Turning, the gentleman addresses the others in the hall. “You are all witnesses! This man has disgraced the honor my house and has been challenged according to the law!”
“It’s true!”, cries the woman. “He is a beast and needs to be punished!” Behind the gentleman’s back, a knowing look finds Akiros.
A pleading look: “Rosilla! What is this nonsense!? I thought...”
“Don’t try to talk your way out of this one, knave! Dawn! Swords! Bring a testament!”
“Sir, I assure you. Your wife...”
“Do not speak about my wife!”, the gentleman roars, veins straining in his neck. “You have done enough damage already! I will hear nothing more but your death rattle on the morn!” He sneers. “And this from a so-called paladin of Erastil.” He looks about the room at the bystanders. “You should all be ashamed.”
Nodding, the woman straightens up and release a gob of spittle into the face of Akiros that would make a dock worker proud.
A heartbeat, then a red haze descends over Akiros’ eyes and he has a rod from the crib in his hand. There’s a woman’s scream and the red haze darkens. A grapple, a cry, and the red haze darkens yet again.
Horrified, Akiros gapes at the red haze seeping through the Sunday dress of the woman he once loved.
The bystanders stand stunned. Only one thing remains to do.
Run.
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