Cormir: Three weeks after " The Ordeal ," now late fall (October 16, 680 PD)

Death rode into Heart's Blessing on a broken-down nag of a warhorse. Death's name was Greynor Teleric Dragonbrande. Little did the people of the hamlet know that their wicked ways were about to end.


Greynor tied Buttercup to a post in the town square. It was late, and he still had some money left from his adventures, and could afford a night in the inn. Buttercup began to drink from the trough as Greynor surveyed the town for an inn. Given its placement between two larger towns, there was sure to be one. All that Greynor could see in the way of public buildings was a tavern called "The Iron Gauntlet." He gave Buttercup a feedsack, and walked over to the tavern to find out about lodgings in this town.

The tavern was nearly empty. Sitting at the bar were some hardy farm types. The bartender was a heavyset man with more hair one his face than on his head. The paladin sat at the opposite end of the bar than the farmers.

"What will it be, stranger?"

"Water."

"A tad weak for a large man like you, you sure you just want water?"

"Just water."

The bar tender filled a leather mug with a bit of water from a jug that was sitting on the side of the bar.

"How much?"

"Water is no charge, stranger."

"Thank you. May I ask you a question?"

"That depends on what you are asking, stranger."

"Where does one find lodging in this town?"

"One doesn't. People here don't take to kindly to strangers, but judging from your looks, they might just like you real fine."

The paladin sighed. Another night on the road. It was not treating his back well, or Buttercup's stomach for that matter.

"Are you sure that there is no lodging to be found?"

"No, none."

One of the farmers walked up to Greynor. "You harrassing old Jeb?"

"No, just wondering if one could find a place to stay the night in this town."

"It sounds as if you're bothering Jeb something awful."

"It was not my intention. I was just looking for information."

"Questions can get you killed here in Heart's Blessing, stranger."

The farmer took out a knife. His two friends pull out thier own weapons, a sickle and a pitchfork. Greynor knew that the three farmers were no match for his training in weaponry. He grabbed a table leg that was lying on the floor.

"Well, looky here, Exerith, the big boy thinks he can take us on with a table leg."

"He's an idiot, Jorith. Well make him think twice about messin' with old Jeb."

The man with the knife ran at Greynor, who stepped aside and smacked him on the knuckles with the table leg. The knife went skittering across the floor of the bar.

"Get 'im boys. Whup 'em all."

The two other men ran at Greynor. The pitchfork went low, and the sickle went high, both missing thier mark as the paladin rolled over the top of the bar. Greynor stood up as the man with the sickle crawled over the bar himself. The sickle came crashing down, pinning Greynor's cloak down.

"I got you right where I want you."

"Unfortunately, you're right where I need you!" said Greynor, splintering the table leg against Exerith's head, knocking him unconcious. Jorith pulled his pitchfork out of the side of the bar, and charged the pinned paladin. Greynor, rather than being stuck by the pitchfork, untied his cloak and ducked, leaving the black fabric behind. His holy symbol caught the dying light of the day, and the two men stopped for a moment.

"Well, looky here, Jorith, it looks like our friend is a faithful man."

"RIght so, Toppoth. You know what that means."

"No mercy."

Toppoth, having retrieved his knife, lunged at Greynor, who caught him in mid-jump, and threw the man into the back wall of the bar, breaking many bottles of alcohol. Toppoth got up again, and while Greynor was taking the pitchfork away from Jorith, he ran up to stab Greynor in the side. Retching the pitchfork away, Greynor used it to knock the criminal who would be called Tuppo(1) into a deep sleep.

"Well, lookie here. I guess the stranger has some knowledge of combat. Too bad you ain't never seen the likes of me!"

Jorith ran at Greynor, who threw the pitchfork aside. He grabbed the farmer and threw him through one of the tables. Jorith grabbed one of the remaining table legs, and Greynor grabbed the other. The two locked into a duel with the fragments of tables. Jorith lunged low, and Greynor used the Gregoran low block to turn the wood away. He swung up with a move that, had it been done with a sword, would have been both beautiful and effective. Being that it was only wood, the move was simply effective. Effective enough to knock out Jorith.

"Nothing like a fine piece of oak to save one of his troubles."

Then everything went black as Greynor felt a jug slam into the back of his head.


There was water dripping in his eyes. He blinked once, twice, and then looked around. He was in a cell, most likely below the Village Costubulary. There was a young boy there, tending to his wounds. Greynor grabbed the boy's hand.

