his own timid manner. He earned gentle, cautious praise from his fellows when he unearth a bronzen helm of ancient manufacture.

Baddar remained unconscious for some time. He murmured indistinctly, shaking his head to and fro with obvious distress at times, but no efforts to stir him would prove successful.

With an hour of sunlight left, Atrocles declared the work done for the day and pronounced a return to the village due, which his students welcomed. They packed up their finds, stowed their tools, and talked in hushed tones about looking forward to a warm meal, assuring each other that the day's events were anomalous and unlikely to be repeated.

The return trip was uneventful, and the return of the expedition was welcomed, if only because the villagers they passed recognized Ahvylyn and Aleesia from their performance before. The two received hearty hellos and waves of greetings, as well as kind inquiries as to whether they intended to perform again that night. At the Blue Boar, the innkeep cheerfully informed Ahvylyn and Aleesia that the locals had left some small gifts for them and he had placed them in their rooms. The gifts were not lavish things but heartfelt in nature - a small pot of honey, a pouch of candied fruit, a freshly baked pie, and things of that nature.

Baddar awoke in the wagon. There had been no other choice but to leave him or bring him along, and so the latter was done. He was not pleased to waken in the wagon, his arms as well as his wounds bound. The man gave a curse and struggled briefly and weakly with his bonds, but gave up quickly when he got nowhere with that effort.

He looked at Faaid with disgust and shook his head. He spoke some harsh, shrill words to the High Man in bright clothing, and gestured with his chin. It was not in a commonly spoken language.


He turned to Torstein. He looked him up and down, and spat at Torstein's feet. "Unbind me and give me a blade, you cowardly dog, and let me finish what you lacked the stones to finish that I may go to Paradise as unsullied as possible." Baddar demanded harshly and with open contempt, switching to a common language. He snorted. "How I wish I could have sent you screaming to your end like I to your feckless cur of a brother! He died, weeping like a small child!"

Anger flared in Torstein's heart at the taunts. The desire for vengeance, to deliver retribution. His mouth was a thin line on his face and Torstein could imagine vividly beating Baddar to death with his hands. Without conscious thought his hands had balled into fists. He felt the cold rise in his stomach, uncoiling and preparing to strike.

But Torstein let out one breath. then he forced himself to take another and breathe out again.

"Speak my brother's name." Torstein said softly. He tilted his head to one side.

Faaid puts out a hand in front of Torstein, though it is unlikely he could do anything to stop the High Man if he put his mind to killing Baddar.  "Faaid saw the touch of the Pale Son upon this one.  He speaks with the same tongue as the dog Faaid has sworn to kill, but look at him.  Nothing but a lap dog.  Search him for tattoos.  Marks of his allegiance to the Witch Queen, of my lands."  He spits on the man, and speaks in his own native tongue.


The language flows beautifully, and he seemingly doesn't take a breath as he nearly sings to the bound man.  But the expression on Faaid's face is not one of love and gracefulness as the language would suggest, but of disgust.  He halfway draws his curved blade, clearly part of his dialogue.

"His name was cur! His name was craven dog!" Baddar retorted, trying to egg Torstein into violence. "Grondelstein, he said his name was, before he could nothing but weep like a woman! Bah! I waste my time with you! I broke your 'brother' . . . I should say sister! . . . so quickly. There is no reason to think you are made of sterner stuff." The man said, hurling insults upon Torstein and his fallen brother.

Should anyone search Baddar, they will find a tattoo of a spider upon his inner left arm, a coiled snaked upon his stomach, and a vulture on his back.

Baddar shook his head at Faaid, almost but not quite with pity. The contempt he felt for the dark-skinned High Man was too strong for it to beat out the hate.

"I would prefer to die at the hands of an outlander dog than you, davar veiseh!" Baddar said, his words dripping venom. Then he laughed, and it was a dull and bitter thing. "If you truly wish to face ar-Gohl . . . he is searching the hills to the East. But if you do go seeking the old wolf you will find more than you desire." The bound man looked between Faaid and Torstein, and gave another snort.

Ahvylyn was listening in a bored fashion to the man as he egged on one and baited the other of the men. She'd picked up a bit, here and there, of the man's native tongue and it was some impressive vitriol. It seemed the two boys had quite the past. Glancing at Aleesia, she added that one to the checkered past club. It was not everyone come upon fighting off bandits like that. Sighing heavily, she looked more directly at the man, Baddar, and considered his words.

Standing, she moved toward the man and crouched in front of him but slightly off to the side so looking at anything other than her face would require him to contort painfully. Idly, she ran a finger over the man's body slowly examining his many wounds, "Men are such a curious thing. They complain that women are emotional creatures, then they wander around waving their righteous anger and vengeance around like the most important thing ever."

