The reasons each bandit had for turning to their trade were as varied as an autumn tree, as any town guard could tell you when one had been captured and taken before the gallows to answer for his actions. Scerloc was one with noble goals, a young lad who could not make coin at his father’s mill with two older brothers, and had need for silver if he was to marry. Not any girl in particular, but he had danced with many on the Moon Festivals Eve, wrapped his arms around their slim waists, felt their bodies press against his oh so briefly when they finished the twirl, and then they had returned home, and he was to sleep alone. He wanted to stumble home with the girl he danced with, like his oldest brother and Mira.<br/><br/>And so he and two friends had hefted a pitchfork and solid sticks and donned a mask to hide their faces, and waited beside the road, two miles from Vutstrum, eyed peeled for a merchant or traveler. As they all claimed, they had never meant to hurt anyone. Just run out, surround the poor fellow, and demand his coin purse. And it had worked, after all, who would risk their life for a few coin?<br/><br/>Someone desperate, and soon enough they encounter just that. Someone who would draw a blade to keep the 5 coppers they needed to feed themselves or their family, and then they had needed to fight to, arm themselves to better intimidate. Accidents happened. In total they had killed two people. Well, none on the spot, but one had made it to Vustrum just in time to die, and the other had run the other down the road, bleeding too heavily to make it far. Regret.<br/><br/>In truth Scerloc had been hesitant about this one. The woman was clearly a priestess, and they should be off limits. But Narlo had heard of the gold they carried on them in the churches name, and greed had got the better of him. They had approached, blades drawn, and Serloc was uneasy, something in his companion’s eyes, the way he moved. The priestess had frozen still, but then with one step, a wave of calming had washed over him. He was suddenly horrified with himself, at what he knew he could not continue. Herev was likewise routed to the ground, he could feel it to, but Narlo was unphased, though he did see that magic had stricken the minds of his companions. He fell upon the maiden, decrying her a wtich and a whore, but when his blade struck her should, it broke into seven separate pieces, and all she had to mark her was a trickle of blood from her skin, no worse than the prick of sewing needle. Seeing this his companions had scream and ran in terror.<br/><br/>Serloc however could do no such thing. With a heavy thud, he fell to his knees, his own blade slipping loose from between his fingers.<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>“Goddess please forgive me! I repent, I repent!”</strong></span>he implored the young half-breed who’s skin shattered iron.