"Keep her name out of your-" the second guard starts on a tirade full of youthful vigor and outrage, but the first guard - older, and wiser - cuts him off.

"So what if they do?" the older man declares. His words give pause to his younger compatriot, who looks at him with a shock that slowly turns to rage. The older man either doesn't see it, or does not care. "I've seen the debauchery of the pit-born, the lives wasted and burned in degeneracy and anguish to keep the gears of your Empire turning. The hellish lighting, the cramped conditions, the demonic daily rituals that make wastrels of men and whores of women. In the face of such distilled depravity, any alternative is preferable."

If he truly believed that, he would shout. He would raise the alarm and call for the adventurers to help kill you, and they may even succeed at wounding you. He still fears death more than depravity... but you have little hope to turn him, when he shows such conviction. His friend on the other hand... the delicious expression on his face tells you all that you need to know.

He just needs a little push, so you give it to him in the form of a question. You ask the old man, "Even if it means the soldiers of the Light make whores of the women on the wrong side of the conflict?"

"The Lord of Light will punish all wrong doers," the old man declares. "A wretch like you, a sinner like them, none shall escape his judgment. But they, at least, may earn some measure of forgiveness, for they march for His righteous cau-"

A cracking sound fills night.

Your smile widens.

The younger guard stands over the crumpled form of the older man, breathing heavily, his eyes wide and his face twisted with rage. He glares at you for a moment, his body tensing as if expecting you to do something. When all you do is give him a motherly smile, his body relaxes. Right up until you take a gamble and throw your sword at his feet. He stares at you for a moment, and then the blade... before picking it up and driving it through the man's throat.

"That must have been a hard decision to make," you tell him. He nods, slowly, his eyes never leaving the sword. "Was he a friend?"

"Thought he was," the young man say. He spits on the corpse, his hatred mingling with the blade's oozing corruption. "No friend of mine would ever make excuses for men what raped one of our neighbors. That's the sort of shite I'd expect from a monster like you. The Light's supposed to be better than this, holding themselves to a higher standard than you'd expect from common brigands or Dreadknights."

He contemplates the blade in his hand, before pointing it at you. A meaningless gesture, for the relic is yours and you can return it to your hand with ease, but he does not know that. "Speakin' of, you sure that was wise, giving me a blade this fine? I'm no great fencer, but how do you know I won't return it to you through your throat?"