[h3]Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara – Forest north of Borstown, Bandit Farm[/h3]
A shadow began to descend over the face of the well-liked, generous and sympathetic Baroness Vela Bor as soon as the bandit started uttering his nonsense about the hanged handful of people having “killed the world.” The shadow only deepened when he a moment later clarified the means of killing the world as being through “your damned plague” and also redefined the group responsible as including at least Irah. She was intimately familiar with this rhetoric and was entirely unsurprised when Lhirin arrived to announce the bandits as actually belonging to the Crusader's Guild.
Squatting in place and setting aside her crossbow, Vela fixed her neon-green eyes on the wounded man's face. “Well? What do you think, [abbr=Mountainspeak insult meaning essentially “piece of shit”]g'vassi[/abbr]? Can this mage coax more useful things from you?”
The bandit, who appeared to also be a crusader, grimaced. Referring to Lhirin as a mage had been very intentional; there were very few non-mages who did not fear the esoteric and potentially invasive powers held by users of magic. “Y'all're gonna pay...”
“Do you think it'll end when you die?” the penin mused ominously, shifting closer to him as she spoke. “You know who I am; I am the law here, g'vassi. I will give him permission to trap your soul here even after you die. I will have your undead corpse dragged all the way back to Etlon so you can explain yourself to your boss. What do you think Kevalorn is going to do to one of his goons turned zombie?”
“You're bluffing,” he muttered, though he did not sound entirely convinced.
“You should probably hurry,” the baroness suggested grimly, “time is running out. You're bleeding, and he's already reading your mind. Tell us something good.”
“Tiny rock-brained freak!” The bandit spat viciously, and a glob of viscous saliva mixed with blood splattered over Vela's face-plates. “You will all bur –”
Barely had the spit landed on the baroness' face before Quintin started moving, moving a step forward and, quickly and efficiently, thrust the tip of his longsword into the crusader's open mouth, through the back of his throat and into the base of his spine. The insults and threats died on his lips as the light behind his eyes was instantly extinguished.

Vela stood back up with a sigh, casually retrieving a handkerchief from a pocket and wiping her face. “It was a long shot,” she said, sounding mildly annoyed. “We will try with any other prisoners we take, but the Guild is frustratingly good at compartmentalizing information. These common thugs probably don't know anything; the only one who had a realistic chance of knowing anything interesting was their commander. But by figuring out that they are crusaders we've already learned more than they wanted us to.”
She turned to look at Irah and Lhirin, and her tone and expression immediately shifted to worry. “What about Bren? Did you find him? Is he okay?”

About ten meters north from there, while all of this was going on, Jaelnec found himself leaning his back against the side of the barn while working on catching his breath. He was not quite exhausted yet, but he could tell quite clearly that he had exerted himself to a level where he would not have been able to keep up his performance for much longer. Stamina management was something he had only really learned in terms of physical exercise and theory, but he was beginning to realize that it was much harder to do in the midst of battle. He had pushed himself nearly to the utmost of his abilities in terms of skill and physical prowess when he could probably have won against opponents like these without straining himself anywhere near that much.
Even so it was still odd, since he was sure that will all his endurance training he should have been able to keep going
[I]Pressure in his left hand. Resistance as it moved forward. The tip of a spear burrowing into the exposed flesh of a man's throat. Blood gushing from the wound. The sound as he choked on his own blood.[/I]
Jaelnec blinked and swallowed, and suddenly realized that his heartbeat was quickening rather than slowing, and it was getting harder to breathe.
[I]Grass under his feet, just slightly slippery under his boots. He stepped forward as he parried. He could hear steel sliding against steel. The sword thrust at him was mere millimeters from his side.[/I]
Tremors shook the squire's body as his eyes widened. The warm air and sun abruptly felt cold enough to chill him to the bone.
[I]He could feel and hear his sword scraping against bone. He could feel it pierce the brain. The resistance as he dislodged it from the man's skull.
He thrust while being stabbed at, and saw the deadly sword moving quickly tip-first directly toward him. Less than half a step forward, and it would have found his chest.
His sword slipped under the shield as the man tried desperately to protect himself, and he felt its blade slit his throat. Heard the gurgle.
His opponent was momentarily disarmed. He saw the fear in his eyes, but the man still had a sword and dagger on his hip. He slit his throat before he could do anything. He felt warm blood on soaking through his clothes. Realized this was his first kill. This was a sapient with thoughts, hopes and dreams. With parents. A family. A past. But no future. Because of him. These people died by his hand.[/I]

Jaelnec dropped the spear he had been clutching frantically and instead clasped his left hand over his mouth. He was not entirely sure why; it was either to stop himself from vomiting or from screaming, but he did not know which. He felt tears burning in the corners of his eyes... but slowly, gradually over several minutes, he managed to get his breathing under control and to slow his heartbeat. But full recovery was going to take a while.