Fear snaked through Jatan's body suddenly. His limbs stiffened, locking against his will. His heart throbbed. It was a struggle even to breathe. Only pitiful rasps wheezed desperately from his lips. Something had slithered inside him, constricting his mind, poisoning his thoughts. 

Fear was no obstacle for a monk. Unfortunately, it would be a stretch to call Jatan a monk. He was only a kid, after all. Still, he knew enough to sense divine magics at play. Someone was forcibly tampering with his mind. 

"Torm looks after us, Jatan," Edgar had explained when Jatan had first walked into the monastery. "He is a protector of the weak. Those of us who worship him are united by our belief in justice. We defend those who cannot defend themselves. And not too long from now, that responsibility will fall to you." Jatan craned his head, meeting Edgar's twinkling eyes. Those words felt so true. Hearing Edgar speak, it touched something within him. Deeply. Powerfully. Somewhere in his soul he knew he was meant to defend the powerless.

But right now, Jatan was the one who was powerless. [i]Torm, I need you,[/I] he thought. 

Whether by some act of divine intervention, Jatan's sheer willpower, or some other force, no one knew for sure. But at that moment, his fingers crinkled. His limbs awoke. He heaved as air burst once more though his lungs. And just as he was finally collecting himself…

BAM! A half orc came charging past, scooping up the tiny, shocked, and probably terrified Brisa onto his back and barreling down the street like a human (or perhaps half-orc would be more appropriate) battering ram. Scrambling to catch up, Jatan bolted down the street after him. He wasn't as fast as the half orc, but he did know the area. Only it seemed like they weren't just running to escape the situation…

They were running to escape the town…

Of course. The half-orc had assaulted a priest. There was no other option, really.

Which left Jatan with a choice. Follow the three children out of town and escape the hell that Loudwater had become, or stay and try to right the injustice that was being done. [i]How can I leave this place?[/I] he thought to himself, [i]People here need me. If I just leave, no one will be looking out for them. Every lost life...it will be on my conscience the rest of my life...And Edgar. His death will go unavenged. How could I possibly let that happen after all he has done for me?[/I]

Edgar's wisdom again rang in his head, "Bravery and stupidity are very different things Jatan."

It was important advice. Edgar had been warning him of something, warning him to not bite off more than he could handle. No, he had to leave. To stay would be stupidity. He was one boy. There was nothing he could do. He would either perish at the hands of the priests or rot away in the slums if he stayed. Sooner or later, he'd have to go. To learn. To grow. To find help. So that, one day, his chance to return and enact justice would present itself.

Perhaps it was a sign from Torm. The chance to leave was, after all, right in front of him. A couple feet in front of him, to be precise, and gaining fast. "Guys, wait for me!" he cried out, propelling his legs to churn faster still.

As he ran, he couldn't help but think he was running from the only place he had ever called home. Who knew when he'd return? If he'd ever return? A single tear slipped from his eye, streaking silently down his cheek and onto the pavement below, but he did not stop running.