Suddenly, she stood up and smiled emptily at Torstein, "Did you know, in the village I grew up in, there was a lord named Petyr. Uppity and privileged, he was. Well, he took to and took for himself a local farmer's daughter. Pretty thing, she was. Well, being uppity and full of himself, Petyr took to beating the woman figuring the poor landfolk wouldn't do a thing. Night after night, they heard he wailing and screaming from the manor." She stopped and looked down at the man again, "Well, one night the father had enough. he went out back of his house and tore up a few nettle plants. You ever seen a nettle?" She put her hands about a foot and a half apart, "Bout this big, lovely purple flowers. All up and down the stem, they have these bothersome stings. Well, anyway, the farmer gathers up a few of them and goes to the manor. There, he busts in and proceeds to lash that dandy up one side and down the other with them nettles. Wasn't his daughter howling now." She moved slowly to turn and look at Faaid now, "Well, the next few days, that lord was laid up bad. About the time he got out of bed the first time, well, someone took to nailing a nettle plant to his door every night. The lord never touched the girl again. As for the farmer? Well, his hands were so calloused and tough from working, them nettles never bothered him any. So, there's never any proof who did the thing."

She looked around the village they were in and then down at the man. She shrugged and looked at the boys to see if they were calmed down yet. "Now, when you boys are done here, might I recommend you give the man here over to the townsfolk? Never underestimate farmers. There are few people as intimately familiar with suffering as a farmer."

That said, Lyn started moving toward the inn.

Faaid listens to Ahvylyn's words with rapt attention.  Beating with nettle?  What curious folk she must come from.  His people would have taken a hand.  The desert is far to unforgiving for his people to suffer any mistreatment of their property.  After she leaves, he turns to the furious warrior and extends a hand towards the bound man.  "Faaid gave him a choice in death, and he chose poorly.  He is all yours.  And before you extend mercy, know that each tattoo is a vile deed, and that anything you do would be a mercy compared to the wrath of enraged townsfolk.". He seemingly refuses to engage with Baddar any further, avoiding speaking to him or even meeting his gaze.

Aleesia had stayed mostly silent through the afternoon and the return trip, the whole encounter having obviously disturbed her. It had probably brought her back to not so long ago when she had been in the hands of bandits.

The first thing that drew her out of her pensive state was when Baddar returned to consciousness and spoke to Faaid. At the beginning, she had a frown, as if the language was somewhat familiar but she couldn't exactly place it. Quickly though, her expression cleared, in a sort of "Oh, that's what it is" and she then followed the conversation between bandit and rogue, clearly understanding what was being said even though, despite looking puzzled, she didn't say anything.

She watched Ahvylyn tell her story about the lashed lord, but it was pretty clear she found the story disturbing. She shivered slightly, but thankfully was soon distracted by the locals greeting her - even though she didn't believe she had done much of anything - and readily agreeing to play for an hour or so in the evening.

In the end though, after Faid talked about dark deeds and townsfolk's wrath, she finally said something, “Vengeance is not Justice. Vengeance is what he'd do. What his lot would do. Maybe the townsfolk's first answer would be to do the same. But,” she shook her head, “If we want to do better, to be better, we have to seek Justice,” she glanced at Torstein, “No matter what is said or done.”

She smiled crookedly after a second, “Even though it's easier said than done, right?”

There were many emotions that fought for supremacy within Torstein. Few of them were new. This was not a new struggle for him. The impulse to violence was so intimately familiar. The demands of the Code, and the uncertainty about what was and was not Evil. Beyond and perhaps above the demands of the Code was the simple dictums of the Source. It was very difficult to love Baddar. Torstein found in the moment that he could not. He wondered if the words of the man were even true, or if they were merely goading to invoke Torstein's wrath.

And yet, Baddar knew his brother's name.

Aleesia was right. It was easier to say that one sought Justice than to do it. Torstein was tempted to turn Baddar over to the village headman for judgement, but there was no certainty that the judgement would be applied without emotional bias. Any judgement rendered might not see the application of law but rather amount to satiating a hunger for revenge.

The story that Ahvylyn told was in some respects very simple and in others complex. Surely the father had acted correctly and opposed Evil.

Torstein exhaled. He tried to breathe the fire from his lungs and the lightning from his veins and the cold from his heart. After all, where would he be if if Vengeance ruled? If there were no forgiveness for vile deeds? The Source was a god of love. And love kept no record of wrongs. But the Source was a god, greater than all of the gods, and Torstein was only a man.

"I wish to be better." Torstein said softly. "If you still wish to die by your own hand I will loose your bonds and give you a blade. But I ask you: do you have the strength to walk another path?"