Guilt and Truth

Reynald was a Witch Hunter in Warhammer: Age of Reckoning.




I

I'm writing about my life in an ill-lit, dirty cell by candlelight. I won't be living much longer. The best part of the situation is that I have the freedom- the absolute freedom- to tell the truth. Not the self-serving platitudes, the after-the-fact philosophies that we all adopt to our circumstances. But the truth.

The truth is never a pleasant thing, reader. Look inward upon yourself, and make peace with that fact. A witch hunter homily on judging not, certainly worth a laugh to the cynical.

But it's the truth. And that's all that matters in the end. Stop reading now if you don't believe this.

~~~

I am Reynald. I am the son of a minor duke in the Empire. Which dukedom doesn't matter, they are much the same when it comes to that kind of thing. The Emperor at Altdorf knows my father; and while he is but a minor figure in the Empire, my father is respected as one who can be relied upon to give one a no-nonsense view of things. This is probably the one thing I share in common with him. Or perhaps I'm more like him than bears thinking about.

I was the youngest of 4 sons. My older brothers were much more engaged in holding the reins of power than I was. Perhaps being so much younger, I was indulged more.

When I came of age, I begged my father- who I would only see occasionally- to take my place in the dukedom. He really didn't have anything left for me to do that my brothers weren't already doing, however.

One day in the main town of our dukedom I saw a free company passing through. The cavalrymen were a grand sight to see; little is more romantic to youth than soldiering.

So I asked my father for the right to petition for a free company that I would raise from the townfolk across our district. Being noble-born, I could purchase the title of Colonel in the Empire; I could equip and pay for my own regiment. My father assented.

That year raising the regiment was the finest of my life. Recruiting, equipping, supplying and training the ill-disciplined rabble consisting of mostly poor townfolk and country peasants, molding them into a reasonably competent fighting force. I took outcasts in, including prisoners given one last chance to redeem themselves. Those that adapted to the discipline did well enough; those that didn't were drummed out. A few incorrigibles were hung.

I played the role of Colonel to the hilt. I had several uniforms in different styles that I would wear on different occasions. I was respected by and large; those with a title and money generally are, at least to their face. What was said behind my back I can only surmise- a boy-soldier at play- but that mattered not. Why would it?

Then came the time for fighting.

We moved up to the front. The location doesn't really matter now; for all I know the front is still there, at that precise place. A land torn by war, deserted by normal folk. Everyone there was either wishing they were elsewhere, or, if they hadn't been there long, looking forward to battle.

I looked forward to the fighting with a passion. From my camp near the orderly rows of tents where my soldiers were, I looked out upon the landscape at sunset. Across the broken farmlands towards the enemy.

And that night, my life changed forever.

Through the darkness, the beating of Goblin drums could be heard, and the shrill skirling of flutes. The enemy was near; I left my tent to call my officers to me, when it hit me- an overwhelming sense of dread. It staggered me. I was seized with a panicked fright. My body-servant had finished placing my cuirass on me and had saddled my horse when the flares burst in the sky, adding an eerie orange glow as tendrils of light slowly fell...

In front of my gathering regiment, I panicked. I vaulted up into my saddle, and instead of leading the fight, I wheeled and galloped away, confused shouts raised in the night behind me. In my panic, I nearly rode over a sentry. A gun discharged behind me as I rode fast away from the
starting battle. I felt a sharp pain in my left leg, though I kept on riding.

I rode up to the sentries in a nearby village and fell out of the saddle, unconscious.

I awoke in a bed a day later; a man in the brown finery of the witch hunters sat next to me, and would not answer any questions that I had. My leg had been struck by a fusileers's bullet; I had lost a lot of blood, but would survive.

That wasn't necessarily good news, it turned out. It was a wound from one of those that I had failed. I thought of little else.

I was transferred to a town via horse litter, under guard. Nobody was talking; I couldn't find out what was going on. I asked about my regiment. Nothing.

Then my father entered the room I was being held in.

I knew it was bad because he wouldn't meet my eyes at first.

What he said during that visit really didn't stick in my mind. Only the fact that his eyes shied away from mine when he came into the room.

It turns out that my regiment was lost in a savage attack shortly after I had inexplicably fled in the night. My father said he was working out a deal. There was to be a court marshal.

I couldn't respond to all of this; I was in shock. Father didn't ask about anything. I couldn't think of anything to say.

I was a coward. What could I say?

The day came when I was ushered into a small room at a tavern; 3 impassive Empire officers heard facts read to them about my case. When it came time for me to speak, I had nothing to say. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Describing a fear deep in your body that caused you to abandon your men would not have went over well in any circumstances.

