Sergeant

[intelligence_for_violence]

[A letter is left at the Garrison, addressed to a nameless Sergeant, written in a shaky hand.]

I have thought about the offer your City has given me. No. The order.
KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL. For the King. For the Archon. For your home. For your women. For freedom.
What would their deaths mean to me? NOTHING! I have no quarrel with Skargrimsson. I have no quarrel with this Brooker. They have wrought no wrong upon me.

You must wonder, why do I write to you? You must think me a madman. At times, I wonder whether I have lost my mind myself.
I write to you because I must confess to someone. I have none other to write to. You were RIGHT.
I held my tongue before your Magistrate. I held my tongue before your MOTHER. Such was my deceit and my shame.
But you were right!
I AM no more than a reaver.
A man who preys on the weak. My axe has been BROKEN.
I had hoped here things would be different
Agaslakku walked as a pariah among his fellow gods. I thought by coming here and walking among pariahs, I would come to some hidden truth
I would be their protector. I would be their guardian

With each battle, I grow closer to my mournful companion. He wraps me in his sable cloak and promises to wash away my sin.
Do you know of what I speak? I speak not of Scorch.

The elders on Banafsi warned of the danger of how one may be corrupt morally and its consequence. Now I know.

I will look for you on the field of battle.

I.M.