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Ravion
Ravion stood stiffly with his hand on the hilt of his sword, practically bristling with rage but attempting to keep his temper, or at least hold his tongue. What was the merchant thinking, returning here? Did he not know what the last few days had been? No, of course not. But Ravion did, and he resented the merchant for choosing this moment. It seemed appropriate, in a grim and darkly ironic way, that the merchant had arrived just after their swift downward spiral into misery had taken a jog upwards with Gwyllion regaining consciousness.
"Justice is needed," declared the merchant haughtily. He tilted his head back slightly, drawing himself taller. He did it so that he could look down his nose at Aeron and Gwyllion.
"Justice," Ravion echoed, with a rough and mirthless laugh. Everyone turned to look at him. He stared back at them for a moment, confused: he had not meant to speak aloud.
"Yes, Ranger, if that is what you truly are, justice," the merchant replied. "It should be an idea that comes easily to your kind. However, it seems to have passed you by. Ranger, indeed."
"I am a Ranger," Ravion shouted in return. Raefindan made a motion for him to control himself, but Ravion dismissed the plea with a wave of his hand. "A Ranger can tell the difference between mercy and justice, and between justice and revenge. You want revenge. I want justice. You should hope that you have earned some cause in your life for mercy, if you come a step closer to this boy."
What was he saying? The words came pouring out of his mouth. He often got into fights this way, but most often they came in taverns. He had not touched a drop of anything but water for months. What loosened his tongue? He felt a dizziness, a thickness in his head, fogging his thoughts. He did not regret his words, but awaited the merchant's response with some trepidation.
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