"Have a care what you say, stranger." Still grinning, Monk's expression, like the look in his eyes, radiated madness. "I live under orders from one much higher up than yourself." The man on the horse spoke, perhaps unwisely. "Speak you of the Christian God? Or the red and angry one?” Monk's answer was a snort of laughter. He tossed the knife from hand to hand, the sharp blade glinting in the light. "I pay homage to no God, nor do I follow this new belief that poisons our land. I am Maccus, and as such we are gifted with a lofty mission, to cleanse the stain of evil from the face of this world." Because he knew that he could destroy the foolish man with a single word, Egann decided to question him. "I would know what evil you find in those that dance in shadow." "Aye," the young human spoke also, his face hard, his own weapon - a battered sword - held at the ready. "I would know this as well." Monk glanced from one to the other, disbelief making his brow furrow. He did not seem overly worried by the other's sword, nor by the fact that he was outnumbered two to one. "You do not understand?" His voice was a harsh whisper, the sound seeming to hiss like the sibilant warning of a snake, or the low and howling wind that slides through the cracks in the walls immediately preceding a storm. Neither Egann nor the rider answered. Instead they both stared, waiting.
