#craigscroll

Denton couldn't help bursting into laughter when he noticed his purse missing. That fucker was insane, or she had some impressive guts. Or, he realized, it could have been just a coincidence, and that made him laugh even more.

They robbed him. They. Robbed. Him. How long had it been since it last had happened? Urian all-permitting, it was almost refreshing to remind that such things could happen. He also appreciated the boldnes. True, they could have picked a more approachable target, but what was the point in living at all if you didn't aim high? Such boldness almost deserved a reward.

Almost. Of course, it wasn't actually enough to let it slide, let alone reward it. There was, after all, a very solid reason if people didn't do things like that, and he'd rather had things staying that way. Being known as the “Fleshgourger”, after all, was only good if you could live up to your reputation.

The concept of “pious” had always been open for debate.

The followers or Good-oriented deities, of course, claimed that it should have only been used for following their tenets. Of course, the implications of faith being more or less true depending on the target were not lost to priest of demanding gods such as Cayran, Seiro or Tarazne. The rationale for that claim was a supposed intrinsic superiority of Good, which was contested by the claim that the Dame and Onashar, first among the Creators, were Neutral forces. This usually spiraled it all in a pointless discussion about who were the “most powerful” or “principal gods”. Generally, unless you wanted a long debate and a headache, it was agreed that sincere faith toward any god was a valid definition.

And Denton was really pious. He knew that restrain was no virtue, but one of the worst sins, since it was willingly distancing oneself from the Consumption. Only when it led to a more thorough experience restrain was an acceptable sacrifice. Else, it was either foolishness, or weakness.

Sadly, Denton knew of his weakness. He had defended it as cleverness, but the two weren't exclusive. You always had to avoid picking fights you couldn't win, but if such fight existed then you failed to consume enough, to become as great as you could.

He focused on the work, trying to occupy his mind and quell his bloodlust, on how easy it would have been cracking the head of the elf on the zylsat's wood and paint it with blood. It would also have been a stimulating challenge, seeing how far he could go before the blood stopped flowing.

On some days, it almost seemed worthy. To lose every ally, all the support, and turn against everyone. Many deities praised such things, framing it as glorious, going away with in a blaze, but it was foolish. Accretion was the point of Consumption, and such acts would have only denied the possibility.

Restraining to get a more thorough experience, yes. That was acceptable. The need to ally was still weakness, but soon he'd have reached his destination. He'd have atoned after that.

The first day, he saw it had been the tengu (or kenku, as they called themselves on Rollmav), a colleague of Cinder, although acting on his own (even against Cinder's judgement, aparently).

That was still good: they knew where they came from. By the time they reached their destination, he saw that the kenku actually lived in Lavsten. That put a sincere smile on his face. He was singing, when he got off the zylsat, back on land.

My lovely Vel: a curious mind, a sweet child, a polite lady and a murderous ball of claws.

Shahar'Lena. We went to an accademy of mages in a tower