Valiant's Journal

[Hitman Hard]

PART ONE: DARKNESS

East Gate District Of Baldur's
Mirtul 13
As the red sun crumbled into a lone torch on the dreary horizon, Valiant could see clusters of downtrodden lamp lasses and boys burst from their stuffy holes; replacing the sunlight with an artificial one.
The clouds were black-orange and accompanied by dazzling rays of lightning, striking all the way from Thundar's Ride, perhaps Triel. Half an hour passed, but it was nothing to Valiant, he was used to waiting, generally on criminals to get wise.
Valiant looked across the street, a humanoid wearing bright red suspenders, a hideous yellow cape, and a gnollish smile over sun burnt skin and horns. Valiant grimaced, the tiefling seemed familiar, in fact, it looked like the same fellow Valiant shoved through a window in a Luskan bar after the miscreant tried robbing the place.
Hard rain pricked his skin, so he donned the darksteel helm and stood patiently, like a watchman down on his luck but refusing to complain. Rainwater sluiced across his blackened armor, as a flat-chested, bug-eyed woman played with her children over by the fountain.
It was a strange hobby of Valiant's to watch others, but nevertheless, he took a certain pleasure and purpose out of it.
A dwarf with a neatly trimmed black beard passed by, his face pink and smiling with an alcoholic glow, Valiant noticed across the bridge of his nose a scar, thick as an iron pipe, and oddly perforated. .
The dwarf was barely an inch from his face now, In the hard rain, his breath was stale and warmed by an obvious onslaught of ale- his dwarven eyes dark, hollow, and portent with malice. . .
"Can I help you," Valiant asked.
Valiant could feel his palms closing and opening, a sense of dread clung to the air and held it in a uncompromising, iron grip.
"You fancy yourself a vigilante?" The dwarf said a raspy voice.
The skin around Valiant's eye was jerking, so he instantly took off the helm. Often when Valiant felt slightly afraid and unsure of himself, he would dive right into the confrontation before his condition deteriorated.
Valiant glared maliciously, "You really are a fool to admit that openly here in The Gate."
"What drives a man to vigilantee killings?"
"Justice."
The dwarf wiped his nose with a dirty cloth, and poked Valiant in the chest with a sausage finger. "But no one agrees to your tactics. The one's you run with are deceivers, sell outs, losers- they'll cut out your throat. It's not difficult when it comes to whiskey damned souls.
Valiant's face went black with shock and rage, had never met this dwarf before yet he seemed to know so much. The battle cleric scrunched up his face and spit a huge snot rocket into the dwarf's sunken features.
One of the dwarf's dead pan eyes was fixed on Valiant like a crossbow
Several onlookers were staring in disbelief now, and when Valiant faced the dwarf again, he was gone.
A Flaming Fist Offcier approached Valiant, grumbling.
"Is something amatter, sir?"
"No." Valiant left and searched the surroundings of the Black Dragon Gate, ambling stealthily through the slums. paddocks, cut-rate inns, and stockyard under the cover of invisibility. His search for injustice would not be delayed by a mad dwarf haunting his steps.

[Hitman Hard]

Mirtul 9

----------------
Sometimes in a dark moment, I examine society and see nothing but a darkness, silhouested against an eternal wall of moroseness. Did the citizentry feel the same way, did they wake up in the middle of the night screaming, clawing at their arms with horror over events that had passed seven months prior.
Often I will avoid sleep, and drink through the night- the only plausible solution I can truly derive to stop the clear images of orcs and men clad in black armor, poising themselves above me just to slice at my arms and face.
The blackguards methodically burnt my chest and forearms beyond recognition, so that no Illmater cleric could ever repair such damage. My face rarely shows signs of mirth only when in the company of friends who understand my internal wallow. I hide my body in shame now, the rest of my days spent wearing this godsbedamend, singed darksteel.
I look at the general attitude of the populace, seeing an overwhleming number consumed by this drug, apathy.
Despite this feeling, I know what drives me and so does The Doombringer.
I will finsish this entry on a "good note." I was en route to the Flaming Fist headquarters to turn in a grey orc who had randomly assaulted another. I paused on the road, to search the orc's person for he was unconcious, discovering a halfling head and various, humanoid entrails buried in his pack of rot.
Without hesitation, I decapitated the orc and moved on.
Families were avenged, justice was delivered, I went back to Bentley's and had a few firebelly's.