I was found guilty and was to be remanded over to the intelligence service indefinitely. This must have been the deal that my father had spoken about, to avoid the gallows. Two witch hunters escorted me out of the building. I favored my injured leg as we walked to the stables.

"What is to happen now?" I asked.

"Why, you're going to learn to be one of us milord," said one, then nothing more. The other grinned. The silence stretched past the point of being uncomfortable.

As we rode out of town, my thoughts were tangled.

I was to be a witch hunter.


II


Witch hunters, people call us. That's a small but dramatic part of our job. Most of the time we're engaged in watching the watchers- making sure local bailiffs are doing their job, enforcing order- and keeping the population in line for the Emperor. We call ourselves the internal security service, or just the service. 'Witch hunters' is a much more dramatic name, and we're fine with that. Our reputation does half of our job for us.

It's the war effort that causes much of the strain. Sure, there are standard criminal cases, but our main job is to keep the people focused on who their true enemy was. Or, depending on your viewpoint, focused on the external threat, to avoid internal dissent.

My trainer was a man named Halden. He was grey-haired and thick-bodied, and had been a witch hunter for many years. He was looking forward to retirement when I was partnered with him. He was not a man who I would have naturally made friends with, but he treated me better than most others in the service.

Halden also had the look of what many thought of as the buffoonish, petty civil servant- he was careless in his grooming habits and his dress. The kind that were the butt of jokes in many a tavern (when there were no witch hunters around, of course). The service was despised by more numbers than those that respected it (or should I say feared it); corruption was not unknown, as in all areas of life. No one liked having their business scrutinized.

I understood that perfectly.

He cared not that I had been a nobleman. That fact seemed to poison others' opinions of me more than anything, sort of a payback in a strange way. A certain pettiness that said, 'you are one of us now, how do you like it?' As much as witch hunters were laughed at behind their backs by some, the nobility were reviled much more widely. Much of this was simple envy, resentment of a hard life transferred to those that knew little of such things. I was the victim of many slights and pranks. And of worse.

Not from Halden. I assume this assignment was no reward for him, either. But he showed me who to talk to, and what to look for when talking to them. How you could tell much about a person from just observing them. Early on in this training, I didn't care. One day while he was going over the finer points of gaining information, he stopped talking. I looked at him.

"Reynald. Routine is the cure for adversity. Embrace it, it will get you through."

"What if I could care less?"

He looked at me, then stood up and pulled out his pistol.

My eyes widened.

He handed it to me, butt-first.

"Might as well save all of us the trouble then."

I looked into his eyes the longest time. I eventually broke his gaze and looked away.

"Rationalize the truth, Halden? Why?"

"The truth?" Halden snorted. "Is that what you think I've been training you to get to?" He laughed harshly. "The truth- what have you done with it, lad?" He looked at me with that piercing gaze of his. "Truths and falsehoods alike are as common as leaves. What you make of them, that's what counts."

We stared at each other. Eventually, he put his pistol away.

I thought about what he said all night. I understood the message applied to my training, but that it was really aimed much closer to the bone.

What had I made of it?

That night, I decided I'd try.


III


Halden, the agent who taught me well, was a shrewd man. His unkempt image and general demeanor caused others- both in and out of the service- to underestimate him. He was often pegged as a time-server. He took advantage of this. Believing you know your opponent when you really don't leaves you at a clear disadvantage.

I saw him conduct interviews with people who clearly thought they were his superior. He subtly played on this and used it to trap them. Then he came on hard and pushed them. I saw many a suspect crumple under his examinations.

I learned from this, and applied it to my situation.

I was known as Your Highness within the service, for obvious reasons. I played to this to a certain degree towards those I despised. To the general populace I was known as the Limper, due to my leg injury that never quite healed properly. Once again, I played to this, emphasizing this characteristic for dramatic effect when conducting certain interviews. Many were the tales I spun about how I had received this wound, often dramatic or mundane- but never the truth, of course.

That wouldn't do. I had better uses for this condition than telling the truth about it. Convenient? Perhaps. Useful? Yes.

I questioned and interrogated many people after becoming an agent. Most were frightened, which was sensible if not terribly helpful to their case. Many were obsequious, almost embarrassingly so; often simple working people and peasantry were like this. One had to learn to weed out what people would tell you because they thought that was what you wanted to hear. Some witch hunters- typically those who were less skilled, or simply lazy- would take much of this information at face value. Many a man or woman would turn in their neighbor for imagined or invented reasons, just to get the attention off of them. Particularly if that neighbor was someone that they didn't like. And particularly if someone was joking or complaining about the way things are being run in the Empire.

