Bartuc groaned as consciousness took hold, his whole body felt broken but he knew it was just harsh fatigue. In a very short time he had accomplished more fighting than usual, and assured not only a long existence, but a long one filled with love. A few weeks ago he would tell you with certainty that no creature would love the berserker yet.. Here he was. 

Groggy and unsteady he tried to rise, but as he out his weight on his right arm he collapsed with a thud and a painful hiss as he rolled to his back. His right arm was numb, and his ribs hurt. With a soft sigh he drifted back to sleep. No sense fighting what couldn't be fought. 

It was only as he faded that he realized something was wrong. Ruinil, that exquisite woman, was nowhere to be found. His eyes opened in a panic as he sat upright and examined the room. Blood on his chest, lingering hest on his face, and the most curious feeling that something was wrong. He sensed Ruinil, she was running but he did not know where. She was scared.. Confused... She was hurt!
With a growl the man got to his feet and started out the door only to be interrupted by a priest. 
"templar! You are ok! We feared the worst, the demon that attacked you tried to kill you in your sleep! Fear not, the guard is on its way yo kill the creature." The words caught in his mouth as Bartucs eyes turned to a deep crimson, his scowl revealing sharpened teeth. With his left arm he lifted the priest from the ground. "Where did she go." He growled, the priest struggling to answer. "Bah!" He flung the squirming holy man to the floor. "ill find her myself." 
Closing his eyes he searched for the familiar feeling of his love. It was a vague sense of direction but he didn't care. Bartuc ran from the keep like a man possessed, his stride would never match the half demon but he had to try.

----------------------

Marcus woke quietly where he had laid down for the night, high in a watch tower. He was fully clothed and stretched out, uncaring of the harsh climate outside. The ranger had never truly cared for hot or cold.
The soft crunch of snow drew his attention, peering out to see Landeel out and about. Despite the obvious threat the man poses to the order it was admirable for a man of his age to be in fighting shape. Without a doubt the old man had proven to be more combat efficient than fighters half his age.
But that wouldn't stop Marcus from cutting his throat out for a moment. 

With smooth efficiency he navigated his coat pockets, drawing out a pencil and paper. The dream may have been fake but the actions had been all to real.
The names of the offenders were written along with crimes.

Cythlla - Necromancy and disregard for human life. Confinement for life.
Henry - Abomination of magic, hostage spirit. Peacefully put down
Ruinil - half demon monstrosity. Execute.
Bartuc - twisted partner of half demon. Execute.
Landeel - Former revolutionist. Sided with the necromancer and half demons, disobeying the orders rules. Public execution. 

Despite what he had written, the actions of all sat heavily in his mind. His duty was to uphold the laws of the order regardless of personal feelings but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet.
His resolve was to give them a chance to prove loyalty in the fighting to come. If he misjudged, so be it. His aim was always perfect.