"Who are you and what are you doing?"

"I am cleaning your wounds. You have been asleep for three days. You had the head wound sickness."

"You mean a concussion."

"I guess. You got hit on the head, by old Jeb."

"Figures." Greynor tried to stand, and got dizzy.

"Lie back down, you are in no condition to go anywhere. Not that there is anywhere to go."

"Where did you learn the healing arts?" said Greynor, lying back down.

"A wandering priest of Ceridwah(2), before he was sacrificed."

"Sacrificed? What do you mean, sacrificed?"

"You have choosen a bad town to stop in. Many people here worship the god of Murder."

"Zemox(3)?"

"Yes, that is the name. Those who don't are threatened, if not killed outright."

"Then why are you here, and alive for that matter?"

"It is no service to Zemox to kill an invalid."

"What do you mean?"

The boy balled his right hand into a fist, and knocked on his right leg, which was apparently made of wood.

"I didn't know that Zemox had a heart for the disabled."

"He does not. They are waiting until I am older to kill me.(4)"

"And me?"

"If not for your holy symbol, o knight, they would have asked you to join them, but now you are marked for death, three nights hence."

Greynor's heart stops for a moment. He looks at the young boy.

"What is your name, little healer?"

"I don't have one. If I do have one, then it has been so long since they have called me by it, that I have forgotten it."

"What name would you like, then?"

"Ceridwian, after my hope."

"A good name for a healer. Ceridwian. I think that shall by your given name now. We have to escape."

"Try as you like, you will not escape. Many have tried, all have failed."

"None of them were the two of us."

"Maybe."

Greynor looked around. Not seeing his armor or weaponry, he almost dismayed. Then he realized that they had made a crucial error. They didn't take the copper bar. He pulled it out of his boot and looked at it. A piece of metal as long as his foot, but still more mallable than steel.

"What is that?"

"A holdover from when I was a rat killer(5). Sometimes when you had to squeeze into a tunnel, you didn't have enough room to use a regular weapon, so I used this to crush their skulls."

"I hate rats. A good weapon against them, but it would be of no use to us against the guards."

"It isn't going to be for the guards. It's for that cell window over there."

"Come again?"

"Watch and learn, Ceridwian"

Greynor bent the bar in half with a great effort of will. He then took it to the barred window and began to scrape away at the mortar around one of the bars.

"Ah, undermine the windows, and pull out the bars!"

"You got quite a head on your shoulders, Ceridwian."


Two days passed in which Greynor and Ceridwian took turns removing the mortar and throwing it into the street. The night before the sacrifice would have taken place, Greynor ripped the bars out of the wall. He boosted Cerdwian up and then crawled through the opening himself, taking one of the bars with him.

"Ceridwian, where would my weapons be?"

"Upstairs, the the sheriff."

"You know, that sounds good."

"Are we going to sneak in and take your things back?"

"Nothing so crude. I will get my weapons back by sheer conviction."

The two walked up to the the entrance of the Costubulary. The sheriff and the three men that Greynor had taken out on his entrance into town looked up at him as he walked in.

"Give me my weapons, and none of you shall be harmed. Make a move against me, and you will feel my holy wrath."

"So that's the boy who took you out, eh, Toppoth? I'm impressed, stranger. No one has ever escaped my prison before," said the sheriff. "No bars can hold a man of faith for very long. 'Blessed are those who are unjustly confined, for they will find justice.' Days Walking 13:43(6)."

"We'll just see about that, won't we, Exerith?"

The sheriff took out Greynor's magical sword(7) as the other three men took out their weapons of choice. Greynor gave a salute with the length of prison bar.

"Consider yourselves fairly warned."

Toppoth lunged with his knife, which Greynor barely avoided. The long days of work with no food or water had taken their toll on the paladin. Exerith swung his sickle high to try cutting off Greynor's head. The prison bar held true against the curved blade. With a twist of his wrist Greynor pulled the hook away from its master. Weaponless, Exerith backed away.

Toppoth charged in to Greynor, only to meet his end when the large man's makeshift weapon caved in his skull.

"He killed Tuppo! Let's get him, boys!"

The sheriff lunged with the grace given to him by the magical sword. Greynor stopped the blade, using Toppoth's body as a shield. Pushing the dead man into the sheriff, Greynor stepped away, just in time to see Exerith with his retrieved sickle. Bringing up the prison bar to block, he missed his mark, and the sickle plunged into his left shoulder, reopening the wound he had taken in the battle against an ekimmu(8).

