"No need, gentlemen," you say. Emerging from the shadows like a night-haunter clad in steel, your glowing red eyes make the two villagers on guard yelp with fright. They're both burly enough, and have a rugged handsomeness to them that stirs your womanly heart in ways that Clint and Tiffany never could. They'd both make delightful pets, shaggy hounds compared to the lithe cats you've collected. "Don't bark too loudly now. I do not relish the thought of killing imperial citizens, even wayward ones led into the arms of a rebellion."

A lie. Death to the traitor, the heretic, and the apostate.

Keeping these men alive - and more importantly, quiet - is simply more convenient to your aims at the moment. Hands left idle by your foes, who've begun to doubt the cause they threw their lot in with, are a splendid gift to the Demon Lords' workshop. So you simply keep your sword raised and dripping with the Defiler's Corruption, the meaning in your gesture clear.

"Tell that to the butchered children of Brightsprings," the first guard spits. But he doesn't raise his voice, not above the din of the fighting. "I've heard tell of what became of them. The Empire's dogs piled the corpses high for their masters-"

"And not a single child among them, I promise you that." You do not deny the butchery of traitors, but such uncouth rumors are unbecoming. "Those children carry the Empire's future on their backs, and the magistrates will ensure that they learn well enough to not repeat the mistakes of their parents."

Silence hangs in the air for a moment.

The first guard looks furious enough to leap at you, but wary eyes watch your sword, knowing that if he tried make a sound he would die faster that his breath could escape him. The second guard has a strained expression on his face, but is the first to break the silence. "Look, what are you here for? It's obvious you could have ended us before we even saw you, but you didn't. So there's gotta be something you want from us, right?"

You do not lower your sword, but your lips crinkle into a smile. "I see two stouthearted men who want to do the right thing. I know there to be near on two dozen leal citizens of the Empire in that basement. Surely staring into the light of the liar has not blinded you so much, has it?"

The first guard growls, "Those are prisoners held against Imperial aggression, you can't possibly expect us to just let them go."

"I suppose not," you acquiesce, nodding your head. Then a cruelness fills your eyes. "Lord Kettleburn's men need their comforts after all. Tell me, is Miss Erin a rare beauty? I imagine she is... and I imagine that those adventurers, fighting for justice, will enjoy passing her around like a common pit-whore until all the spirit dies in her eyes, either accepting her fate or taking her own life to escape it. But, I mean, I guess that's what the Lord of Light says such a deplorable heretic deserves, isn't it?"