Thom Specnor rested lazily near the southern gate of Hillsfar. Using a small knife, he busied himself by cleaning the dirt out from underneath his fingernails. From where he was standing, he could watch the road that lead towards the city gate. He could also watch the city guards as they searched every wagon, every merchant, and every person who was trying to gain entrance to the city.

Hillsfar had a strict policy of not allowing persons who where not of human descent enter into the city. This was especially true of those who had elven blood in them. The guards had made quite a few arrests on this day. The Arena would be busy tonight with the latest group of prisoners facing off against some unimaginable horror. Those poor souls would never have a chance, he said to himself as he returned his gaze to the ever-growing line of merchants, pilgrims, and travelers.

Grunting to himself, he kept an eye on everyone who tried to enter one of the Moonsea's greatest cities, the City of Trade. He was looking for someone, someone from his past. Someone who could help redeem him. Or at the very least, forgive him. And if the information he had received had been correct, then she should be returning on this day.

He stopped momentarily when one of the guards pointed in his direction with his spear. The soldier began to make a ruckus and everything came to a halt at the gate. The soldier pointed at him again and shouted at him to stand and be recognized. Thom had heard him clearly enough, but cupped a hand to his hear and pretended that he couldn't hear him.

The soldier wore a red plume in his helmet. The Red Plumes were the official military of the city, and this particular one began to walk towards where he was standing, with an important looking individual in tow; a low level officer by the looks of it. Thom put his knife away. He didn't want to look threatening or be accused of such. The Red Plumes were notoriously corrupt and any slight they would find offensive would be reason enough to be arrested.

"You there," barked the soldier, "what are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for someone. I was told to meet her here today," growled Thom.

"You've been here all morning?" asked the officer.

Thom nodded.

"Why here and not some place within the city walls?"

"There's a lot of people in there, and she's just a farmer's daughter. She's never been in a big city, and I'm afraid she'll get lost," he lied.

The officer crossed his arms and stared a bit at Thom before he spoke again.

"Why are you here?"

"I've come for the mourning of Gludoff the Wise. I am just a pilgrim coming to pay his respects."

"And this girl you speak of?"

"A friend," he grinned conspiratorially. It was not uncommon for the local farmer's daughters to fancy an adventurer and run away with them to the city, only to end up working the brothels, sleaze dens or whatnot to earn enough to feed themselves. As long as there were farmer's daughters who dreamt of a better life, there would be a plethora of fresh blood coming into the city to be ground up and spit out.

The officer looked him over a bit.

"Search him," he ordered the guard.

The soldier lowered his spear and told Thom to raise his arms, as he quickly patted him down. He found the small knife in a pouch that hung from his leather belt. He showed it triumphantly to the officer.

"It's just a silly cutting knife. He's not armed with anything else?"

He sounded disappointed.

The soldier shook his head and the officer cuffed him in the back of the head. He grumbled about thieves and spies and ordered the soldier to return to his post. He turned and headed back towards the city gate. Thom called out to him.

"My knife?"

"Contraband. Don't let me catch you carrying anything else or I'll personally take you over to the arena myself!" he said as he marched away. The soldier managed a glace back towards Thom and scowled.

He chuckled quietly. The poor wretch would catch hell for interrupting the officer's important duties for a simple knife. Thom knew the rules and glanced down to a bush behind him. It was hiding his pack along with his sword and an assortment of other weapons that would be illegal for him to carry within the city limits.

He watched as another group of pilgrims approached the city gates. They seemed to be dressed in rags, and the guards instantly began to hassle them. Thom watched them nonchalantly. None of them looked familiar, and he didn't expect to find her that easily. It had been nearly 20 years since he last saw her. She had grown and matured, he figured. Even though, he needed to talk to her. It was the only way to restore his honor, his station, and his life or so he had come to believe.

He pulled another knife from beneath the sleeve of his tunic and returned to his fingernails. He began to concentrate on a particularly nasty piece of dirt that had become wedged under his thumbnail. He lost himself in his work, when he heard the voice. His heart began pounding and he could feel himself breaking out into a sweat. He quickly put his knife away and bent down. He reached for his sword when he heard the voice again. Thom spun on his heel and turned to face the familiar voice behind him. The man who stood behind was slightly bent at the shoulders and his gray hair hung in long strands that framed his narrow face. He coughed a few times, clearing his throat, leaning against a staff that was as black as any he had ever seen.

"Thom, my good friend. It has been a long time since we last spoke."

"What in the nine hells are you doing here, Grax?" spat Thom.