"Bleeding like a stuck pig now, holy man. I got your number."

Exerith pulled back to deliver a killing blow, and Greynor jabbed the iron rod into the man's chest, caving it in.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to count your paladins before they hatch?"

"A paladin, then? That would explain a lot, but you sure as hell don't dress like one."

"And you don't act like any law enforcer I have ever met."

The sheriff lunged at Greynor, who blocked the clumsy lunge with the practiced ease of someone who is used to defending himself. The fight lasted for almost another minute before Greynor reclaimed his sword.


Greynor retrieved his sword, yet again looking at the hope and despair it brings. Three men dead by his hand, and himself still standing, but badly wounded. Ceridwian came hobbling into the room bearing a few vials.

"Greynor, I found something that may be of use."

"Let me see."

Looking at the bottles, he noted the familar scripts on them. Potions of Healing , much like the ones that he assisted the friars to make back in the Cathedral. Quaffing them, he instantly felt a tingling on his left shoulder, knitting the wound and restoring his spirits. He walked to another room, finding only his other weapons and his armor. He put them on, knowing that there were still others out there that will try to kill him, and the time for caution was over. Saying a quick prayer to Ceridwah for his fortune, he awaited whatever may come.


There was a knock at the door.

"Sheriff Malthus! Bring the prisoner! It is time for the sacrifice!"

Greynor opened the door to see a small man dressed in the clothes of the clergy of Zemox(9). The slight man gasped.

"You're not Malthus!"

"No, I am the prisoner. Surrender now, or face the hells that you have consecrated yourself to!"

"Never!" The slight man jumped at Greynor, bearing a ceremonial dagger.

Greynor just lifted his sword and the man impaled himself upon it. He put his foot on the man's chest and kicked him away to dislodge his sword. The paladin stepped outside of the Constubulary and walked on toward the center of Heart's Blessing, where there was a large post with kindling built up around it. He stood at the ready waiting for another to come out.

The sun set over Heart's Blessing, and people came from out of their houses, surprised to see the paladin standing unbound and well armed. None of the townsfolk moved against him, just staring at the site of him.


From underneath the one building in town that could be considered a temple, desecrated as it was, came four men. One was wearing the mask and clothing of a high priest of Zemox(10), another a robe of pure black, and the other two were well armed with chain mail and longswords. The high priest looked at Greynor.

"So, stranger, you have escaped from the prison. I thought as much. When Neitheren did not come back quickly, I knew something had happened. You shall die where you stand."

"Renounce your evil ways, or in the name of Cerdiwah, YOU will die where you stand!"

"Kill him."

The two warriors rushed Greynor, in a standard flanking manuever. Using his familial shield, he blocked one attack, and his sword caught the other man in mid-swing. From such a close distance, Greynor could see that one whose blade was blocked by his shield had a goatee, and the one who was blocked by his blade was clean-shaven. Greynor feinted at the clean-shaven man and charged the man with the goatee, knocking him over with his shield. The man was thrown to the ground with a great force and had the breath knocked out of him.

Now with only one opponent, Greynor seized the break and blocked another blow, one that surely would have taken off his head had it not been for the magical blade he carried. The clean shaven man did not have as much experience with a blade as the paladin, and his fury of attacks were undisciplined and fierce. Seeing the weakness of being untrained, but accustomed to the blade, Greynor knew that he would prevail. His attacks were slower, more conservative, but far more effective. For every three strikes that the clean-shaven man made, Greynor made one. The difference was that Greynor's never missed their mark, and soon the clean-shaven one was bleeding profusly. With a last ditch effort the man put all of his experience into one last blow, which was deftly turned aside, and Greynor gave the man a clean death. His blade sliced through the chain mail as if it were butter.

"I repeat, repent or suffer my rage."

The bearded man rose. Greynor saluted him with his sword, beginning the battle. Unlike the clean-shaven man, the bearded man had both training and experience, far more than Greynor. To watch the two combatants could be likened to watching the elven ballets. Each moved with a speed and grace that would defeat even the most hardened mercenaries. Neither man had an advantage, and the battle was silent, broken only by the clash of metal on metal. Quickly Greynor tired against this foe, his equal in every respect. One would almost say that the man had trained as a paladin himself, if it were not for the unholy allies he kept. As Greynor saw an opening that would finish the battle, he felt a knife slash into his back.

