Octopath Traveler 2: The Ninth Flame
Chapter 2: Cruel Nightmare, Kind Memories
Disclaimer: I do not own Octopath Traveler. All rights belong to Square Enix.
Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is shorter than usual. I really struggled with it, but I hope you enjoy it and offer constructive criticism on how to improve myself.
After the celebration was over, Maolcholm went back to his chambers and looked over the small book Ferdiad had given him. Entrusted to him this night was a mission that could turn the tide of their war against Jul in the North Star's favor. He once again looked over the names of the cities and kingdoms he was to enlist to help the North Star, along with the information that each of the locations had to offer.
First was Lhan, a clan in Hinoeuma who had stood against the vicious Clan Ku for generations. Out of all of the clans of Hinoeuma, it was the one that had stood against Clan Ku the longest. They were renowned for their horse archers, masters of the bow and the steed that allowed them to hold Clan Ku at bay for centuries. If they were able to rival Clan Ku for such a long time, then they'd undoubtedly be of great aid in the fight against Jul.
Next was the city of Breezeport in the Harborlands, the largest city in the region. Not only was it a commercial superpower due to its wealthy markets and trade, but its naval power was near unrivaled. Since Jul had a port on the coast to allow slave trade by ship, Breezeport's navy could be used against the city, cutting off either reinforcements from the sea or preventing anyone from escaping.
The final ally was Ironfell in the Crestlands. A former ally of Jul back during its founding, the city had cut all ties with it after it had adopted the practice of slavery. Its soldiers were elite and well-equipped due to the city's master craftsmen, blacksmiths and armorers, making many consider it a superpower in terms of military might. Since they had cut ties with Jul long ago, he could see it being potentially easy to request their aid.
However, Lhan and Breezeport would have to come first, despite Ironfell being closer. Ferdiad had warned the Warwolf that their recent raids against Jul's slave caravans had led to an increase of security in their territory and Maolcholm would have to cross Julian lands to reach Ironfell. He'd have to travel west to the mainland and enlist Lhan and Breezeport first until it was safe for him to travel to Ironfell.
While he traveled, Ferdiad made it clear to the Warwolf that he was not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. Though Jul didn't know of the identities of the North Star leaders nor the Warwolf, they couldn't afford to be reckless; if the information of the North Star's allies fell into the hands of Patricia Richter, then victory for Jul and Solistia's slave trade would be all but assured.
"I cannot fail," Maolcholm whispered. "The war between the North Star and Jul has waged for ten years; the longer it drags on, the more people will die and the more people end up in chains. If we destroy Jul and kill Armand Vallon and Patricia Richter…"
He was instructed to leave the day after tomorrow and find a ship that would take him to the Western Continent of Solistia. The New Delsta Anchorage would be the obvious answer to find travel, but considering how many slavers travelled through it, he risked being checked by soldiers loyal to Jul. Not only that, but there was certain to be heightened security at the Anchorage after the recent raids on the slave caravans.
That left only one option: Icehaven. Positioned in the Winterlands along the coast, it took held a dockyard for ships to restock, resupply and carry passengers. It'd be his safest way to the Western Continent, hopefully one that would lead to the Harborlands so he could get to Breezeport quickly.
But for now, he was tired from the celebration with his comrades. He placed the book down on the nightstand, blew out the lantern and prepared to go to sleep.
Maolcholm, to his confusion, found himself in chains, the same chains he was put in for six long years. His eyes widened in terror as he tried to get up, but the short chains were attached to a small pillar, restricting his movement. He struggled and fought to break free, but the chains were too strong for him as he left hunched over.
"Wha-!?" he gasped, finding himself in a dark area where the only light was where he was standing. "What's going on!? Where am I!?
Sinister laughing could be heard from the darkness, multitudes of voices cackling at him with immense sadism and satisfaction. Several of the voices were some Maolcholm recognized all too well, all belonging to cruel people who relished in the torment of slaves. As he tried in vain to break free, another fact hit him: except for his undergarments, he was naked. His torso and legs were bare, covered in sweat and filth like he hadn't bathed in weeks.