The newcomer laughed and reached up and touched an amulet that hung around his neck.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

Thom scowled and took a step back and bowed swiftly.

"I realize that we didn't leave on the best of terms, and for that I must apologize. But you must learn to trust me. After all, it was I who saved you from yourself."

"You had me kill women and children. Women and children! Torm turned his back on me. I've been cast out. I am no longer in his favor. I blame this on you!" he growled.

"Tsk, Tsk, Thom. Don't you realize that I freed you from the oppression of Torm? You should have embraced Cyric when you had the chance. He is truly a powerful god. You could become one of his greatest warriors!"

"By the Hells, you don't even serve him anymore!"

"Ah yes, well, Bane just wouldn't approve."

"If I accepted Cyric, then you would have reason enough to kill me."

"Well, yes, of course. You'd be a heretic. Your only salvation would be death. Are you going to convert?"

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," huffed Thom.

"Do you still think that Torm would take you back? You are a criminal in his eye now. You can never be redeemed. You are dead to him. You really mustn't delude yourself with anymore-frivolous fantasies. You belong to me remember? Without me, you are nothing but a hopeless vagabond."

"There is always hope," he said. But he didn't sound convincing.

"Do you think the child, Teagen, will save you?"

"She's not a child; hasn't been for quite some time," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Bah, she's of no use to you. Her anger and fear towards you will never allow her to forgive you for murdering her family."

"She can save me. Her forgiveness can cleanse me. Then I can finally destroy you, Grax!"

"I think not. I'm having her killed even as we speak," he boasted.

Thom's eyes grew wide and his voice wavered a bit.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Anything to keep you my willing servant," the old man chuckled.

"I am not your servant," Thom said dejectedly.

"Oh no? I command you. You do as I say. You are my servant," he boasted.

"I am no willing servant."

"Willing or not, you are at my beck and call. If I order you to kill, you will kill. If I order you to die, you will die. It is the way of things between us. Always has been, always will be."

"You are wrong Grax, and someday, you'll be dead wrong."

"You will die long before I ever will Thom. You still have your Paladin ignorance about you. One would think that after nearly 20 years of servitude..." Grax let his voice trail off. He sighed and grasped the amulet that hung around his neck. It was a black mailed fist surrounded by a starburst of green light. He spoke a few words that were demonic in nature and touched Thom on his forehead. Thom fought the urge to kneel, but found that he couldn't and slowly went down to one knee.

"That's better. You should always kneel before those who are your betters. Come with me. I want you to watch as we murder your salvation. It'll be fun. I'm told that Hillsfar has some very inventive ways to murder people. You might learn something new today."

"You sadistic bastard," he said as a few tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Now, now, Thom, I knew my father. I hated him and killed him, you know that."

Grax walked behind Thom and uttered a few words. Thom watched as his pack, gear and his sword disappeared. Grax turned and snapped his fingers and Thom was forced to obey. He fell into step behind his master and glared at his back. If looks could kill, Grax would have been dead a hundred times over.

As they approached the city gate, Thom noticed a few newcomers who were being held up by the city guards. The group was led by two dwarves who were in a huff about being held at the gate. Thom looked over the group and his eyes came to rest on one particular individual. He carried with him an instrument on his back, a traveling minstrel. He was tall and much older looking than the rest of the group, and he had a far away look in his eye.

For a brief moment, their eyes met and a sudden memory came flooding back to Thom. It was of a lad nearing manhood who stood with a dagger trying to protect a young girl. Thom remembered the scream that the young girl had let out as he had nearly cleaved the lad in half. He remembered the bright red blood that spattered across his own armor as the boy flailed his arms. He remembered watching him fall onto the road and hearing the girl scream again. He remembered the eyes staring up at him as the life slowly faded from them.

He remembered Grax ordering him to kill the girl and finding himself unable to do so. His arms were as heavy as lead, and he sank to his knees and tried to cry out. He remembered the blackness that engulfed his heart. And he remembered everything that he had tried to forget on that horrible day. Thom had left him for dead that day. And yet, here he was grown, and more importantly, alive. He knew it in his heart that he had looked upon the boy known as Jonathan.

He looked away and turned to catch up with Grax, who was passing a large amount of coin into the hands of the officer that had accosted Thom only moments ago. The officer looked away and waved them both through the gate and quickly forgot about them as he approached the dwarves and their companions. Thom dared a single glance over his shoulder, and he found the minstrel staring at him. He saw the anger, the hatred and the loathing within his eyes. He remembers Thom thought, he remembers who I am. And for the first time, in a long time, Thom was afraid.