It was the Countess Eselde Tamrith who spotted Reezal-Jul first, skulking in the darkest recesses of the Shadowfate Caverns, preparing no doubt for one last act of repugnancy.
There were no threats, no pithy retort, no guttural battle cry; and yet he was defiant to the end. But with his vampire soldiers either dust or in flight, he became what he is, just a dry old lizard, adrift in his own insanity.
I wonder… do bad men live just as long as the good? Do they make just as many friends in life? Do they take just as much pleasure from the taste of wine and the intimacy of others? Do they sleep just as long every night? Do they fear the light as much as the good fear the dark? I wonder if I am a good man, or bad.
Surely a good man with an enemy beaten and at the mercy of his blade might be satisfied in showing clemency and letting law and justice decide his fate. I took my satisfaction in the feel of my sword cracking the lizard’s ‘erect spine’ in two. For some offences there can be only savage retribution.
Perhaps the only difference between a good man and a bad one is the cause of his savagery.