Roga's jaw drops open and he feels a shiver run up his spine as he remembered where he'd seen this kind of ritual before.  It was a long time ago, on a dark night.  He was wandering out of the latest city to try and kill him (as an arsonist), when he'd encountered this ritual being performed over the bodies of the dead.  A temporary companion of his told him the gist of everything, but they bolted before they were caught and offered in turn.  And now a repeat was taking place before him, though he couldn't tell to whom.<br/><br/>Roga gapes at the hellspawn-worshiper before him, and is about to stop everything when he remembers how bad of an idea that might be.  Aside from which, he still needed all the help he could get, and mounting tensions would solve nothing.  Thus, he quietly slipped backwards away from the fire.  'Oh, Irori,' he prayed in his heart, 'I know you and I don't see eye-to-eye a lot of the time, but if you could enlighten this cult out of existence, that would be wonderful.'  He composes himself, then walks back to put out the cooking fire.