Your father, Henry will say, had been born halfway down the Road: the Fawkins were notorious Wyrm-children, every last one of them. You knew that, didn't you? He hopes you knew. All the nobles were, once— that's how they got that way— but the Fawkins kept it. Your father took it in stride. As soon as he recieved his inheritance, he'd start blowing it, hopping down a few levels and throwing big parties. It had to be a few levels, so the sacrifices wouldn't be missed. ("I told you he wasn't squeamish.") He went for the drunkest ones, and killed them cleanly. He was proud of that.

Henry will pause there: "...Moving on. I'm sure you can tell from my voice, kiddo, that I'm from a few floors down. Yeah? I was a bartender, back in those days, and I was hired on for one of those. I'm serving this girl, I cut her off, and, next thing I know, this fancy-pants guy's legging off with her. I follow, to tell him to cut it out. I follow for a while. Next thing I know, she's on the ground, a sword's in her guts, and— Fancypants spots me. And he goes: fuck, I guess I can make it two."

"So he goes after me, but he's been drinking, so he's a little sloppy. I was working, so I'm sober as a judge, and I have a knife. Long story short, your father got a lot more than he bargained for. Cut him pretty bad. Slashed his nice shirt wide open. Saw the spiral right... there. First time I'd seen another one. Ha! Well, I told him to be less conspicuous next time. Poor man was thunderstruck. Longer story short, I was rehired, and... the rest is history. Isn't it funny how these things work out?"

"Yeah," you'll say. "Funny. ...He was killing people."

"Yes."

"Innocent people. For... years?"

"Yes on both counts, kiddo."

You'll draw back. "Don't call me that."

"I— I'm sorry. Charlotte. Yes. That's accurate. Looking back, I can't say anything justified it. Particularly in my case. I'll be transparent: I found it good sport. But this was 30 years ago, and I..."

He'll have reached out his hand. "Don't touch me!" you'll spit.

The hand will retract. "...I and your father both felt... essentially, that the world was ending. Or had ended. That the Wyrm was due back imminently, and, if you were off the Road, a quick and quiet death was the best you could hope for. Better us than the Wyrm. I believe your father saw it as rather noble. A mercy handed down from higher to lower, and all that. One of the few brave ones to see the right course of action. He didn't make use of the bodies often."

"And you did," you'll say flintily.

"More often, yes. I enjoyed the craft of it. Do I sound monstrous to you? I— I do think I was, in retrospect. I think that's a fair assessment."

"But you're not now."

(2/4?)