Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20140526213440/@comment-3293219-20140527225137

"Well... Let's see how good you are at defending those that you 'proclaim to help..."

The room changed but the walls remained the same, seeing that the wooden door was behind him, Aratius was quickly able to deduce that he was in the next room.

Before him stood a table, a nord, a bosmer and several others gathered around, blocking the prisoner at the center as they awaited their commander. A shadow, from Agatha's past, taken from someone else's consciousness appeared before the prisoner, grasping a meat cleaver. The Breton, with short, spiked, black hair grinned as he approached raising the cleaver to his scarred eye and over his head, he struck down as soon as he got to the table, slicing through the prisoner's wrist and chopping her hand off. Blood ran down the table and off of the end, creating a large pool on the floor as the others backed away and began to circle the woman, showing her to Aratius.

His wife, incredibly pale, clutched her hand as she shivered, her jaw violently chattered as she clutched onto the stump as she was going into shock. The shadows of the past just stood there, awaiting his reaction...