"Hello there," an eerie male voice taunted, one that came from behind the Warwolf. He looked behind him to see who it was and his eyes widened with immense fear and anxiety. A man clothed completely in black from head to foot, his face obstructed by a helmet and wielding a whip in his hand, a whip outfitted with blades and broken glass.
"No…" Maolcholm spoke under his breath as he struggled to break free from the chains. As before, his efforts were in vain as the black armored man walked forward, dragging the whip behind him. Its noise frightened Maolcholm, driving him mad with fear as he continued to struggle in desperation to break free.
Crack.
"AAHH!" Maolcholm cried out as he felt a mix of stinging pain and sharp blades tearing his skin. He slumped over the pillar, breathing heavily from the severe pain that the black armored man had just dealt him.
"You're such a disobedient little slave," he cackled as he stretched the whip. "You deserve this, you know?"
Maolcholm once again tried in vain to break free, crying out like a madman as he did. Again, this did nothing, but the Warwolf was too moved by terror to consider stopping his attempts to break free.
Crack.
"AAAAH!"
Again, the whip struck Maolcholm's back, tearing more of the skin on his torso and causing his blood to start drenching him. His breathing became heavy and labored as the pain he felt was nigh unbearable, causing his eyes to water.
"As I always taught my fellow slavers," the armored man continued. "Ease up between lashes or else the old pain will dull the slaves to the new. Every crack of the whip must be felt."
Maolcholm once again took a look at the armored man, his cold blue eyes visible to the half-naked Warwolf, eyes he remembered all too well. They were filled with great cruelty, sadism and malice, his heart as black as the darkest night as he relished on Maolcholm's pain.
Crack.
Maolcholm could feel his skin being torn apart by the sharp whip, but his voice had given out and he simply couldn't scream any longer. All he could do was silently bear the searing pain and pray it would end soon.
"No more screaming? We can fix that."
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
"AH!" Maolcholm cried out as he rose up from his bed, his breathing shaky and his eyes widened in terror. The pain from the lashes, the malice from those cold blue eyes, the tearing of his skin…it was too much for the young man. He breathed heavily and shakily for several moments before finding himself in his room at Ft. Whitewind, where it was still dark.
"Those same damn nightmares," Maolcholm sighed heavily as he laid on his back, the horrible nightmare still fresh in his mind.
Maolcholm reached under his clothes to feel his torso. Instead of unblemished, whole skin, he felt tears, scars, and wounds that never fully healed, even with the help of apothecaries. The scars he had from his fighting against Jul and the slave trade, he felt at ease as his hand touched them. As for the wounds he received during his days of slavery…the touch of them made him shudder, remembering the horrid times he was in chains.
He had long forgotten the face of the man in his nightmare, the one who had inflicted the wounds on him with such a cruel tool. But one thing he never forgot…were those cold blue eyes. Eyes filled with malice, sadism and pleasure at the suffering of countless slaves who all shared the same punishment as Maolcholm did.
As frightening as the nightmares were, it reminded Maolcholm why he fought for the North Star. Countless people around the world were suffering the same terrors and agony as he had, all the while their masters and traders benefited from their misery.
"It's just business, nothing personal."
"They're just slaves, barely even human."
"I bought them. I can do what I want with them."
"You slaves are worthless without us."
"I at least offer them a job."
All the excuses, all the justifications, all the responses slavers came up with so they could sleep at night. It was business for sure; the business of misery, sorrow and cruelty. Slaves were still human like everyone else, but had simply been chained and collared like animals. Just because they were bought doesn't mean they deserved to be beaten, chained, assaulted or worse. Slavers claimed that slaves were worthless without them, but their whole business revolved around them. A job…a job where they received no pay, worked under inhumane conditions, and were treated like animals, not workers.
