by Wrenmae on February 6th, 2014, 8:40 pm
It isn't often one can justify their murderous intents with righteousness. Wren always imagined the Knights slept soundly at night believing the brigands and bandits they slew were always going to be a threat to peace and had no better reason to be a rogue than simply the evil infesting their heart. It wasn't as easy for Wren, who constantly woke up gasping his nightmares from between clenched teeth. All those eyes that were on him, all the lives he had taken...both in defense and in malice. Something about the smell of blood clung to him, it was in his clothes, his skin, his soul.
While in Syliras he'd spent hours scrubbing his skin, delicately tracing the scars of his life across his chest, the signs of torture. Not that the memories of those had faded at all, but it was somehow easier knowing he had not inflicted those wounds himself. It was always the murders that stuck out to him, that influenced his dreamscape. Perhaps he was haunted...certainly he couldn't blame the ghost for hanging around to make him miserable. Had he not been so opposed to the concept of a ghost itself, he might consider doing the same.
For most of the day he'd been trailing the two Daggerhand thugs. He'd picked them up earlier in the Pig's foot when one had foolishly started an arm-wrestling contest and pulled off his shirt in some alpha male display of the red ring around his chest and the dagger in the center. Since then he'd followed them from the bar to the alleys, watching them extort with cold interest and then loiter by the market stalls. Briefly he acknowledge the barker, a loud man who was trying to sell wares for an isur woman. For more than a few moments, Wren loss objectivity...staring at a woman who had easily been crafted from the hands of the gods themselves. Obviously isur, she bordered on being over-ripe. She was an exaggerated feminine, enough to draw the eyes of nearly every man in the market.
Idly Wren thought that perhaps if she had her body for sale beside her wares, she'd make enough mizas to perhaps threaten the more established brothels.
It was only a thought though and he quickly returned his attention to the Daggerhand. They were probably warriors, or thugs...but either would do for what he was intending. Not many days had passed since the first murder of the Red Hand...and it was about time to shake things up a bit more. Not that he wanted to press his own luck, but Sunberth thrives on presentation as much as it did on brutality.
He'd give them something of both.
It was rare when he felt righteous for what he was about to inflict on another human being, but under the aching moon, burdened with silver light, as they surrounded the isur craftsman from the market, Wren felt a cool massage of vindication plying at his mind.
This would not haunt him, he felt, he would not feel the sting of guilt over what he was about to do. Still, some part of him held back, just another slight figure in the shadows beyond the light. If he rushed in now, she would learn nothing...but to trust the generosity of strangers, a poor lesson to learn in Sunberth.
No. First he'd see if she could handle herself.
Intervention only when necessary...let the strong triumph, and let the weak realize their place...at least for a moment.
This PC has the Blight gnosis. As such, you as a player need to be aware of what that consists of. Wrenmae has an invisible aura that amplifies sickness and disease. Wounds may become infected, small sneezes may become coughing, and a slight fever may become more serious. A nuit's body will also break down faster in the presence of the Blight. These effects may not be immediate, but within the few days following your encounter, the symptoms will manifest. Some sooner than others. I cannot control your character, so creativity will be left up to you. Best wishes and stay healthy!
Special shoutout to
Fallon for my new CS