This is why witch hunters have a bad name with much of the populace. Easy accusations, quick arrests and hearsay trials. Informers taken at face value, motivated by pettiness, vindictiveness, or greed.

There are those witch hunters like Halden that want nothing to do with this way; but they use it as a tool to get to the truth they are seeking, just the same. Fear is a motivator; it is a complicated world. Smile at this simple phrase, and think it convenient. But it is the reality we have to work with.

Feel superior and aloof from this mess behind the shield of your own beatific inaction. Those that judge and do nothing else hold forth the purity of being irrelevant to the world. Theirs is the victory of doing nothing. For if you act, even justly, you add to the mess, because nothing is pure.

Would that I were afforded this view, this fantasy purity. To truly believe that would be to ease the mind.

But it would be false. The truth? What have you done with it.


IV


State your name and where you live.

I am Norbert Strong, your Grace, I live in the town of Felde.

{stony smile} I am not to be addressed as 'your grace'. 'Sir' will do. What is your occupation?

I am a teamster, a waggoneer, your gr- Sir.

Good. For the record, state where you were in the evening 3 Saturdays ago.

I was at the Blazing Sun Tavern Sir, and after that I went home. You can ask-

{interrupting} The Blazing Sun Tavern?

Yes, Sir. I often go there Saturdays to meet with-

From what I understand, you go there more than that.

{scattered laughter from the room}

Y-yes, your- Sir. I'm a simple laborer, and go there, uh, I go to be with friends and-

I understand, Norbert. You work long hours, and go there to drink. With friends.

{pause; Norbert looks uncomfortable}

That eve...aside from the usual banter with your friends, did anything happen of note? Did any other guest attract your attention?

{a pause} Yes, yes Sir. There was Nate, the town crier, that night he was-

I've spoken to Nate, Norbert.

{uncomfortable silence}

{casually} Anyone else?

Yes, Sir...{fidgets}

{sharply} Well?

{suddenly} Aldus, Sir. It was Aldus.

{pause}

What do you mean, Norbert? It was...?

What I mean, I meant that Aldus was the one who said it. Sir.

{pause; the quiet grows}

Norbert.

Yes Sir?

{deliberately} What did Aldus say, and to whom? Pretend this is the first time we are speaking to each other.

{abashed, reddened} Sir, Aldus is the one who said he'd sooner see the Emperor in Hades than-

Yes, go on.

I- I'm sorry, Sir. I mean sorry for saying it.

We all understand, Norbert. It wasn't you who said it. Go on.

He said he'd sooner see the Emperor in Hades than send any more lads to fight.

{silence; the room is quiet}

Thank you, Norbert. You may go. Bring Aldus out, if you please.

{a small man sits in the recently-vacated chair; he looks impassive}

State your name Sir, and where you live.

{pause} Aldus. Of Salzenmund.

What do you do, Aldus?

I am a town councilman of Salzenmund. Or was.

{smiles humorlessly} Very good. Did you say, 3 Saturdays ago-

{interrupting} I said it.

{quickly} Repeat it. For us.

I said I'd see the Emperor in Hades before I'd send more Salzenmund lads to be bled white in this infernal war.

{puts foot up on a step; leans forward upon his knee with both hands} Explain to me why you said this.

{observing his interrogator} That must be your good leg.

Sir, what was-

{continuing} They call you the Limper.

{silence}

I said it because, Sir, I was drunk. In my cups. Thoroughly soused.

{nervous laugh turns into a cough at the back of the room}

{straightening, his cloak flowing down around his legs once more} Are you drunk now, Aldus?

I assure you I am not.

I have three others who will attest that you said what you said, but since you have conveniently admitted to us what-

Do you want to know why I said what I said?

Aldus, I don't care.

I said it because my godson was killed in the fighting-

I said, Sir, that I do not care.

That is the problem with the lot of you. And why it goes on.

Sir, I assure you, this is not the place to debate foreign policy; look what it gained you. Guards, please take Aldus back to his cell. We can move on to the next case-

Have you never done anything you were ashamed of, Sir?

{startled silence}

I am a fool and a drunkard, but I admit it. I'll face the penalty. But my godson was worth more to me than my comfort, and I'll not send any other man's son off again. What of you, Sir? Limper?

{the guards hustle Aldus back to his cell}

{the silence carries on, as the Limper ponders his thoughts}

{Jaema steps up and speaks in a brusque, firm voice} The next case. Calling Martin of Grimmenhagen to the stand, in the name of Emperor and Duke, and of the Town Council.

{the guards present Martin to the proceedings, and the procedure returns to normal with Jaema leading a sharp and merciless interrogation, erasing all thoughts of Aldus and the Limper}


V


Jaema, a fellow witch-hunter. Self-assured, poised, deadly. So alive. Very good at what she does. And does it with a personal flair. I sometimes would just watch her. I often did, when she was asleep. You cannot lead a false life and not have it show in your sleep. I would toss and turn restlessly at night. I'd often get up and stare out a window. Jaema slept like a cat; like everything else she did, she immersed herself in it, enjoyed it. She rested deeply, with a smile upon her face.

I can't decide if I'm horrified or if I envy her greatly.

I tell you about her, because she saved my life.