He turned to see the High Priest behind him, with the ceremonial dagger covered with a black ooze. He turned back in time to see his adversary launching an attack at his head. Greynor raised his shield to block the mighty blow, and was knocked to his knees. Taking his sword, a quick slash disemboweled the goateed man. Greynor said a silent prayer for the man who had tried to take him unawares and turns back to the High Priest.


The High Priest was nowhere to be found, but the man in black robes was leading a group of townspeople against him. Possibly ten of them in all. Knowing that showing mercy to these people would only mean his death, Greynor waded through them, cutting bellies here, hands there. Soon he was standing in the center of a pile of bodies. No quarter would be asked for, and nor would any be given with the man in a black robe.

"Give up now, or face the consquences of your actions."

"YOu fool. Look about where you are standing. You pose no threat to a death mage."

The bodies of the townspeople that Greynor had killed unwilling rose up at the necromancer's command, leaving Greynor surrounded in a sea of undead.

"In the name of Ceridwah; Get thee back to the land of the DEAD(11)!"

A few of the newly created step back, but the rest surged forward. Stronger in death then they were in life, the townspeople, poked, stuck, and tried to skewer the holy warrior with whatever means were at thier disposal. Fortunately, the dead have no tactics, but the paladin did. Precious time leaked away as Greynor danced with the dead, and minutes passed. Again the town square-turned-battlefield became a resting place for the newly dead, or rather dead again. They would not rise again. The paladin had made sure of that; the bodies were now too battered and sliced to be of any use in dark magic.

"So, you have defeated the servants, stranger. Now you face the master."

With his back burning from the poison in his system from the High Priest's attack, Greynor faced the necromancer. He lunged, and the necromancer simply moved out of his way, and merely touched the arm that was exposed after dealing with the zombies. A chill rans down Greynor's arm, and he felt himself weaken. Turning toward the death mage, Greynor found himself struggling to lift his weapon(12). The Death Mage laughed a cold, evil, deep laugh, and begans to chant. Knowing that the spell could mean his doom, Greynor summoned up his last reserves of strength and swung the magical blade at the necromancer-- and missed. Greynor stoods afraid of what could happen next, when the necromancer suddenly fell over.

Cerdwian was standing behind him, holding the evil looking warhammer that Greynor had given him. The mage's formerly prized intellect coated the warhammer. Ceridwian shuddered and dropped the weapon and begans to sob. Greynor clutched him to his breast.

"I have killed."

"You have done the right thing. Under the circumstances the death of this one has saved many lives. If you did not regret it, you would be no better than him."

"Or me." said the High Priest, burying the ceremonial dagger in Ceridwian's back. "Just you and I, stranger. What is your name, so that I know who is going to serve as my sacrifice to the Lord Of Murder?"

"It doesn't matter what my name is. I wouldn't want you to utter it and defame it anymore than it has already been."

Greynor stepped away from the still-warm body of his friend, mourning the loss, knowing that to dwell on it for too long would mean his death. A quick prayer to Ceridwah, and Greynor felt a tingle spread over his body. The ability to heal himself and others has returned(13). Knowing that the little bit of extra engery that he has gotten would only last for so long, he planned to make his attacks count. The High Priest had said his own dark prayer, and his dagger, formerly mundane but fancy, was now pulsing with a purple energy(14).

The priest lunged at the paladin, but caught nothing besides the steel of a shield for his efforts. Greynor struck with his magical sword, hitting not the priest, but his dagger. The unholy weapon flew off and the priest screamed. Greynor lunged at the priest, who stepped aside and grabbed Greynor's right arm.

"Zemox favors you, Stranger. Feel his blessing." said the priest, taking his hand away from the exposed arm. Where the hand had been, there was a gaping wound(15) . Greynor's sword arm, now completly useless, dropped his magical blade. The death mages' weakening cold spread to the rest of the paladin's body. The priest summoned another dagger, this one made of pure energy(16), and lunged at the paladin. Greynor stepped aside, and tripped the mad priest, knocking him to the ground. The priest quickly recovered and stood up.

"Today is a good day to die, stranger."

"It is never a 'good' day to die, unholy one." Greynor threw his shield at the priest, taking him by surprise, and dissipating the dagger. He stepped over his sword and kicked it up into his left hand, the shield hand. Knowing that to rely on his dumb hand was almost asking for death, he also knew it was his only hope.