One way or another, slavery had to end and it would only end once Jul had fallen…and Armand Vallon and Patricia Richter were dead.
"You're already leaving?" Saron asked Maolcholm in the morning as the two ate breakfast in the fort's mess hall.
"Ferdiad has entrusted me with an important mission," Maolcholm informed.
"And what mission is that?" Saron curiously inquired. Maolcholm took out the book Ferdiad had given him and handed it to Saron. The bard opened it and curiously roamed through the pages, eventually finding the names of the cities and deducing the Warwolf's mission.
"Breezeport, Lhan and Ironfell, all allies of the North Star," Saron brought up as he handed the book back. "So Ferdiad's planning for an assault on Jul, huh?"
"As long as Patricia Richter and Armand Vallon are in power, Jul will continue to fuel Solistia's slave trade," Maolcholm stated. "The sooner we can kill them, the sooner we cripple slavery."
"So where are you heading first?" Saron asked the Warwolf as the two took bites of their breakfasts.
"Breezeport and Lhan," Maolcholm informed. "Our recent raids against slave caravans have led Jul to increase its vigilance in their territory…and I'd have to cross Julian territory to reach Ironfell."
It made sense to the bard why he'd go to Lhan and Breezeport first. If Maolcholm tried to cross Julian territory now, he'd risk getting caught by them and stealing the information he was entrusted with. Jul could not be allowed to get their hands on this book that detailed the information about their allies.
"So what will you do, Saron?" Maolcholm asked the bard as the two kept eating.
"Ferdiad wants me to keep gathering information on any potential slavers and deals going down, starting in the Leaflands," Saron answered. "Ferdiad wants me to meet up with the Western members of the North Star and inform them to send what fighters they can here. We'll leave enough on the Western Continent to disrupt the slave trade as much as possible."
"Just make sure not to get to distracted bedding every beautiful woman you come across," Maolcholm deadpanned as he drank some coffee with cream and sugar.
"I can multitask," Saron chuckled. "In fact, maybe I can find a beautiful woman for you."
"Provided you don't sleep with her first." Saron laughed as he kept eating his breakfast.
Maolcholm made it no secret that he found Saron's womanizing and flirting an absolute annoyance. Luckily, he made up for it with skills as a duelist, being excellent at gathering information, and his musical talents. Many successful raids were possible thanks to the vital information Saron collected for them, resulting in the deaths of many slavers and the freedom of many more slaves.
"I'd suggest we travel together, but I'm guessing you won't go by the New Delsta Anchorage since it's a hot spot for slave trade and we don't need that book falling into their hands," Saron brought up. "Where will you be getting a ship, then?"
"Icehaven," Maolcholm replied. "Hopefully, I can find a ship that leads to the Harborlands and then go to Breezeport. As long as it goes to the Harborlands, I don't care."
It'd be a hard journey ahead of Maolcholm to Icehaven. The journey from Ft. Whitewind all the way to the coastal city in the Winterlands would take about ten days to travel. The bracing cold itself was hard enough, but the Winterlands were also home to many dangerous monsters who had claimed the lives of foolish or careless travelers. High Wolves, Frost Bears, Snow Hawks, Ice Elementals, any of them could easily claim his life should he be careless in his travels.
"Think you may get another pelt?" Saron asked, gesturing to the High Ice Wolf pelt on Maolcholm's shoulder. "Those things would catch a good price. High Ice Wolves aren't easy to kill."
"No, they're not," Maolcholm agreed. "I might, just in case I need the extra leaves." Saron held up his coffee cup to make a toast.
"Here's to the success of our missions and the end of slavery."
"Here, here." Maolcholm clinked his mug cup with Saron's and the two drank.
Maolcholm spent the rest of the day packing his belongings, debating what was worth taking and what wasn't. Ferdiad would undoubtedly supply him with a horse for travel, which would cut the time it'd take to reach Icehaven while also allowing him to travel with more baggage.