~~~

We were in Grimmenhagen, investigating a handful of minor cases. We split up to get the interviews done in a more timely fashion. Most of the people we would talk to were alarmed enough to be questioned by one witch hunter. Two at a time was reserved for the hard cases.

My last case of the day was a woman who was reported by an informant for 'general suspicious words and actions', which was pretty much four fifths of our cases. The particular informant who had reported this case was one I knew; he was not the typical petty nobody that eked out a bit of coin by turning in those they didn't like. Informants were often worse than those whom they informed upon, but we were looking for disloyalty, not spitefulness. Half the citizens of the Empire would be guilty of the latter, were it a crime.

The upper classes would be completely decimated.

The woman was of middle age and ran an apothecary shop. I entered through the front door, setting a little bell ringing above my head. No one was within the public area; the smell of herbs was strong. There was the sound of footsteps, and then she appeared through a doorway behind the main counter.

I removed my long gloves- a typical move to give me time to size up my case, and to emphasize my occupation. I strode into the shop with my usual limp.

The woman smiled at me from behind the counter.

I knew right away something was wrong.

My hand instinctively went to my pistol- it would have taken too long for me to draw my sword. The pistol was easier to put into play rapidly.

Then there was a brilliant glow, and I came to my senses laying face-up upon the wooden floor, unable to move.

The woman walked around me, and laughed. A cold, harsh sound.

Intense fear ran through the marrow of my bones; I had a brief vision of galloping wildly away in the dark on horseback, blood soaking my boot.

She knelt down next to my head. Her plain wool dress rustled against the floorboards. She looked intently into my eyes. I couldn't speak.

"You've been Touched, you have," her voice said in a strange melodious tone. "The Touch has been upon you for years." She drew a knife from a sheath strapped to her lower leg as she spoke to me. "Not many have survived the Sorceress's Touch." She stared into my eyes, knife in hand. "All these years, it was not you. Do you understand me?"

I nodded, more of a dip of my head. I felt peace spread through me.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then raised the knife.

Then, a pistol shot and shattering glass. The woman hunched her back; her head whipped around to look over her shoulder. Blood dripped onto the floor next to me.

Jaema crashed through the door, sword drawn, yelling in a fury as she charged. She had finished her rounds early and sought to join me on my last case. She had seen through the shop window and had fired her pistol into the witch's back.

The glow once more- this time not as intense- and after a minute, Jaema leaned over me, breathing hard, her blood up.

"Reynald, are you hurt?"

"No," I said weakly. "The witch?"

"Blinded me. She's gone." Fury danced in her eyes at her quarry escaping.

As she helped me out of the shop, I game a short laugh. Jaema looked at me in wonder.

"How many times do we find an actual witch?" I asked her.

She looked at me ruefully, shaking her head as I leaned upon her shoulder.

But that was not the real reason I had laughed.

The real reason was that I could live again.