The priest summoned another prayer to his lips and was surrounded by an unholy light. The priest threw his hands forward and the light encompassed Greynor. Greynor walks toward the priest, each step draining him of what little power he had left. Almost within striking distance, the priest threw a dagger at him. The dagger lodged itself in Greynor's armor, scratching the skin, and flaring the poison again. Greynor stepped within the evil light's circumferance, and was sapped of all energy(17). He fell to the ground.

"A worthy adversary, and a fine sacrifice to Zemox, you'll make, stranger."

Greynor looked up at the smiling face of the priest, but did not see the face of a stranger, but that of his father. Catching a final wind, Greynor struck upward at the man he thought was his father, and plunged his blade into the heart of the unholy priest. With the priest's death, Greynor came back from the haze he was in, and stood up with great concentration. He took a few steps and vomited. Looking around, he noticed that he was surrounded by the rest of the village. He wavered where he stood.

"I have destroyed the heart of evil in this village. Anyone else who stands with them shall suffer the consquences of their sins."

With that being uttered, Greynor succumbed to darkness.


The good townspeople of Heart's Blessing watched over the paladin for three days and three nights. He battled the fever of the poison, and the wounds suffered from the zombies and others. When he had more of a mind, the people gave him water and food to help him combat the ills that he had suffered at their leader's hands.

Late on the third night, the paladin slipped further than what they knew how to deal with. They prepared a grave for the brave man who gave his life to save their souls.


In his delirium, Greynor hears a voice.

"Greynor."

"Mother, is that you? I have come to join you and uncle."

A beautiful woman appears in front of the paladin. She is not his mother, but another powerful female in Greynor's life.

"Now is not your time, Greynor. You will not see your mother on this day."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who has information for you."

"Pray tell."

"I come bearing the blessing of Ceridwah for you. You have proven yourself to her again. You gave those evil men many chances to reform when you did not have to(18). Your heart is noble, but you still have much to learn, Greynor."

"I have returned to her favor?"

"For now. When you awake you will find a few surprises. I will not see you again for a very long time, Greynor. Good luck."

At its worst, the fever broke. Knowing where he was, and what was going on, Greynor allowed the good people to nurse him back to health.


More than a week passed before Greynor could stand on his own, and once he did, he knew it was time to leave. He regretted leaving the last of the good people of Heart's Blessing to their fortunes, especially Mr. Vusi, who had cared for him the most.

"Mr. Vusi, please bring my horse to me. I will be leaving soon."

"We have discussed this, and though I think it is still to early to be leaving, I will respect your decision."

The words, so much like what the Archbishop had said to Greynor when he had told his mentor he was leaving(19) , stung like the poison had not.

"I am sorry, but you are now safe, but there are others out there who are not."

"I understand, Greynor. I will have them bring your horse to you."

Mr. Vusi walked out of the room and down the street. Greynor stood on the porch of the constubulary where he recovered. He could still smell the ash of the desecrated temple where they had burned the unholy people. Mr. Vusi came around the corner leading a stunning mare with chestnut hair and a youthful exuberance.

"That is not my horse. Do not tell me that Buttercup has passed on."

"Nay, Greynor. This is your horse. When you were suffering from the fever, your horse became like this."

"That is not possible!"

"It is indeed possible, Greynor," said a female voice in Greynor's head. "In Ceridwah all things are possible."

"Are you to be my war mount, Buttercup?"

"No, I was your grandfather's mount, and one mount serves one master," replied Buttercup in Greynor's mind.

"Then why has your youth returned?"

"I am to bear a foal, that stallion will grow to be your war mount. Until that child is born, I will serve you as a mount, in deference to Ceridwah and your Grandfather."

"Then Ceridwah has given you a child?"

"No, you must find me a suitable mate, for you are not ready for a war mount yet. By the time that my foal is born, you shall be ready."

Greynor patted the renewed horse on the muzzle and mounted her, and rode off into the afternoon sun.


When Death came to Heart's Blessing, he rode a pale horse. When Death left Heart's Blessing, he was a pale rider on a fine horse, both knowing what happened on the battlefields against the unholy. Hatred, fear, temptation, and renewal all happened in the hamlet of Heart's Blessing while Death was there. In all, the village fared much better from Death passing through.


Further stories of Greynor Dragonbrande will be available soon!

