"Your darkness beckons." 

Garron sneered at the downed rebel soldier, before crumpling the man's rib cage with a powerful stomp of his heel and then kneeling briefly to drive his knife into his throat, killing him almost instantly. He took a moment to clean the blade of his knife on the grass and sheathed it, and then stood to observe the ongoing skirmish within the clearing on the edge of the forest. It was a planned ambush on the rebels camp; a small one but rewarding nonetheless as the camp contained crates full of steel weapons and various useful implements. A supply run, perhaps. This was one of Garron's first skirmishes where he was in charge of a battalion of his own, along with one of the first counterattacks launched against the rebels, and it ignited a sort of thrill within him that few other activities could match; going on the offence for a change. 

As he walked up towards the main tent in the centre of the camp, pointing to the side and commanding a small platoon of his soldiers to take the nearby tied up rebel soldiers hostage and lead them back to the barracks, he sheathed his massive hand-and-a-half blade and ducked to enter the tent. There was business to settle and he knew the leader of this expedition had information he wanted; he had also caused Garron more grief than he was comfortable with during their little skirmish. The leader of this small procession of rebels sat there, alone, in a tattered leather outfit and a fur cloak around his shoulders, seemingly defeated. Garron approached, and his hand shot out to grab the man by the throat and lift him out of the seat with little effort. "Tell me where I can find the Node of Yaqaris." He growled. The man remained silent, much to Garron's annoyance. "I don't have time for this." To which Garron drove his knife into the man's gut, and twisted it. "Where can I find it?" He repeated as the man gasped. Garron twisted again. "Where!?" He repeated angrily. Viscous blood dribbled from the man's open mouth.

"The Oxonian plains across the mountain range. There is *cough* a map in this sack." The man wheezed. Garron let go of his throat with a snort and he sunk back into the seat, coughing up blood with a hand over his gut wound, applying pressure. Garron grabbed the sack and turned to leave, pausing for a moment at the tent's exit. "Next time we cross paths, Magnus, I will not be so merciful." He left, leaving the man there gasping for breath and tending his wound. Garron knew that the man would survive without complications if he got aid quick enough. He called off the attack on the encampment, ordered his soldiers to scrounge up any remaining valuables, scour the immediate area for any survivors, and otherwise round up the captured soldiers from the expedition and start to head back to the barracks with him leading the way.