VI


I lay in bed in the room at the inn, gazing out the window, watching the glow of the setting sun dim. Jaema was out there, attempting to track the witch. When she had left, I saw the color in her cheeks- the hunt was on. She was in her element, a Goddess of Wrath, accoutered for battle, as she smiled at me before closing the door. That smile was full, attractive, and feral.

I was weakened by my encounter with the witch; yet my mind soared, brimmed with thoughts. I had not thought this rapidly in years. I knew that I was not guilty of cowardice, after all of this time. The enemy had cast some glamor upon me, to which I succumbed. And yet this personal knowledge would not change one thing for me. The incident was years ago, and who I was to everyone was set in stone; the Limper, a fallen noble's son who spent his life trying to redeem himself.

But I knew the truth. That made all of the difference in the world.

As I gazed out the window in thought, soft glowing blue lights appeared in the darkening sky, waxing greater as the sun disappeared. Curious, I watched them swirling in the heavens, slow, sinuous movements of plasma...

...and then, all at once, I was standing in the Inevitable City.

I had never been there, of course; I simply knew it was that place. What other place could it have been, really- the monstrous black stone architecture, the open sky above full of the chilling blue corpse-lights of Destruction.

I stood in a courtyard, facing a table where 3 enemy sat. One was a large barbaric man clad in furs; scars showed upon his face and arms. His eyes glittered with malice. Next to him a dark elf woman, clad in a clinging gray dress, her eyes dramatically yellow and unreadable. And next to her was a goblin in leather gear. He grinned at me like a fiend.

Upon the table at which they sat was an urn. In front of each person was a pair of pebbles, one black, one white.

I knew at once that they were to judge me.

Next to their table stood an orc, looking curiously nonthreatening without his armor or the various weapons his kind usually carried. He spoke to those seated at the table. And though I could not understand his tongue, I sensed the tone. He kept looking at me, gesturing towards me. I knew he was the prosecutor. And I could guess what my crimes were.

And when he fell silent, somebody cleared their throat next to me. I turned and it was Halden, the man who had trained me to be a witch hunter. The man who had trained me to think.

Halden had retired years ago, and now he was dead, died peacefully in his bed from what I heard. I had visited him once at his modest farmhouse. You see, he became a farmer when he left the service with his modest pension. He had told me, 'raising crops and livestock is a more honest living, my lad. To create rather than to destroy, that's for me in my twilight.'

The fact that he was dead now did not impinge at all upon the almost hyper-reality of the situation. I cannot explain; it all seemed to fit together, anyway.

I looked at him and he smiled back, dressed as he ever was in his witch hunter's regulation finery, shabby as ever. He winked at me.

I knew I was in good hands. And that Destruction did not condemn others out of hand. Anyone at that table would have less of a chance in the Empire if they were in my shoes.

Halden spoke to those at the table at length, in their tongue. I had not the knack of knowing Chaos Speech, but understood enough of it to piece together what he was saying.

"...follow orders...duty...all understand...just as you do."

They looked at Halden as he spoke, the occasional flash of a glance to me. He was playing upon their duty to Destruction; I had but done what they were asked to do in the great struggle with Order. Whether on the battlefield or rooting out subversives and spies, it was all the same. To do one's job well was what counted; therein lay honor.

When he finished, he walked back to me and I clasped hands with my mentor.

"Dear Halden...what have you done with the truth?"

He smiled at me, remembering that day many years ago when he had asked me the same thing. We held hands for a long time.

"You didn't forget my advice for quitting the game, did you?"

"No, friend, not at all."

He nodded, then turned and walked out of the courtyard. He seemed to fade as he reached the door.

I turned back around and watched as the three seated figures conferred in low tones with each other.

"Excuse me," I said.

They all looked up at me.

"I'd like to say the truth, now."

Even though I spoke in my tongue, they seemed to understand.

"I am guilty- as guilty as each of you are, of the same crimes."

Silence filled the courtyard.

"What I have done over the years has been of my own volition. We are all locked in this war, not of my making, not of your making, and each and every one of us-" I looked in each of their eyes- "all of us decide what we will do. Orders work only when we follow them. We all think what we will of each other, of the ones who do not do what we would do. But it all comes down to each of us, our own actions, what we do. This is not mitigated by the fact that there would be consequences for doing otherwise. I did what I did, just like you; but I do not blame others for this, though I may despise them. I was good at what I have done, though I have not enjoyed it; the same can be said for yourselves, perhaps. Judge me."