[Hitman Hard]

Mirtul 19,
///i asked permission from Narasida Zakine to quote her once in this story//
The rain never settled, So Valiant headed for Bentley's Bar. He was in one of those broody moods. He grunted the purchase of his ale, taking a long drink and producing a wet, sucking sound- the man wiped his blonde vandyke of foam. He overheard talk of the "coweled ones" and instantly thought back to the corrupt wizards in Beregost.
Valiant felt an inferno of alcohol simmering deep within his belly and grinned in satisfaction, placing the ale down with a thick, calloused hand. The shakes had ravaged the Cleric just minutes before the cool, golden liquid rescued him.
He mumbled something about scumbaggery and vaguely eavesdropped on the conversation to his left. Two females blabbing away at each other from opposite couches, he glanced around tensely.
Beads of sweat fell from his paled face and pricked at fresh scars along the neck. He scoffed to himself, a distant, black memory creeping from the corners of his sore mind. He put a hand to his temple and banished the images. He drank in a private vengeance against himself, eyeing the painting above Narasida's head with a whimsical, dour expression.
"Another... Bentley..." Valiant uttered, flicking gold onto the smooth, brown counter and shifting in his seat. The Cleric's hands sweaty and locked on the counter in a iron grip unbeknownst to the man.
He finally decided to interject in the ladies conversation, making what he deemed an innocent comment about the God of Suffering but was shortly, shut down. Initially, there was a silence, so Valiant shrugged and re-adjusted the black-gloved hand gripping a coin belt buckle.
Narasida: "See dear, I am happy for you that you find so much joy on the ground of a glass, but dear Jade and I are in the middle of something."
Valiant just stared at Narasida with vacant, slightly reddened eyes and plodded back over to the bar. He sat and thought for awhile, the foam of his drink boiled over the top and onto his boots of Darksteel.

[Hitman Hard]

Mirtul 29: My cousins were Balvius and Poultry, they lost their sanity on this day, 20 years ago. I often am visited by them in dreams and when I'm awake, not expecting it.
We were all around the same age, myself barely past my fifteenth winter. It happened after a few visits to the abandoned well once owned by the Macadrey's. Balvius had gone to check up on Poultry at the time, instead he returned with a face locked in a mask of shock, flapping his arms about with uncontrollable fright. When I asked where Poultry was, he would mumble unintelligibly about Demons. My uncle Cuthbert was showing the beginning signs of the "well delusion" also and was acting weird- Poultry burst through the copper door.
Poultry broke into a scream and so did Balvius. A fifteen year old me ran for cover, locking myself in the attic room across the peasant hall as Balvius, Poultry, and now Cuthbert screamed at each other in abyssal for untold hours. I lived on the outskirts of The Gate at the time, my father away and dung-faced; my mother dead from the curses lurking within the well.
Balvius and Cuthbert died first and were the most torturous to observe, their flesh turned to a fried, dead green. As nightfall approached, I tried my best to sneak up behind Poultry standing next to mother's old mirror, a grand piece she bought for a discount Tymora would smile about. My cousin stared at me with hollow, teal eyes and sanity seized his rotting features a final time.
"Valiant?"
"Yes?"
"Kill me."
I accompanied him. . from a distance. An immense sense of dread welled up within me as the tomato field loomed nearer. I knew full well there would be no time to dig a grave, so I layed him against Balvius' tiny wagon my father bought for Bal the night before the family attended the ceremony of Tyr.
Valiant:"Are you sure, I could carry you to the nearest priest."
"It never leaves the well, we are all food."
The boy Valiant nodded shakily, raised the hammer and crushed it over Balvius' skull before his cousin could wince, let alone shriek. He stared back at the source of this madness. . . A misty vapor crawled closer from the well, and the vague fear ensnared him to a new height of despair as deformed, fiends lept forth from the well. And Valiant ran, a feint scratching sound clung to the back of his head for a good mile past the well.

[Hitman Hard]

Mirtul 30
I will craft for myself a vacuity. A vast, black where there is only me when the last storm boils.

*Valiant set down the whiskey bottle at Bentley's and stared at the note he had wrote shortly after leaving the Radiant Heart Order. He crumpled it up and paid his tab, leaving a great deal of fear behind with a grim sense of determination. The cleric knew death beckoned and requested no quarters- so he sprinted for the sunshine*

[Hitman Hard]

Mirtul 31, Tradeway N. Of Beregost

Valiant croaked at the grey robed figure,"The Amnian guards would like to know about this."

