To me, a sword is the center of life itself. Something that can protect a life and take one should be worshipped in its own right. These men likely did not hold that belief. Those who had no respect for the thing they held did not practice as often as they should.

The three of them had been feasting on birds and ale, using the book from their God as a table for each of their mugs. No reverence for the blade or even their own deity it appeared.

They must serve high-lofted Gods, Gods that have never been grounded in the truth of this world. I served a multitude of Gods and all of them knew cruelty. Pavion, or the Pale One, father of plagues and terror. Often only worshipped when times are dire, though I have never fallen out of favor. Dreadic, creature of knowledge, always learning, as his knowledge grows he shifts forms unendingly from the grotesque to the divine.

Belief can lead men to do horrible things or righteous things. These men having so few holy models to follow cannot bode well. So few paths to take in that little book they read, it is only chance that one of them will lead to righteousness or sin. Better to have a million different beasts, gods and spirits, that way your choice is yours. No claiming that the path of righteousness was diverted by some happy mistake. No. The Gods you choose are the gods you choose.

These men served a God that taught them weakness and spread it from man to man. Greed and Cruelty was a flaw. Soldiers may see it as strong but it only leaves you vulnerable when you encounter someone resistant to it.

These men had not been challenged for sometime, cruelty had made them indolent. Stealing from peasants simply because they bore a uniform, they had forgotten the harsh bite of resistance. One rose up as I brushed passed the branches into the clearing. His broad shoulders blocked some of the firelight that had been roasting the chickens to blackness.

“Announce yourself, are you one of the watch?” A long, encompassing silence.

“I have been watching you, aye.” The firelight’s tendrils barely managed to illuminate the meticulously polished hilt of a longsword.

“The taverns over there. Go back you fool you’re piss drunk.”

“I never had a taste for the stuff actually. I like to think of myself as an excellent swordsman, but anything that slows you down should be avoided nonetheless.”

The other two soldiers had risen at this point and now exchanged quizzical glances. They were unsure if they were encountering a fool or a threat. This is for the best, by the moment one realizes it is time for violence, the moment often ends. I must have struck a strange figure - hooded, long matted hair, a banshee in the woods.

“You should leave boy, there's ale in the tavern down that road a long ways. We have none to spare, and you...:” A terse interruption,

“I’ve told you I do not drink. It is a pleasure that only serves to fill your nights. You all are wasting your lives away.”

The three soldiers likely would have been irritated to the point of violence, if they were not so confused. There was a gap of silence between us. Then, one by one, the men laughed deep from their stomachs. One of the smaller men lurching over and stomping his feet in delight.

The man with a wide frame cut off his laughter abruptly. He stepped further forward from the fire, “Very well. You know, you seem like a smart little boy. We can’t share any food, but you can take in a bit of our fire for a while if you’d like.”

“Well. How fortunate I happened upon such a kind group of soldiers.”

One of the smaller men with a ruddy complexion piped up, “We are the king’s men, and the king’s men are Godly men!”

“Indeed.”

Some time passed, the men drank the rest of their ale. They had some left over spring water to slake my thirst. They were more or less good men, until it came to politics, no man of Malumus could be spared that sinful perspective. They were the small hand of some greater evil. But to harm an evil so great, a man had to hurt it’s extremities from time to time.

Either way, it was all a moot point at this hour. All things were moot now. It was time to depart.

“It is getting quite late my friends.”

The large leader stood, “Ah! Don’t leave so soon! We’re sorry about not feeding you! We’ve been chasing Elisus in the woods for days, and you can’t believe the bad luck we have in finding game to hunt meanwhile.”

“Well I hope you found trouble on both fronts.”

The wide man looked quizzical,

“What?”

I rose slowly, joints popping into the black night,

“I don’t have a bedroll or even a thing to eat so I am going to kill you now. Please forgive me.”

The resonant sound of a sword being drawn perked their ale-muddled senses and two other swords hummed in the dark. The last sword did not make it from its sheath. A blade struck square in the several inches of steel that had become exposed. I was already upon them.

The man whose blade had been struck partway in its sheath shrieked in pain at the vibration. His gauntlets lay by the fireside, his hand and lower arm bare. The blade clattered from his palm and raised dust into the hot air. My pristine weapon then whipped up, meeting his skin directly below the adam's apple, traveling upward until contacting his jaw. The man’s throat had been bisected vertically, in an impossibly precise manner.

Then an immediate whirlwind to meet the other weapon hurtling toward the mid-section. A backstep. A sharp edge slamming into the top of his sword. The larger man's powerful inertia continued the sword downward, the dense man made a grunt of surprise as his weapon struck the dirt instead of flesh.

The third soldier thought he might take advantage of this situation and attempted to perform a thrust from the side. Before he could even manage the movement, the glistening blade’s hilt struck him in the gut. A kick to the knee, and he fell to the dirt. A stroke of the sword, like a strand of reflected moon, and the head departed from his shoulders.

Turning to the broad-shouldered one, there was a moment of stillness. Our eyes met and he had that exquisite look that could only be found in these pieces of time. That moment where you are completely aware you have been outmatched. That when you raise your steel you are meeting the end of the theater. The stagehands had gone home, the audience left, this was the end of it all.

He would want to cherish this one moment, trying to suck all of life into him and experience it all together. It was futile, his eyes snapped back and he had a grim scowl invade his face. Perhaps he did not resign himself to die. It was not important.

He let loose a howl and barrelled recklessly toward me. He took his castle-made steel and thrust it directly at the heart. He had committed the last act. I hit the dirt and slid under him, taking his mass to the soil with one of his tendons. He bellowed and was already lurching to rise, until I directed the blade into the small of his back. It sank into him easily and breached his fat. A choking nose as the blood rose up in him, he hacked violently from his throat.

I disentangled my blade from the man's flesh, and turned sharply. The human wreckage was significant. The headless man lay down as if praising an idol. Perhaps he was seeing my Gods in their glory now, maybe his makeshift god, Addia. Or it was simply black.

The other man was long dead as well, yet their birds were still appetizingly present, albeit a bit burnt. I slowly descended upon their veritable feast in the copse of these woods. It was rare that dead men were so kind in their last moments to share food with a stranger.

Groaning interrupted my meal, the broad man was still breathing in the darkness. He had crawled only a few feet, and then decided to roll onto his back to contemplate the stars.

“You move quickly for such a large man.”

The soldier slowly gazed over to the sound of my voice.

He raised his arm, and propelled his index finger forward agonizingly slow. He pointed toward my mundane sword. His voice carried awe,

“You… you… aren’t allowed to have… a weapon.” His final words. I realized my cowl had fallen away from my head. He had seen the two emblazoned mounds on my forehead. I slowly drew it back over my bedraggled hair.

“No. But you are. And look what good it did you.” The radiant sword dissected the night as it ended the broad man's days.