Lines in the Bloodsand

“The fates are ever generous in their cruelty. I reckon I don’t do much to change that.”
— Tyonis Magstrom

There are few men who find true passion for what they do. Most go through their whole lives hating every waking moment. Well, bugger that sorry lot. The name’s Tyonis. My occupation, mercenary. And this humble sellsword has divined the answer to life and the path to happiness, a riddle that has confounded eons of scholars throughout the realm.

Eat, drink, sleep, fuck, and kill. Whatever you do, enjoy it to fullest. Luckily, I love all of them.

Had my first taste of blood in the gladiatorial pits almost three decades before the Calamity. As a youngin, life was mighty simple. Wake up, train, eat, drink, and sleep. Made a real name for myself during my tenure. Folks from all around called me the ‘Mongrel of the Bloodsands.’ I took a liking to that name. Strong, independant, and feral. Once I earned enough gil, I bought my freedom and bowed to no man. The Mongrel broke his chains and rampaged across the Bloodsands for nigh on thirty years.

After pissing off one too many people down at the pits, I played the part of a Paladin to get them off my tail. I disliked the whole notion of it, honestly. “Killing in battle must have rules and decorum. Otherwise, every conflict would bring hell itself upon the world.” Or so the Sultansworn preached. Bah. Nothing but sentimental rubbish. A battlefield is hell itself, there’s no place for all that purple prose. But hey, you pin him to the chopping block, and I’ll pronounce them guilty.

That’s what Paladins do, right?

Now a Dark Knight? That’s a lifestyle I can get behind and fuck all night long. Justice is a cruel mistress and there ain’t no one better or willing to murder at her behest. I reckon if I kill enough ‘evil’ men, I might not have to burn in the Seventh Hell for all eternity. Figure it’s worth a shot. Or a good stab.