Valiant's blue eyes followed the vampire's lithe movements by the masked figure's side.

The sun took a pivot over a cluster of clouds, the necromancer's concentration wavering, his wide, green eyes fluttering as sweat sluiced down his robes.

Valiant embraced the chance. He wrested a thick, calloused hand around the mage's brittle, bony left arm, twisting- the other fist crashing up into the mage's jaw.

The mage gasped and crawled backwards, his vampire hissing, standing between master and the "rogue knight."
"Come with me to Beregost," Valiant persisted, drawing Screamer from it's scabbard, which suddenly enveloped itself in flames menacingly.

The sound of unseen mirrrors shattering, sent Valiant falling eight feet back. The sheer force of the jarring, stole the man's breath as the vampire came down on him for it's feast. The vampire's claws tore into his face and black cape. With tremendous strength, the vampire picked Valiant up just to slam him against the bright, green grass.

Valiant grimaced, rolling over in a torrent of pain.

The vampire went to clasp his throat as the man wrestled out of the vampire's quick, surprisingly fierce grasp.

The vampire leered, "You die Paladin, and then we'll not be so different."

Screamer of Justice seared pointlessly- helplessly across the grimy road as the mage in grey robes readied a spell, red energy spurting from his hands in a certain madness. The vampire clawed into his face mercilessly, but Valiant merely grimaced as a divine light burst from his very armor and turned the undead creature to ashes.
The mage said crisply, sarcastically:"You have a natural knack for swordplay, now let us all be on our way."
Valiant sighed and stood up slowly, making no motions that he desired his blade lying mere inches away. He crossed his arms and waded within a few inches of the necromancer.
"Fair enough ."
"What the hells were you thinking anyways, fighting a powerful wizard without allies, Paladin."
"Justice."
The necromancer stood there, chewing over what Valiant has said.

Valiant studied the sun overhead, sucking in his breath.
"Huh," The mage squinted at him.
A sudden vitriol immersed Valiant's arresting, blue eyes.
Realization dawned on the mage's eyes.
He lunged for the neck, snapping it instantly.
"And I'm not a Paladin."

[Hitman Hard]

The sleeping man struggled to move, the dream keeping Valiant pinned and under the covers. Voices of old friends and foes racing through his mind, taunting him.

The elderly cleric of Tyr's glass crackling voice shrieked the loudest and it was harrowing.

Lanshackle sold out! Betrayed the Even Handed! He traded a -righteous- justice for a hollow one!

Valiant awoke in a feverish sweat, the dark grey belt bearing the Doombringer's mark sat ominously on a barrel. He drew himself to a full height, got inside the darksteel and strapped on the belt. Ducking out of the room with a grim sense of determination.

"Just... a frecking nightmare."

[Hitman Hard]

A dark boot fell on the hilt of the brown skinned man's scimitar.

"W-why are you doing this t-to me?" The diminutive, man with a lazy eye asked, under a flood of stringy, greasy, red hair.

Valiant merely pointed to the skeleton held magically in the corner

"P-please I have family. . . seven children, a business to tend. S-show some humanity."

Valiant took his time, even whistling a bit to further enhance the discomfort of the necromancer-thief. Occupying himself with meaningless tasks such as fetching a bucket of water he had no intention to use, eventually glanced over to see his dread magic working quite well.

The rogue knight was an inch from his prisoner's face now, staring at him with a dead, numb look. Valiant croaked, in a strangely deep voice not typically akin to him: "A vast, black where there is only me when the last storm boils."

Valiant punched him across the face once, twice, followed by a fierce kick to the ribs and shins.

"Stand over there," Valiant indicated an eight foot, steel pole.

The brown skinned man hobbled over. Valiant hoisted him to the top of the pole, looping a noose around the neck.

The next several moments were a blur in themselves. . . begging for mercy, gasping, sputtering, then the final sound of a neck breaking. The rogue knight grimaced and slid on the darksteel helm, tossing a fiery stick over his shoulder.

He climbed atop his steed, as a large explosion went off behind him. The double-doors of the warehouse tore from their hinges and flew towards the purple-red sky, lit up in lightning and bleeding from the pain of a million, unseen sins.

Or at least, how the Knight saw it.

[Hitman Hard]

Words can be powerful and cruel, but sight shines the brightest light into the obscene. I keep seeing the same dark, red leathery wings. The tanned, fiendish-blooded face covered half in blood, body splayed thirty feet off the road, by a well and a small farm, right outside of the --damned- Gate. She was a beautiful girl, shame she had to go in such a manner. Whatever kind of evil did this does not deserve a soft Justice.

