The guards let him enter with little trouble, his armor's insignias tell-tale sign of his rank as a senior knight of his order, he passed by the gates to enter the town proper. It took him less than a minute to notice the tell-tale signs of rot, houses run-down, haggard figures seeking makeshift shelter in half-burnt ruins, cadaverous parents begging in the dirt for the barest crumbs of bread.<br/><br/>Disgusting. Not the people he was capable of seeing, but those he could not. Those that shut themselves off this world in the higher part of the town, another ring of walls keeping it secure.<br/><br/>He would have given each of the figures that swarmed him with their pleas, had he yet possessed himself. His pilgrimage for atonement had led him to many families, most of them demanding satisfaction for their son's lives, the soldiers whom he left to die at the Pass. Everytime he would come to beg before them on his knees, confessing himself to be the one responsible for their loss. By the time he had arrived at this town, he had suffered beatings and given his money to those who were in need of it, although sometimes his mere confession and own obvious torment had driven a mother and a father to forgive him without accepting any of his offers.<br/><br/>Scanning his surroundings wearily, there was little he could do as it was. That could not be allowed to stand, he was strong! He had to stand tall for each and every one of these poor people! His anger grew with each step he took in this decaying husk of a town.