Footnotes:
This is the third in a series of short stories by LAZ regarding the fate of his 3rd Group paladin, Greynor Dragonbrande . If you haven't read them yet, the first two stories in the series, The Letter and The Ordeal , will provide you with some helpful background on the heretofore secret history of Greynor and his disgraced family, and are a worthwhile read as well.


  1. Tuppo is indeed a relative of 1st Group's most beloved foe.
  2. Ceridwah is the supreme goddess of good, healing, and the sun in the Descentist pantheon. If you don't know that by now, you need to poke around this site a bit more.
  3. Zemox, the Black-Handed Prince, is the god of murder, violent death, and tragedy. He is seen in legend as a black-skinned man with many hands, sometimes wielding daggers and knives. His cult, which is banned in all civilized nations, is generally only organized on a local basis. His clerics are expected to periodically commit ritual murders in the god's name; those who fail to feed Zemox's hunger will be taken themselves in place of victims.
  4. As the god of tragedy, Zemox does take some pity on those who are helpless. His clerics are encouraged only to attack those who are healthy and strong. If someone is a drain on resources, like this boy, they will most likely be reserved for a Zemoxian holy day as a sacrifice on the altar, rather than the typical ritual murder.
  5. Greynor spent his training years as a paladin killing rats in the Ceridwan church by night. See his previous stories and bio for more information about his past.
  6. Days of Earthly Walking is the first book of the Ceridwan holy canon, The Mortal Scripts . Authored by Arlon Skyshrike, the first Tichus, the book deals with Ceridwah's teachings to her followers as she traveled Galon.
  7. Greynor's mysterious magical sword, which he was guided to by the sinister being known as Kelidno, is etched on one face with runes of hope and on the other with runes of despair. Its full powers remain a mystery.
  8. See The Ordeal for details.
  9. Clerics of Zemox wear black gloves and trousers and a loose-fitting black tunic with voluminous sleeves that can be used to strangle victims. They paint their faces black to match their god. Their unholy symbol, a skull or black hand pendant, is typically worn around the neck, and they must carry a dagger or knife at all times.
  10. A single-piece, flowing robe accompanied by a featureless black wooden mask which covers the face. The designation "High Priest" among Zemoxians is unusual in the church's largely non-hierarchical structure; it indicates a highly skilled cleric who has successfully murdered another High Priest of Zemox. High Priests are granted magically heightened senses, incuding night vision, and have authority over all normal priests of the faith.
  11. The necromancer used an animate dead spell to transform the bodies into zombies. Greynor is exercising his goddess-granted ability to turn undead , the power to drive away or, at high levels, destroy undead, demons, and other evil spirits through divine authority. Ceridwah, like most deities who sponsor paladins, grants them this ability at 3rd level; they are always slightly weaker than a cleric of comparable level, but the power is still effective.
  12. Greynor has been the victim of a chill touch spell. This 1st-level necromancy spell inflicts slightly more damage than a dagger strike and temporarily saps some of the victim's strength, in addition to its signature chilling effect.
  13. See " The Ordeal " for information on Greynor's suspended powers.
  14. This spell, black knife , is a 2nd-level wizardly necromantic spell that Zemox grants his clerics. It infuses a blade with a deadly negative energy which saps the life force of the victim, effectively doubling the blade's damage, and uses the siphoned-off energy to extend the duration of the spell.
  15. Cause serious wounds , the reverse version of the common 3rd-level clerical healing spell.
  16. This is a spiritual dagger , the Zemoxian variant of the standard 2nd-level cleric spell spiritual hammer . Like the original, spiritual dagger can be wielded from a distance, but most Zemoxians prefer to take it in hand.
  17. The priest has surrounded himself with a black aura , a 7th-level clerical spell which is the reverse form of the positive aura . The spell weakens the body and assaults the spirits of all those opposed to the faith of its caster who enter its light.
  18. Although Ceridwan doctrine generally abhors violence and killing, exceptions are made in the cases of those who woship certain evil deities. Ceridwans are expected to kill Markira worshippers on sight. Zemoxians must be killed at the first opportunity, which is why Greynor did not need to show mercy. Followers of the fire-god Destrot and the pain-goddess Loviatar are given the chance to recant their beliefs before being slain. Other followers of evil deities are handled on a case-by-case basis, but are generally not allowed to be slain by Ceridwans unless they have committed blasphemies, refused to recant, and been sentenced to death by a legitimate tribunal, or in self-defense.
  19. See The Ordeal for details.