[Hitman Hard]

Valiant took the bag holding his dinner from the seller who pushed their meaningless conversation further.

"Banite killer is still on the prowl, you the one who catches him," The seller sneered and handed Valiant the remainder of his change.

"Probably not."

"Pardon?" The seller lifted a brow.

"Evil spreads with blinding speed, like cancer. And I can no longer pretend that i can deal with it productively, you have a nice day.

[Hitman Hard]

I hope Hoar takes him to a darkness, and perhaps the deceitful harlot as well for... for tricking me into the delusion that she was interested in me romantically. Was this all a game to her, Gabriel even vaguely looks like me, dark clothing over blackened armor, a greatsword hanged from his back, shared my same eye color! Madness!

It was my fault, I took too long. I always do in all my decisions. Hells, most men don't see her as disarmingly attractive but I found her breathtakingly flawless from day one. Gods, why can't I say that too her? Too late now, pinhead . . they were clustered under the shade of that tree, basking in their newfound fellowship, love? Makes me sick. However, it appears the man finds me genuinely personable, good. Let him think lies for all I care. As always, my deepest emotions are concealed.

Anyways, I've been given a special, for the time being "confidential" honor by a long time friend of mine. I just hope I don't let him down. I really need to think of something grand to say, something for all to cherish in memory of the great, -loyal- person he is. I hope he knows what he is doing getting involved with. . . meh, let him be. No need to be such a control freak. The tiefling had more sense than him anyways.

Just need to breathe, slowly. . . But the thoughts of Alison telling him briefly over her shoulder, carelessly, callously- as she was ushered into the inn by Gabriel: "We need to talk later."

*The shot of whiskery shattered in his hands, a crate of oranges spilled over, and an unfathomable dark pall settled over the room.

[Hitman Hard]

Valiant: "Not sure how much credence I put into "omens", but if it satisfies your need to repay me, I don't see why not."
The Paladin Alexander was a good sixty yards away speaking with a youngish, aspiring Knight, He turned on his heel, shaking Magnus' hand and offering the gauntlets to him with the other. Valiant turned around again, to face the fortune-teller who opened her soft mouth: "Is there a burning question within your heart?"

Valiant gave a sheepish grin, "Let's see..."

The sound of movement broke through his pondering, much like the monotonous grating of steel.

The aspiring Knight looked the gloves over and nods to Alexander, their voices indistinct and half-muffled.

Valiant blinked, concentrating on the red-robed fortune teller once more. Finally, he managed to say: "How can I see a clearer vision of Hoar's Calling, I suppose. Hope that doesn't sound too vague..."

"Hmmm..."She mumbles for a moment and moves her left hand across her belt, where several pouches hang. She dips her fingers into one pouch, pulling something out in a clenched hand. She nods to him. Very well.

Alexander Marshall's voice came bleeding sharply clear into Valiant's ears from that considerable distance, " I am certain you shall. i am thankful such equipment has found it's way into the hands of someone using them for the good of the Realm. I will do my best to answer any questions you may have."

Valiant blinked excessively but eventually kept a firm gaze on Kessa, though he found it hard to look sharply upon her in any way.

The red-robed fortune teller opened her pouch to reveal a pile of small, seemingly painted stones of various colors, around seven or eight in total at a glance. She moves one of her hands over the stones and mumbles something indecipherable.

Valiant gawked at the stones curiously.

A alien voice came from somewhere indeterminate in the crowd, "You have trouble coming."

The man in dark robes who Valiant noticed from several hours earlier, said something valiant failed to make out and responded quickly to the alien voice: " Paladin? What Paladin?" His robes that had been spotless at the campfire hours earlier now covered in blood, life seemed to slowly ebb back into the half-concealed man's features.

"And would like to ask you questions," The alien voice said to the man who had been to death and back. it was apparent, the confusion wafting from him.

"Our friend who is balded."

Valiant turned his head to see who was speaking, once he confirmed who it was, he sighed and put his attention on the fortune telling.

The red robed woman looked to Valiant and motions for the hand that rests upon stones to lay completely flat. She deepens her voice as she speaks this time. "Ask your question upon the stones."

The dark robed and hooded man noticed Valiant in the background. "Oh him."

Valiant rests hand over the stone and clears throat meaningfully.

The man speaking with the dark robed persisted, " The bald who was behind you before we left the mines."

