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Roh's Story

      I remember being asked if I wanted revenge. It seems so long ago. A man stood before me. He looked plain. Weary. As though he'd had a hard life. His eyes were a milky white, and had a stump where one of his hands should have been. "Revenge?" he asked, "Against the corrupt and the wicked who have beaten you, those who have step and spit on you for no reason other than their own gain?"

      I told him no, I didn't want revenge. Revenge was an endless cycle of pain and anger. Smiling, he asked me what I did want. An eternity seemed to stretch out between us as before I whispered, "Justice." When I awoke, I had a gold coin in my palm. Emblazoned on both sides were a set of scales resting above a warhammer, which I found out was a symbol of Tyr, the God of Justice. 

      Over the next few months I trained myself; both in the blade and in the mind. There was a delicate balance to my training. I would spend my days wandering silently through the town of Fellcrest, watching and learning, while my nights were spent alone, perfecting my aim, practicing my strikes. With each new thief I watched pick the pocket of a poor man, I found another way to break a man's arm. When I spent an evening learning how to throw my blades at targets thirty feet away, it was because I had spent my day watching a corrupt pair of guards from afar as they turned a blind eye to a killing. There was this burning sense that I was working towards something. Honing myself into....something. 

      I began doing what I could, stopping those who would prey on the weak, and bringing swift justice to those who thought they were above it. Behind me a trail began to form, one of broken fingers, missing teeth, and, after a time, bodies. Killing was not something that came easy, but in the name of justice... It was tolerable. Sleep found me most nights, regardless of the blood on my blades. Those who fell to me thought themselves above laws and committed crimes without fear of consequence. I began to eek out justice with the same disregard. I did not fear what would come, for it was just. 

      No one knew my face, thanks to the coin. There was some... magic to it. Something that changed me. When I gripped it tight, my appearance changed, my clothes turning into black leathers, my face shrouded, my blades black as the night sky. When I came down upon injustice, I was not Roh, a silent and simple man, I was something more.

      I was the dark that clung to walls during a full moon. The shadows that caused grown men to shudder with fear. I was death in the form of a man, able to snuff out a life as though it were a candle within a gale. Mine was a name that was feared in the city of Fellcrest, whispered in dens of thieves and in the halls of corrupted council men. 

      I was the Right Hand of Justice, Tyrshand, and I balanced the scales. 

      After many months of cleaning what filth I could from the city, I stumbled across a man who ran an underground business... of selling slaves. It would have been easy to slit his throat or break his neck, but something compelled me to push him, bring information out of him. Justice found him that night, but not before I got a name: Count Lemarque, the unofficial ruler of Fellcrest.

      That night, I stole into the Count's manse, made my way to his chambers. I was foolish. He was not some common thug to be beaten in his own house, I had walked into a snake pit. Before I could so much as lay a hand on him guards rushed into the room, forcing me to flee from the mansion, and then from the city itself. 

      I have been traveling ever since, trying to atone for my mistake. I have brought justice where I could along my travels, protecting those who cannot protect themselves, but there is a cost, now. The Count calls for my head, and will not rest until he sees it laid before him. I travel on, keeping mostly to myself, but there are times when I feel the coin burn in my pocket, and I feel as though I have no choice but to bring justice down upon the wicked. With each act, I feel the Count's noose slip tighter around my neck, as his men draw ever closer. 

      Whenever I look over my shoulder, I wonder, "Am I above justice for what I've done?" 

The Day That The World Broke Down

Shaldür's Story