There was death here. It lay sprawled across the ground of what looked like a bandit raid gone wrong. Although no tracker, Davrim could see that two sets of prints led away from the scene, one walking, and the other full out running. Choosing to follow the latter was obvious; either their owner was in need of help, or he was attempting to escape the justice he deserved. Davrim set out at a jog, one hand clutching at his chest where he still felt the pulse that had begun when he had arrived at the massacre site. She had called him there.....
“Spatter be good,” the orc babbled. “Spatter knows he done good! Boss put him in charge! He get big reward when he return! For long time Spatter and his boys been taking many shinies from fool humans on the road, in small villages, and even a church! Spatter always take best loot! In first village he took woman. Spatter in charge of taking care of woman! Spatter do good job, never hurt her!”
The armor clad warrior listened patiently, not showing emotion as the last of the orc raiders sputtered on about what had happened over the past year, every so often begging for forgiveness. His crimes were obvious, and it seemed that he knew little else of use. Standing, the warrior drew his sword and beheaded the orc in one fluid motion. He turned and strode towards the rest of the Judges, who stood waiting behind a tent that had been set up for the young woman. Judge Graham was still inside, attending to her. They were the Judges, Iomedae's greatest law bringers. They were sent all over Golarion to the most ruthless, lawless places in the world. The orcs had sacked a church that had been one of the faction’s supply posts. The Judges were the first responders because, unlike the clergy, they used any means necessary to bring justice to the guilty. A cry and the sight of Judge Graham leaving the tent caused them all to turn.
"She will be fine physically,” the taciturn woman said, “but her mind is gone. Sad. I have never witnessed a more quiet birth, but compared to the ravages of orcs for a year..... well,” She shook her head. “We were sent here for some purpose, and I believe it is the Inheritor’s wish that we take her and the babe back with us.”
Davrim ran for the better part of the day, stopping only to stow his armor when it began to hinder his maneuverability as he sprinted through the dense woods. When he could no longer see the tracks, he went on instinct. Finally, he came to a clearing and saw what he had been hoping for. A man stood, looking nervously about him, a dagger in his hand as he waited for a pair of travelers to unhitch a set of horses from their wagon. Taking out his bow, Davrim knelt and loosed a single shot. He dropped the bow before he saw whether or not the arrow hit, and drew his falchion as he charged across the clearing. The arrow had missed its mark, but had momentarily distracted the bandit. The brigand saw the large half-orc barreling towards him, and his eyes went wide. Dropping the dagger, he fell to his knees and began begging and pleading. Davrim came to a stop before him.
"Tell me of your crimes," the half-orc intoned.
The bandit immediately began stammering out the events of the past day, his eyes never leaving Davrim’s chest. Davrim listened in silence,and then, when the murderer had finished his confession, he removed the man’s head in one, clean stroke.
Sometime later, Davrim was awoken by the rumble of wagon wheels crunching over dirt and stone. A woman quickly leaned over him and held out a water skin. He nodded to her in gratitude and accepted the drink. Davrim assumed he must have passed out from exhaustion after dispatching the bandit.
“You have my thanks,” he said, his voice raspy and dry. “Where are we bound?”
“It is you who are deserving of gratitude,” the woman smiled shyly. “We no doubt owe you our lives. We are headed to Restov, and thence into the Stolen Lands. We are farmers, and we have heard that the Swordlords are offering land charters to those willing and capable,” she beamed proudly.
Davrim nodded and lay back, but the young woman persisted in her chatter, subtly prodding for information about who he was, where he had come from.
“I am a Judge of Iomedae,” he sighed at last. “I too am going to the Stolen Lands to bring the law the Church to the lawless. I serve the Church in all things, and if Restov hopes to bring civilization to the bandits and monsters of the wilds, then I shall see that Justice is brought with it.”
Seeing the questioning look in her eyes as she glanced towards his chest, Davrim sighed again.
“This is the mark of my Lady,” he said. “I was raised by the Judges of Iomedae since my infancy. That is all I wish to explain this evening, madame.”
Closing his eyes again, he found peaceful rest, knowing that he had done his Lady’s will once more.
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