- Messages
- 16
- Character Biography
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Glass and splintered wood crunched under his feet as he stepped back out into the street, marsh-haunted night air only just able to mask the scent of offal and blood. The scene inside did not bear witnessing again. The brutality and callousness of what had been done drove spikes of rage into his mind and his heart, but he kept his temper in check and his blades sheathed. Mind clear, for now. The innocents that had lived here would be avenged.
There would be time to lower the red veil across his eyes. There would be time, later, to let the High One use him as a vessel of holy retribution.
There were no people in the streets here. They had slipped into the shadows before he had ever arrived, aware of the danger presented by being a witness to cold blooded murder. In this God forsaken city, there appeared little honor among thieves. Certainly little honor and even less love lost between the subjugated and the predators; the woman and child lying dead inside the shattered door their squalid hovel was proof enough of that. He was not sure if he despised the man that was the husband and father, respectively, or if he loathed the loan shark keeping him snared in debt worse. Probably the latter. The latter had preyed on the innocent. The former was just a fool.
Heavy armor clinked as he made his way purposefully down the street. Erin stood out among the denizens of this place not only for the garb of a warrior, but for the fact that his armor was polished to a shine that reflected the bruised dusk sky, the flickering torches and lamps lining the streets and doorways to the homes of the less fortunate of Alliria. None of the muggers and murderers that hid in the shadows even looked his way twice, though; he was heavily armed and carried himself in the self-assured manner of someone that knew how to fight.
Just as well. Trouble avoided through deterrence was always preferrable to having to spill blood. That was, unless that blood belonged to a heretic.
The thought made his cold heart twist. It was ancient history, but it still cut. He still kept the Tenets, still followed His word - even if the church would have nothing to do with him.
Teeth clenched, he quickened his pace as though that would let him outpace the past. Hurried as swiftly as his armor would permit him down the muddy street, the stink of the Shallows heavy on the air. He found himself pursued by the man, the center of all of this. Degenerate gambler, derelict of society. In His eyes the man was a sinner of the highest order, forsaking family for the pleasures of the flesh. It was his plea to help that had spurred Erin to show up at the rundown house only to find that the threat had already been carried out. Pay or else had certainly followed through to the senseless butchery behind him. That could not be allowed to go unanswered.
There was never any question of going to the supposed authorities. Erin had the authority granted him by God to slay the wicked. Never mind the fact that, outside his homeland, such a thing was uncommon. Never mind that within his homeland, some were above that.
His eyes were cold as winter by the time he stepped into the common room of the first dive he came across. Dock workers and lowly tradesman crowded the tables, with the ever-present criminal element sprinkled throughout. Ducking so the two-handed hilt of his great sword would clear the jamb, Erin stepped into the poorly lit, smoke-filled room. His lip curled at the repugnant scent of sour wine and unwashed bodies.
"I am looking for Jeremiah the Ferret," he said as he straightened again. His words had a resonant lilt to it, the accent foreign and strange. Dozens of eyes fixed on him. He did not have everyone's attention, and didn't need it. "I will pay for information on this man," he added, stepping aside from the door so that his back was to a wall.
Never paid to be careless.
There would be time to lower the red veil across his eyes. There would be time, later, to let the High One use him as a vessel of holy retribution.
There were no people in the streets here. They had slipped into the shadows before he had ever arrived, aware of the danger presented by being a witness to cold blooded murder. In this God forsaken city, there appeared little honor among thieves. Certainly little honor and even less love lost between the subjugated and the predators; the woman and child lying dead inside the shattered door their squalid hovel was proof enough of that. He was not sure if he despised the man that was the husband and father, respectively, or if he loathed the loan shark keeping him snared in debt worse. Probably the latter. The latter had preyed on the innocent. The former was just a fool.
Heavy armor clinked as he made his way purposefully down the street. Erin stood out among the denizens of this place not only for the garb of a warrior, but for the fact that his armor was polished to a shine that reflected the bruised dusk sky, the flickering torches and lamps lining the streets and doorways to the homes of the less fortunate of Alliria. None of the muggers and murderers that hid in the shadows even looked his way twice, though; he was heavily armed and carried himself in the self-assured manner of someone that knew how to fight.
Just as well. Trouble avoided through deterrence was always preferrable to having to spill blood. That was, unless that blood belonged to a heretic.
The thought made his cold heart twist. It was ancient history, but it still cut. He still kept the Tenets, still followed His word - even if the church would have nothing to do with him.
Teeth clenched, he quickened his pace as though that would let him outpace the past. Hurried as swiftly as his armor would permit him down the muddy street, the stink of the Shallows heavy on the air. He found himself pursued by the man, the center of all of this. Degenerate gambler, derelict of society. In His eyes the man was a sinner of the highest order, forsaking family for the pleasures of the flesh. It was his plea to help that had spurred Erin to show up at the rundown house only to find that the threat had already been carried out. Pay or else had certainly followed through to the senseless butchery behind him. That could not be allowed to go unanswered.
There was never any question of going to the supposed authorities. Erin had the authority granted him by God to slay the wicked. Never mind the fact that, outside his homeland, such a thing was uncommon. Never mind that within his homeland, some were above that.
His eyes were cold as winter by the time he stepped into the common room of the first dive he came across. Dock workers and lowly tradesman crowded the tables, with the ever-present criminal element sprinkled throughout. Ducking so the two-handed hilt of his great sword would clear the jamb, Erin stepped into the poorly lit, smoke-filled room. His lip curled at the repugnant scent of sour wine and unwashed bodies.
"I am looking for Jeremiah the Ferret," he said as he straightened again. His words had a resonant lilt to it, the accent foreign and strange. Dozens of eyes fixed on him. He did not have everyone's attention, and didn't need it. "I will pay for information on this man," he added, stepping aside from the door so that his back was to a wall.
Never paid to be careless.