"I care little for his opinion," The dark robed said.

The fortuneteller instructed him to share his question with whatever spirits he was apparently communing with, Valiant obliged her more out of politeness than intent to discover secrets.

Valiant: "How can I see a clearer vision of your Calling, My Lord of Three Thunders?"

She said in a quick whisper: "Now breathe upon them

He breathed upon the stones.

He could hear what the dark robed man had to say now, feintly, "Well, I will take your advice and leave shortly."

Valiant looked up uncertainly, thinking the telling was over.

The red-robed lady clapped the stones in both of her hands once more, before opening them and allowing them to fall to the ground, she watches as they fall. She takes a step back and her eyes dart between the stones.

Strangely enough, Valiant also felt an urge to step back so he did so.

She in red, gasped dramatically and began to shake her head rapidly from side to side.

"Oh my..." She said ominously.

"W-what was it?" Valiant mused.

Valiant felt he had showed a slight measure of fear and reproachfully he looked away for just a moment to look back at the divine powers surging through the afternoon sky. The aspiring Knight was showing Marshall what he could do.

Valiant eyed the red-robed fortune teller again, she pointed between several stones as she speaks, the pace of her speech much quicker now."You see, the Dog." She moved her finger between a set of stones. And the Crow. She shakes her head. The Crow."

Valiant's face was a mask of stoicism, the fortuneteller sighed and bent down to scoop up her stones.

"The Crow. . . doesn't that mean death?" He asked meekly.

She pauses for a moment and hesitantly replies, the edge still in her voice- "Perhaps...."

"And what about the Dog?" All idle chatter had died around him.

"We could read this as the death of someone loyal. . . the dog is a loyal creature. . . "
She rubs her chin and Valiant got the impression she was privately scolding him for not catching on.

She continued on: "But together, the Crow makes the Dog a Wolf." She bites her lips for a moment before speaking with the same deep voice as before.
"Betrayal."

Valiant stood still, chewing this over, when her voice rang in his ear harshly, again. "Perhaps your Lord will test you with a -real- chance of retributive Justice."

Valiant suddenly glared frostily. "Look lady, I know what your doing, so- so just back off- I am the one who knocks! Nay anyone posing to be my ally."

The red-robed lay holds her hands up, "Tis in the omen, I am a mere vessel to them."

Valiant shot back, "That's a really creepy, disturbing omen."

There was a silence. before he added, "Nay appreciate such."

"I must go pray with my God now," Valiant said gravely and defeatedly.

She places the stones carefully back into a pouch on her belt and sighs before speaking softly. "Forgive me. . ."

[Hitman Hard]

CLANK! CLANK! The rogue knight almost lost his footing on a fishing rod , it cracked between his boots before he could glare. Hard rain thumped the alleyway leading to the sewers in the grey light of brooding clouds. The power of rain sabotaging his pursuit of the criminal in red leathers.

The miscreant pointed his face sideways at Valiant questioningly, sliding down into the sewer crate. Valiant leaped into the dark, flaming greatsword in hand.

Faces of the downtrodden stared at him in the faltering light, pipe-smoke wafted over him and clung to his dark armor like etheral mud.

He motioned to a peasant, "Which way did he go?"

He pointed the rogue knight in the right direction, and Valiant noted the severe sense of bewilderment upon the peasant's features.
Shadows contorted, some screamed at him balefully in the thickness and quietude of cold darkness as he sprinted after the criminal relentlessly, the magic of his boots propelling him into a new, dimly-lit room.

His belly fluttered in worry but he shook his head defiantly. A vast black where there is only me when the last storm boils. Valiant thought.
He considered the door before him, illuminated by the light of the brilliant, flaming sword. He kicked it open, turning his head and getting into a high stance. Now he saw all three of the louts he had been chasing the past tenday.

They laughed raucously, whispering excitedly, passing around the jewels and trinkets none of them had earned rightly.Their energy died quickly, seeing the rogue knight from a shadow of the broken door.

One had the face of a rat, with a sickly, greenish pigmentation that marked him as an Assimar, the man had a sword sheathed by his belt and a club already in his left hand.

