Years of hard training, of both the
body and the mind, had embedded in Malcear a natural aversion to
anger. It dulled one's senses, made you lose focus, and usually ended
in poor judgment.
At this very moment, Malcear was pissed off.
Fooled by some high lord's cowardly farce. Lord Nivin had been bought, and a price has been put on the heads of the lantern bearers. A man who had no doubt been in many battles, known true honor, and ruled the Riverlands had been reduced to a well dressed sell-sword. Malcear was beside himself.
Not only had Nivrin put them underground, but he sicked his assassin dogs on his allies. They were traveling with Malcear as a favor. This was his journey, and they showed great courage in helping him. Now they were stuck in a cemetery dungeon with him, surrounded by abominations of flesh.
The Flesh-Shaper. That name had been heard several times now. This place reeked of a laboratory for perverted dark magics. What kind of a noble leader would let such horrors of undeath be practiced knowingly so close to the town? To harbor them, hide them, and utilize them for his own gain?
He grit his teeth and cleared his lungs of the last of the acrid smoke from the explosion of chemicals bombs. He gripped his rage like the reigns of a bucking stallion. It was time to focus, not lose control. He needed to feel his goddess. He had to see his path of purpose here. He had to stay calm.
He was going to kick down every door of this dungeon, find the “Flesh-Shaper,” and stop his wicked practices by any means necessary.
At this very moment, Malcear was pissed off.
Fooled by some high lord's cowardly farce. Lord Nivin had been bought, and a price has been put on the heads of the lantern bearers. A man who had no doubt been in many battles, known true honor, and ruled the Riverlands had been reduced to a well dressed sell-sword. Malcear was beside himself.
Not only had Nivrin put them underground, but he sicked his assassin dogs on his allies. They were traveling with Malcear as a favor. This was his journey, and they showed great courage in helping him. Now they were stuck in a cemetery dungeon with him, surrounded by abominations of flesh.
The Flesh-Shaper. That name had been heard several times now. This place reeked of a laboratory for perverted dark magics. What kind of a noble leader would let such horrors of undeath be practiced knowingly so close to the town? To harbor them, hide them, and utilize them for his own gain?
He grit his teeth and cleared his lungs of the last of the acrid smoke from the explosion of chemicals bombs. He gripped his rage like the reigns of a bucking stallion. It was time to focus, not lose control. He needed to feel his goddess. He had to see his path of purpose here. He had to stay calm.
He was going to kick down every door of this dungeon, find the “Flesh-Shaper,” and stop his wicked practices by any means necessary.
He was
going to get his friends out of this dangerous dungeon and get back
on the road to the North.
He was going to find the true flame of Noreal, and return to Corllace, and unite the separate churches under one cause.
But the biggest thing on his mind right now was to serve justice to Lord Nivin. He would make him answer for his crimes. No title, no number of soldiers, no prestige or fortress would stop him from confronting Nivin again. He would die trying, if he must. He wanted to snuff the flame of Noreal by burying it underground? He would show him how brightly it could truly shine.
He gripped his Scimitar, focused his ambition, and fell in step with the percussive tune that seemed now to play at all times in the back of his mind.
He was going to find the true flame of Noreal, and return to Corllace, and unite the separate churches under one cause.
But the biggest thing on his mind right now was to serve justice to Lord Nivin. He would make him answer for his crimes. No title, no number of soldiers, no prestige or fortress would stop him from confronting Nivin again. He would die trying, if he must. He wanted to snuff the flame of Noreal by burying it underground? He would show him how brightly it could truly shine.
He gripped his Scimitar, focused his ambition, and fell in step with the percussive tune that seemed now to play at all times in the back of his mind.