They stared at me. I could think of nothing else to say.

The orc behind them said a short sentence, and then the three picked up their pebbles.

Slowly, one by one, each dropped a single pebble into the urn.

The orc stepped up and reached in the urn, and pulled out a white pebble.

"Guilty," he said. I knew that word.

The human's dead eyes bored into mine. Dead eyes.

The orc reached in again, pulled out another.

A black pebble lay in his palm.

"Innocent." I assumed that was the word.

The goblin grinned mirthlessly at me.

The orc then reached in and pulled out the last pebble.

I took a deep breath.

Another black pebble.

"Innocent."

The dark elf's eerie eyes were steady upon mine. I thought of the witch.

The moments stretched out as I stared at the pebbles, laying upon the table.

The orc said, "You- free. Now."

I sat bolt-upright in bed, heart hammering.

I looked out the window. The sun was rising. There was a clamor out in the street below. I threw off the blanket and opened the window, leaning out. The town crier was calling out:

"The witch is taken! The witch is taken!"

As I leaned upon the sill, I noticed 3 pebbles there- 2 black, one white. I felt an energy, a force emanating from them, a surety of power.

And after a while in deep thought, I knew what I was going to do.

~~~

Jaema had caught the witch. I knew that she would catch her if it was possible. She relentlessly tracked her down, not even pausing to sleep. Blood loss from the superficial pistol wound had enfeebled her quarry, and had caused the witch to attempt to hide rather than flee far.

I walked to the Grimmenhagen jail, a black pebble clutched in my palm.

I was allowed access to the cell area. I am a witch hunter, of course. Two guards stood near the cell where the witch was. She was a disheveled, bloodstained mess, hands shackled, gagged to prevent and spell words from being spoken, sitting on a cot.

One guard spoke as I approached. "Limper, she's not for you. She'll be burned soon enough, no fear there."

I raised my fist, uncurling the fingers to open my hand; the pebble glowed on my palm. I knew not what would happen; yet, I knew something would happen. I was certain.

And suddenly, the guards were immobile. It was as if time was frozen.

The witch stared at me. The eyes reminded me of the dark elf sorceress who had judged me.

I took the keyring from a guard's belt and opened the cell.

I removed the shackles from the witch, took the gag off, and then I just stood there.

"I thank you," she said in a quiet voice.

"I thank you," I said back.

Her eyes searched mine, and after a time she nodded. She then limped by me and took a cloak from one of the immobile guards, wrapped it around her. I knew how she felt.

At this moment, 3 men entered the hallway, an official and two town militiamen. They looked stunned seeing the witch before them.

She whirled the cloak around her, and in a flash disappeared.

The guards started, and were mobile once more. A shout was raised. Then all turned to look at me.

~~~

"Tell me," Jaema said.

And so I told her the tale, from the cot of my very own cell. She had had glimpses of the background before, and knew my thoughts were not like hers on all matters. She had respected me as a witch hunter for the talents that I had exercised in our cases together. This made it more important than ever for her to try to understand. I could see it in her face.

I talked a long time, in a low tone.

She listened well; I could tell there were times when she wanted to say something, when emotion ran strong. But she let me finish the story.

When it was over, she looked guarded, thoughtful; and before she left, she kissed my cheek. There was so much I wanted to say, apart from what had happened; but she would not, could not hear it. Jaema was a witch hunter; she was what she wanted to be. I understood that. In a way, so was I.

As she waited for the guards to unlock the cell, she turned to me and said in a low voice: "I'll miss you."

And so I finish this writing. I have not long left to live, as my crime was high treason to the Empire.

~~~

Today is the day that I go to the gallows. A guard unlocked my cell door and tossed in my witch hunter's hat onto my cot. "Might as well dress right today, Limper." He cackled as he left and bolted the door.

I picked up the hat; a note was tucked beneath the band, in familiar handwriting:

'A memento for you'

Folded within the paper was a black pebble.

I smiled.

Now I prepare to walk away from it all, when they come to open the cell to hang me. I'm glad that I listened to Halden all those years ago, and tucked away some coin in a hidden place for emergencies. That will be the start of a new and authentic life. There are many isolated hamlets that have been deserted because of the war; I've seen many where no one lives now. Perhaps I'll try my hand at farming, like my old mentor did.

I'm done with it all.

I'd lost myself, now I've found myself.