Hunting and securing food wouldn't be an issue for the Warwolf in case food ran short, having been in many situations where he had to rely on knowledge of the land to survive. With the help of his Rune Magic, he could secure warmth as well as a way to combat the cold-based monsters on the way. That left only two obstacles for the Warwolf: finding proper places to camp at night and the unyielding cold.
"Unless you're desperate, never travel at night."
Ferdiad drilled that into Maolcholm's head during his time with the North Star. Unless one's mission had a time crunch or they were desperate to save someone's life, it was far too dangerous to travel at night. That's when most monsters preferred to hunt, looking for careless travelers to kill and devour. Maolcholm would have to be careful lest he end up in the belly of a Frost Bear…but if he only traveled during the day, he should be fine.
"Be careful who you trust while you're out there. If the wrong people get ahold of this book and learn our plans…you know what Richter and Vallon will do."
Indeed, Maolcholm knew all too well. Patricia Richter and Armand Vallon knew nothing of the North Star's allies that had been secured. But if they got their hands on this book…gods have mercy on the North Star for Julian soldiers were not known for their mercy. He had to ensure to be very careful about who he trusted on his journey.
He wished his travels would take him close to Stormhail, a city in the Winterlands and a place he had called home for quite some time before joining…no, he still called home even after not being there for so long. But alas, he needed to make his way to Icehaven and going to Stormhail would mean taking an unnecessary detour.
A seventeen-year-old Maolcholm slowly opened his eyes, wondering where he was. He expected to be out at sea, but instead, he was in a warm stone house where a lit fireplace was crackling. Instead of floating on the water, he was in a bed, a soft comforter covering him up to his shoulders. His body had been wrapped in bandages, his wounds and injuries tended to. He breathed heavily several times as he struggled to get up.
"Steady, please," a soft female voice told him. To his surprise, it was a middle-aged woman with reddish blonde hair, brown eyes and wearing what appeared to be an apothecary's uniform. She walked over to the seventeen-year-old, but as she reached out to touch him, he pulled away before her hand could reach him.
"Oh, you poor dear," she spoke with great sympathy. "I saw your injuries; I cannot imagine the hell you've been through. What kind of monsters would do that to a child?" Just then, the boy's stomach grumbled loudly.
"You must be hungry; I'll get you something to eat." The apothecary woman went to the fireplace, where a pot was hanging over the flames. She grabbed a wooden bowl and a ladle and poured three servings of what appeared to be stew with meat and vegetables. She placed the stew on the tray, added two pieces of bread to it and carried it over to the boy in the bed.
Maolcholm was hesitant at first as he merely looked at the stew and bread, which looked more delicious than any food he had eaten for the past six years. More often than not, he often ate scraps, mud-covered leftovers or even starved, craving the delicious foods his masters gorged themselves on. To see such food in front of him made him feel as though he were in a dream, one he hoped to never wake up from.
The boy slowly grabbed the spoon and took a spoonful of the stew, then lifting it from the bowl to bring it to his mouth. His nose immediately caught the smell of the meat and vegetables…it smelled very delicious. Maolcholm blew on it and took a sip…then wolfed the whole spoonful. After that first taste, Maolcholm started eating with great hunger, wolfing down the stew and bread.
"You must've not eaten well for so long," the apothecary spoke, noting the way he was eating. It didn't take long for the young boy to finish his meal, leaving only an empty bowl and bread crumbs on the tray.
"M-may I…?" he started to ask. "May I…have some more, ma'am?"
"Of course," she replied. "And my name's Airmed, Airmed O'Connell." She took the tray, scooped up more stew and placed two more pieces of bread on the bowl before handing it to Maolcholm, which he immediately started eating. During the eating, Maolcholm's eyes started to water and tears began rolling down his cheeks.
