Dedicated Lorian
The human form


Cold.

They say memory dulls the pain, that time heals all wounds, and even a trauma can be pleasent in retrospect.

Wise men, those who dwell on philiosephy. To manage to elequently state in flowing, gentle words what was a raging tempest of emotions in side of Rashadin Lorian's head.

SHAVE ME BALD AND SELL ME TO THE SHARANS! COLD!! I'll kill al'Pillan! No, I'll kill his children and let him watch! No, I'll pull out his nails one-by-one and proceed to begin systematically shattering his fingers. Yes, then I will light two wicks I will set into his ears...

The life of a streetwarden was not a pleasent one. Often times rivals would capture anouthers man and subject him to tortures that would make the Hand of Light squirm. Being the founder of his group, Rash had never had to lower himself to do the work himself; but there was a first time for everything.

Then for Jerad, the pretty little Trolloc would not enjoy living his life with two shattered knees. Teeth chattering, he sighed regretfully; first things first. Untying his melting hair, Rash wrung the considerable amount onto Jerad. The man raged, but was smart enough not to try anything. Quince, the idiot, was too busy trying to comprehend Jerad's words to notice Rashadin as he began to strip down.

"What in the nine-hells do you be doing Dedicated?! Have you gone daft." Grinning, Rash dropped his sogging pants to the floor. "I heard some Asha'man calling you Jerad, something about laps? My lord? My Lord M'hael?"

Blinking, Quince , motioned off-handedly. "Yes, yes. Jeard you may go...how many laps?" Rashadin happily raised his hands and opened his fingers to help the Leader. "Yes, ten laps and you may retire for the rest of the day. Good work Soldier."

Jerad left in a huff, but left all the same. That will show the little bastard. So what if he's taller, he's got to work harder to one-up me. Finally removing the last wet artical of clothing, which was the last artical of clothing, Rash greatfully wrapped the blanket the servent dropped as she screamed around his waist. What was wrong with the woman? Seizing saidin he started a fire hovering before him.

After a few seconds, and several crashes, he turned from the flames to see several servants standing gawk eyed over broken dishes and blankets. Quince, with his hand over his face, was obviously trying to control himself. Servants staring, Quincie three steps short of wringing his neck...what did he do?! Quince broke in as Rashadin quickly did an inventory of possible times in the past few days he could have been spotted.

"You realise you are naked Dedicated?"

Rash quirked a befuddled smile and scratched under his arm. "And?"

Maybe they had found that man who'd tried to stick a knife in Slider the night before last, and that's why they were staring?

-Rashadin