Zin’s Orchard Has a Rich Harvest

Joining the crowd after his meeting with Zane, Tarmen found the sea of bodies annoying. He pushed his way through, sometimes needing an elbow for the more rowdy individuals.
He had never enjoyed these executions. The ones made for show. Especially this Gauntlet, letting the citizens act like rabid animals instead of any kind of ordered front against villainy.
And people wondered why he refused to become one of them. He at least had honesty in his morality, instead of caging the inner savage only to tear apart his fellows and call it justice. He would tear them apart and call it what it was, violence.
He caught the eye of one of the chained, a single moment between two damned souls. He saw pain, tears barely hidden, but born from hatred and loss. It was the eye of someone who’s only regret now was not being able kill the same vermin that clawed at their flesh.
It earned his respect. He knew he would most likely meet his end with Zin’s collar and hoped he would die before then. Either way, that look would be his last.
The crowd around him sounded like baying hounds or maybe closer to the shrieking monkeys of his home. It gave him an odd sensation, a mix of disgust towards them and a cold respect for the victims of neglect and hopelessness.
The Arbiter’s speech only confirmed his reservations towards the woman, a fanatic that would only continue the cycle. It was her presence that cemented the work of Zane and the Duke. The hypocrisy of the Empire had always bothered Tarmen, but here there were no other nations to hold them back. The Creed were just as insane, but they didn’t seem like they were going to enslave an entire continent for power. They at least suffered like the rest of the common folk, unlike the tin men in their golden armor, too afraid of a night of starvation or cold.
As the bodys swayed and the cheers died down, Tarmen took his leave of the anarchy. He wanted a drink and a nights rest before beginning his next task.