"I haven't…eaten so well…in years," he wept. Just then, the door to the house opened and in walked a middle-aged man with graying hair, brown eyes and carrying a briefcase in his right hand. He appeared like a scholar maybe…no, more like a merchant.
"Bhailis," Airmed greeted warmly. "He's awake."
"Hm?" Bhailis looked at the young boy and he could tell simply by the look in his eyes that he was suspicious, maybe even terrified by his sudden appearance.
Bhailis suspected this would be the case; he could easily tell by the way Maolcholm was malnourished, beaten and injured that he was a slave. He couldn't imagine what hell the young boy had endured before he was found at sea on a piece of wrecked ship. If it weren't for his wife, Airmed, feeding him stew and bread, he suspected the boy would've run off in terror.
"You don't need to be afraid, dear," Airmed assured Maolcholm. "This is Bhailis, my husband."
"We found you at sea over a month ago," Bhailis informed. "You've been unconscious this whole time. My wife tended to your injuries and checked on you every day." The man took a seat, slowly brought it over to the bed where Maolcholm was and sat down, doing his best to remain reassuring so as to not scare the poor boy.
"May I ask your name?"
"…I don't remember my name." Bhailis and Airmed looked at each other with surprise before looking back at the boy.
"Well, that certainly won't do," Bhailis commented. "Why don't we call you…Maolcholm?"
Ever since that day, Maolcholm had taken the name Bhailis and Airmed had given him. They allowed him to stay in their home and not just become someone they rescued, but their son. For several years, teaching him about inventing and swordsmanship from Bhailis and the knowledge of plants and Murland from Airmed.
Maolcholm looked over at his sword and bow, both of them in their retracted forms for carrying them more easily. He picked up the sword, which he had called Winterfang, then the bow that he called Stormshot and inspected them closely.
"And we're done!" Bhailis cheered after he and a 21-year-old Maolcholm had finished the weapons. It had taken them two years of constantly securing materials, testing them out again and again, the weapons malfunctioning and persistent disappointment…but they had finally done it. They had completed the sword and bow, which were now in their retracted forms.
"Give them a shot," Bhailis insisted to his son. Maolcholm immediately grabbed the sword and pressed the wolf head on the cross guard, causing the hilt and blade to extend and allow the young man to hold the weapon with two hands. Maolcholm swung the sword several times, even took it outside and landed four hits against a tree, but there was no sign of malfunction or damage. The product was a success for the inventor and his adopted son.
"Now give the bow a try," Bhailis insisted, handing the retracted bow and several arrows to Maolcholm. The young man expanded the bow and nocked an arrow, aiming at the nearby tree before releasing. The arrow flew with greater speed than a normal arrow, hitting deeply into the trunk. Maolcholm fired more arrows, each one soaring faster than normal while the bow showed no signs of malfunction or damage.
"They work!" Maolcholm cheered, immediately running over and hugging Bhailis as the two laughed. After so long, the mechanical weapons had finally worked and the two were overjoyed at the finished products. When they had calmed down, Maolcholm named the sword Winterfang and the bow Stormshot.
"Now I'm ready," Maolcholm stated with enthusiasm. "I'm ready to join the North Star."
Bhailis's joyous smile slowly dropped at his adopted son's declaration. He admired the North Star's efforts to fight against slavery and wholeheartedly agreed that it needed to be stopped. There was no crueler practice in all of human culture as it allowed every crime to be committed without remorse: theft, murder, torture, rape…slavery allowed all of this.
But the inventor was concerned about his adopted son joining the North Star. Though Maolcholm had confessed to having been a former slave, he had almost never gone into detail about his traumatic experiences. However, the nightmares he had, the scars on his body and the mention of Jul spoke volumes of how much his time as a slave had affected him. A part of him feared that if he allowed Maolcholm to join the North Star, the man who'd return after their war was over wouldn't be the same.
"Do you still wish to join Ferdiad?" Bhailis asked his adopted son.
