“Please!

” A human prostrated himself on the dungeon floor before a warrior dressed in sleek, blood-
red armor and wrapped in a black cloak. The groveling crime lord had a ratty face and a phlegmy
voice, and trembled before the crimson avenger who towered over him. “You’ve beaten me! My
empire is in shambles, my suppliers have all abandoned me. Please let me live! You have nothing
more to take from me!”
“No mercy for the wicked,” the paladin said, her voice muffled within her helmet. “Your minions
have lived because I allowed them to; ordinary foes might win my mercy, but my sworn enemies do
not.”
“But they yet run free!” the crime lord whined. “Think of the harm they will do, every second you
waste upon me you allow them to become stronger.”
“Fight the greater evil,” the paladin recited dispassionately. “I will not waste my time trifling with lesser
evils—you are my target. I admit, I have my fears. Any one of the faithless scum you employed may
blossom into another tree of evil. But I must not let my qualms get in the way of exterminating the
greater evil. And that is you.”
She raised her spear and her glowing eyes glinted from within her helmet. “Make peace with whatever
god you give your pathetic prayers to. Beg them for mercy, for I will show you none.”

- Story of Isallia Amynder, Initiate of the Third Circle, Avenger of Torm