Sitting by puttering candlelight in the early hours of the morning, at his desk in a hastily reworked office, near the top of the colossal tower that served as Militia HQ, Jonah Lestyrian, Lord Commander Militant of Aberddu, worked steadily, and thought about the quiet. He could not recall a moment in his life that he considered too quiet. An almost imperceptible creak of the window, with a padded thud of feet behind him, was such a mark of the night not being nearly quiet enough.
“Nice night, Sahib” came a quiet, mocking, and yet strangely familiar voice behind him. “I have a door, you know.” Jonah chided. “Real funny, Sahib. And I didn't use no magic to get in here in case you were wondering”, came a reply. Possibilities moved through his mind. Doubtful it was an assassin, they wouldn't waste time like this. Not to mention, the last time he'd seen an assassin, he'd had an amicable discussion, and, as Jonah reflected, used the damned door.

The man rounded the desk, moving into candle light. He was small with a wiry build, and simple, dark clothing. No sign showed of how he scaled to the window. The face was also naggingly familiar, but he couldn't place him. “Looks like I caught you while busy, Sahib.” Jonah's eyes narrowed. “I don't have time for this. Who are you, how do you know me, and what do you want?” the man moved forward, leaning on the elderly desk, grinning a wide smile “If you don't know, I'm not about to tell you. I was merely passing through, when I hear a name, a stupid, made up name I haven't heard for years. A joke, who is leading the Milita. And I figured I would have to look into it.” at this, he let out a small mocking laugh. “And guess what, I was right. You're a joke. So I have to wonder, what's the idea, Sahib?” “I'm trying to work” Jonah tried to concentrate on the paper in front of him, when the man's hand slammed down on it. “You're a thief! And worse. I know the monster you are, Jaral Hussad, I know...what?”Jonah had started to smile. “Why're you smiling?” “Because nobody cares.”The man blinked.

He took a step back from the desk, a look of confusion on his face. “Waddaya mean?” “I mean that you could start telling people. I committed my crimes, and it still burns that I was ever so idiotic, so selfish, but that's my problem, I'm not the first, and I won't be the last. So go on. Do you think it will matter to them? If they care, then they aren't worrying about food, or clothing, or disease, or Aragon, Albion, or Fryisa. Even so, I bear the mark of the dead men, so it's not as if its a secret. There have been enough hints for most people to know. I did stupid things as a kid. But it brought me to law, and it made me who I am today. It might have worried me long ago, but now? I understand. I'm not serving law because I feel guilty, I serve Law because it is who I am. I still feel that guilt, but I am a cleric of my god, I make mistakes, but I'm always willing to work at it. I am the lord commander militant of this city, and you? Aren't even worth a jail cell. Get out of here.”

The man glared. “But what if your selfish, idiotic impulses return? What if the real you comes back? What if you snap, what if the power gets to you, what if the criminal never comes back, but a...”“What if?” Jonah interrupted. “I don't work in what if's.” he stared at his desk. “I'll always be scared of it. But y'know, I have a lot of friends. And IF that day rises, I'll have my friends giving me harsh words and probably a dagger in my back.” “But...your past....” “is past. My future is in service to my god, in this job, and with the guild. I still feel remorse, for Flek, for the guild council, for the temple, for so much more. What matters is that just makes me mortal.”

As he looked, the man was gone, his office catching the first rays of daybreak, his candles long since reduced to nothing. Yet, as Jonah stretched, he felt better than he had in some time. He looked at the tattoo on his right hand. The mark would never leave him, he would wear it for the rest of his life, and for that, Jonah was thankful.