"Yes," Maolcholm replied with determination. "Slavery must be stopped, no matter what. Those monsters…"
"They are indeed monsters," Bhailis agreed. "But it's not them I'm worried about…it's you."
"Me?" Maolcholm questioned, unsure of what his adoptive father meant.
"Maolcholm…" Bhailis started with sympathy. "You never went into detail about your time in slavery, but everything I've seen screams volumes of what you endured. So before I let you go, answer me this: are you joining the North Star to save people…or for revenge?"
Maolcholm paused, not even so much as a whisper escaping his lips as he contemplated Bhailis's question. It took him several moments to think about it before he finally answered.
"I want to save people from suffering this cruelty," Maolcholm spoke to himself. "But…" He placed his weapons on the table and bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly as he leaned on his hands.
"Compassion and mercy doesn't work on slavers," he spoke, thinking of all the slavers he had killed over the past six years. "They don't change, they don't wake up one morning and suddenly realize their atrocities. In all my time in the North Star, not once has a slaver ever tried to repent of their wrongdoings…they're evil, all of them. They're monsters. They're evil to the core. They're beyond saving and they deserve to die! They deserve to suffer agony for all their cruelty!"
Later that evening, Maolcholm went to the mess hall to eat dinner, comprised of stew, bread, ale and a few sweet rolls. As he expected, Saron was not present, having already left for the New Delsta Anchorage to depart for the Leaflands. The Warwolf merely prayed to Balogar the Runeblade that Saron would remain focused on the task at hand rather than finding beautiful women to take to bed, but that was a slim chance.
"Hey, Maolcholm," a male voice greeted, belonging to Philippe Walker, a man that was several years older than Maolcholm with black hair, green eyes and a full beard. A more recent member of the North Star, having joined over a year ago, he had already proven himself as an amazing infiltrator and scout. Just as Saron's skills as an informant served the North Star well, so had Philippe's scouting and infiltration.
"Hey, Philippe," Maolcholm responded as he looked at Philippe's plate. "You just love your ham and peaches, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Philippe chuckled as he sat down across from the Warwolf. "Just as you love your stew and bread. So, I don't mean to pry, but it appears you've been packing. Are you leaving so soon?"
Before Maolcholm opened his mouth, he remembered what Ferdiad had told him: be careful who he trusted. He did trust Philippe, but he had already told Saron and Maric about his mission, two of his closest allies. Since Ferdiad had informed the Warwolf that he was sending agents to Jul under disguise, Philippe would undoubtedly be one of those sent to the city. If any of them were discovered and captured with the knowledge of the North Star's allies…
"Yes," Maolcholm answered. "Though Ferdiad has sworn me to secrecy on the matter."
"Ah, I see," Philippe replied. "But I can speak about mine, though: I'm going to Jul."
"Ferdiad told me," Maolcholm informed. "You and several others are going to go disguised as merchants to look for a weakness to exploit. If anyone can find a weakness, it's you, Philippe."
"You are too kind…at least to us," Philippe spoke with a chuckle. "I'm honestly glad Ferdiad accepted my idea." The Warwolf raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his stew.
"Going to Jul in disguise was your idea?"
"Indeed, it was," Philippe confirmed. "If it works, we'll have a way to exploit the entire city."
"That's a big gamble, Philippe. One mistake could cost you and the others their lives. This isn't some fortress or town where the slavers are isolated; Jul is the lions' den, the heart of enemy territory. I understand that risks have to be taken, but I wonder if this risk is worth it."
Maolcholm hoped that Philippe knew what he was doing when he proposed the idea to the North Star leader. It was a very dangerous play to send agents into Jul, where they'd have no support, no allies other than each other. If any of them were made out, then at best, they'd be forced into hiding…at worst, they'd be captured, tortured and then killed or enslaved.
"Without a strategy to defeat Jul, we'll never win this war," Philippe brought up. "Jul is a fortress with a huge army behind it. You said it yourself last night; to attack Jul now without a strategy would be pure suicide. So yes, this risk is worth taking as it could mean victory for us and death for Richter and Vallon."
