Petroka the Hand of the Unseen, Bandit King of Hamsah Mu'tazz

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Role

Chapter 6

Three shapeshifters tore open the entrails of the elven ranger, then came
out to rest and regale each other with their good fortune in finding Darsylon
undefended. In their natural forms, one was a felar so bathed in blood the red
could not be washed from her aura, the other two gnomes. The target was Ferrana, as they
called the felar.

In her dream I see Petroka walking up to Ferrana, my dagger raised high.
One of the gnomes, Yona, laughs at the punchline of the story, and the knife falls.
The blade glances off a bit of armor, and the three leap to their feet to fight.
It is going poorly for Ferrana, as Heartseeker is slashing mercilessly at her,
so she runs as the two gnomes shape into forms and bite at Petroka.

The caiman is moving slowly, oh so slowly, and Petroka moves so fast, Heartseeker crying
out for vengeance against the crimes done in town today, and the caiman expires.

Reverting to her natural form, Petroka does not see Yona, but rather her own
mother, lying in a pool of blood beside the roadside.

Role

Chapter 5

I tripped him, and he died.

He was a magician, a conjurer specifically, and Darsylon was littered with
coins his demon had left scattered across the market. I lingered in the shadows,
and when he stepped out of his guild to summon his demon, I struck, he fell, and his
head split against the cobblestones.

The captain of the Maran asked me about it, and he seemed disconcerted that I
said that sort needed to be destroyed. He cautioned me not to become what we fought.
I tried to convey that people better than me must redeem the wicked, for I do
not have it in me to hope that half the world will have a turn of heart. Let
the Acolytes swim the currents of morality as I look to find the mortality
of the unredeemed.

Despite his unease, as we spoke in our interview several spoke on my behalf,
including even a wildling whom I had warned of the Emperor. For these actions
I think more than my words was I made a squire. I hope I do not let the Fortress down.

Role

Chapter 4

At daybreak I began the quick climb through the pass that leads to the
Fortress of the Light. Where the Imperial city is regal and oppressively
defensible, the Redhorns are briefly majestic. The walk is quick, allowing
little threat beyond skirmishers from the Refuge and the freezing of my
water bottle, and I was there well before midday to glimpse its expansive
architecture, a relic of a bygone age.

My purpose was not to evaluate its defenses, however, so I pushed the thoughts
away. I had come to study the people who attack and defend the Maran Tar'abal,
damned and redeemed, and learn of war. An observer, a student, a one-day participant.

I ducked into the shadow of the maran, but he did not acknowledge my presence.
Nor could I expect him to, even should I come to spill the blood of his enemies,
burdened as I am.

I sat on the flagstones and quietly pulled out a piece of Evermoon waybread.
What moves people to commit crimes against each other? Is there some unifying
answer? How can an act be considered a crime in one context but deemed justice in
other?

I say all this to this sentinel, but his is a world of absolutes: those who
may enter freely, and those who are barred. Maybe this is what is so enticing
about this creed, the clarity provided as a consequence of prayer.

Somehow, though almost all mortality is bathed in blood, only some are wrapped in
an aura of red. Must each day we gaze into the glass and look for our sins
reflected? Shall each night we pray for given grace that our deeds not drag
us into the abyss?

I offered wine to my companion, and then splashed some on the ground for the gods.

Role

Chapter 3

There is of course my incorrigible manner. No one sees a sunny afterlife
when thoughts of murder run rife through their thoughts. I have no intent to turn
the other beak. Their villainy must be avenged, swept from Thera like locusts from a field, and
I am that cleansing fire.

I am consumed with studying how they can be defeated, they and their ilk,
and I struggle to find forgiveness in my heart. I will lie, cheat, and steal to see
that the wicked die by my mechanizations if not by my hand.

I doubt there is a good place for people like me to go in their end of days.

Role

Chapter 2

I gain no respite in the warm embrace of sleep.

I am peering out in a gap between the cubby door and the wagon bench as the
brigands are pulling the cargo off the back of the wagon. My parents are kneeling on the roadside
barely in line of sight, a crossbowman watching over them. I can't see his body, but I know
our guard lies just off the road, a quarrel in his skull. I saw him fall before the wagon
was run off the road.
Two men, in uniforms, were pulling each bolt of cloth from the back and tossing it onto the ground.
One of them kept asking my father where the silver was. My mother was crying, and my father
kept telling them to just take it all.

One of the highwayman jumped into the bed of the wagon and began stomping and kicking, listening
for a hollow in which treasures must surely exist.

I made a noise. A cough, a muffled cry, a sob of fear. I don't know what, but he heard me.
When he reached for the lid of the cubbyhole, my father leapt, flying across the distance like
only he could. In blinding speed, he reached the guard, and in blinding speed, a crossbow bolt
pierced his breast. My own blood dripped from my mouth where I bit down on my tongue to keep silent.

I tried my best to bury my parents when the cover of night could conceal me from the eyes
of others and hide the carnage in my memory from my eyes. But I still see them.

Every night.

Role

Chapter 1

I am old now, and I can say with some certainty I am going to the Abyss, or Hades,
or someplace like that. It is a feeling I can't shake, like when you know that
everyone is looking at you because you don't belong here. An outsider, inept, unworthy.

That's me.

How do I know that I am doomed? That's an easy one.

You don't go to the Elysium fields if you have killed your parents.

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