Valiant grinned maliciously through the darksteel helm and slipped it off. Middle years made his body stiff and at times downright slow.
"Hoar has decided your fate."
"Murder?" The Assimar asked, saliva dripped down his mouth, and the smell of stale wine came at no extra cost.
"Too easy," Valiant retorted.
"So we're supposed to just wait it out- till ya decide our fate?"
Valiant took a step closer, clanging.
"The way I see it mate, you made us drop three bags in the backalley," Assimar continued, an eerie casualness to his scummy voice.
"So we'll be taking it from your corpse," Said a full blooded Orc, malice emblazoned in his eyes harshly.
Valiant grimaced, felt the stiff pain in his back thickening.
The Orc charged him from across the room, Valiant sprang at the Assimar's leg with his sword and blood splattered the opposing wall. Rather than pivot out of the charging orc's way, Valiant accepted the hit and fell over a table, housing the room's light source.

Sounds of anger and pain shot across the room like a crackling, wild magic area and a slew of legs were kicking at the knight angrily in the darkness. He pounced up at the trio in his rage and for a moment they all flew back from him in genuine fear.
"He's just a man," The assimar croaked, the apparent leader. The third criminal was a human and grinned coldly right as a crossbow bolt ripped through Valiant's ear and a fist slammed into his face once, twice.

"Kill him already, the nine. . " The leader barked in his lower class accent.

The Orc roared, feeding off the energy of victory's promise. "Leave now and never come back, humiez."

Valiant reared back and decked the Orc in the face hard. The monster fell like a house of straw caught in a hurricane.

He leaped at them, seeing their resolve crumble and despair wobble into their eyes like old, abandoned comrades. The flaming sword back in his hands, he swung it now in a righteous anger devoid of grace and more akin to the fighting style of a bouncer.

They cowered, and one fell to his flurry of swings, into an unconcious darkness.

"I-I surrender, The last one said, dropping club and twisting and flapping his arms in a full-bore panic.

"Good then hold out your prominent hand. *He gave a hard smile, shaking his head, "No no, the left. . "

He raised the sword adamantly.

"W-why are you doing this, what motivates you to madness?"

"Justice." He croaked in a dark voice not akin to his.

A blood curling scream ripped through the musty dark home of peasants the World had cast aside callously into darkness.

[Hitman Hard]

I gave a series of painful croaks, the mercenaries had beat me badly. James White showed mercy and healed me, despite my rash action of charging the tyrant, Valkrun. I stared up and shook my head once in sheer amazement, leaving the scene immediately, not fully sure what had driven me to violence. Valkrun would of sustained notable injuries, had he not leaned upon powerful bardic magic. . .

I had been outnumbered and spared only because Paladins were around. And I felt deeply disturbed by my lack of care for my own health, sooner or later my death would be a permanent one if i kept this up. It took a near hour of wading through the half-darkness of Baldur's Gate to acknowledge why I had went red, taken a full measure.

The mercenaries embodied ignorance and sowed fear upon the downtrodden.
Self-hating, weak willed men who earnestly listened to hard tradition despite the failure and loss of humanity it can bring if one does not view the full painting.

I listened to hard tradition all my life, had upheld my father's advice of hating Orcs mindlessly, distrusting them in any capacity. I made a grave error of confusing honor and hard tradition with hate. And now, as i write this with a shaking hand, my heart hammering in my chest and screaming expletives at me for my great, divine ignorance on the nature of Orcs, I realize there is a thin canyon that separates man from orc.

Valiant finished writing and gave a rustic sigh.

He thought of the two orcs standing still, abiding the law and staying fearfully silent. Then he thought of the mercenaries meeting their gazes with caustic glares and cruel words. He reminded himself that the head Paladin of the Order he was once with, was in fact an Orc and possessed twice the moral compass he harbored.

Valiant's hard face grimaced a few times over, before a single tear streamed down his face. He clanged toward a clothing store and dropped a handful of gold in a beggar's bucket.

[Hitman Hard]

His eyes bulged in vexation, dark circles sat under them.

He stormed through the Cloakwood, which to him appeared rather ugly.

He raged at the pointlessness of it all, the charade, ignorant people keeping on keeping on; a message of tolerance at every store front, written upon everyone's face.

He wobbled his head, reaching epithany. The world was evil and blind, submerged in empty darkness.

The rogue knight thought back to what the elf warrior said about Justice and glared up at the sun which glared back.

He felt strangely alone- as if floating on a haunted, never-ending island of stares. Stares of contempt.

A dark thought washed over him. It didn't feel evil, rather unflinchingly honest.

Justice dwelt half in light, half in shadow, and was unwavering in its pursuit of the twisted, it did not cower from full measures.

Justice is not good, Justice is Justice. . .

And he would be hated for it.