"…I can't argue with that," Maolcholm agreed. "Just…watch your back in there, alright? Now is not the time to be a martyr."
"Thanks for the concern, Warwolf," Philippe replied. "And you don't need to worry about us. We'll win this, for sure. I can almost taste the sweetness of victory."
"No celebrating until the war's over," the Warwolf chuckled.
The next day came and Maolcholm was all packed up. As he expected, Ferdiad had provided him with a horse to help make travelling easier for him to Icehaven. His sword, retracted bow and axe on his belt, his quiver of arrows on his back, and clad in his usual brown leather armor with the High Ice Wolf pelt, he was ready for his journey to secure the North Star's allies in the Western Continent before returning to recruit Ironfell.
This was the mission that would turn the tide of the North Star's war against Jul in its favor. While Maolcholm secured the allies who promised support, Ferdiad's agents disguised as merchants would look for a weakness in the city, for any information that could be used in their assault on Jul. Once a proper strategy had been formed, the road to victory would be laid out for them. Until then, everything hinged on the acts of the North Star members Ferdiad had entrusted with these missions.
"You ready?" Maric asked Maolcholm as he put a sack of food on the horse.
"Always," Maolcholm assured. "You make sure to hold down the fort while I'm gone, okay?" Maric chuckled.
"Oh, don't you worry; you can always count on my spear." Maolcholm smiled at the large man before seeing a group of North Star members heading in the opposite direction, led by Philippe. As expected, all of them were clad in modern merchant clothes, looking very convincing for the part they were to play.
"Maolcholm," Ferdiad addressed the Warwolf before he could get onto his mount. "Your mission could help turn the tide of the war in our favor; you mustn't be careless."
"I understand, sir," Maolcholm responded. "I will get Breezeport and Lhan's support, then come back for Ironfell."
"And remember what I asked you," the North Star leader reminded. "Before you take a life, ask yourself why you're doing it: for protection or for vengeance."
"I worry for Maolcholm," Ferdiad told Bhailis two years ago while he was in Stormhail. "He's a strong warrior and well-respected by the men. He's freed countless slaves…but I question the toll it's taken on him, what the war's doing to him."
Maolcholm's passions had been slowly turning into brutality over the past years. It wasn't enough to simply free the slaves and kill the slavers, he wanted them to suffer for their cruelty. It had become known to slavers that the Warwolf left no survivors among his enemies who supported the slave trade and were growing terrified of him. While this did indeed strike fear into Jul and its allies, Ferdiad feared for the Warwolf, who he had been teaching Murrish Rune Magic for some time.
"Is he…hurting innocent people?" Airmed asked with concern.
"No, nothing of the sort," Ferdiad replied. "He's made it clear that he will not harm innocents. But his brutality…I question if he's lost the ability to know the difference between killing to protect and killing for indulgence, for revenge."
"I never should've let him join," Bhailis groaned with frustration. "I should've said no."
"I feel he would've joined anyway," Ferdiad believed. "But…I cannot send him away. Maolcholm is one of my best warriors and he's become a symbol for not just the North Star, but for those who are or were enslaved. They speak of him as though he's their guardian angel. If I send him away, it will most likely cause a blow to morale."
"Is there anything you can do for him?" Airmed asked.
"I will speak to him about it whenever I can," Ferdiad assured. "He'll listen to me."
Once again, Maolcholm's heart fought with his mentor's advice. How can he show compassion and mercy to slavers, those who knew nothing but cruelty and depravity? How could he not make them suffer as they had made countless others suffer? He had seen what they were capable of and any form of kindness was alien to slavers. They were evil at the core and they needed to be destroyed lest they make slaves of as many innocents as they can.
"I will return…and we will win," Maolcholm assured Ferdiad and Maric as he gently kicked his horse and started on his way north to Icehaven.