K.C. O'Brien

At night I hear the screams.

It doesn't matter where it is that we noble few sleep, the screams still haunt me. Some nights it is Craesoch's agony at the loss of his arm that disturbs my sleep. Other nights it is the cries of the children we saved from their burning house. More often then not, it is of our enemy, locked into a charnel house of wood and fire. I wasn't there for it, positioned 'safely' up the street where the Iron Circle would not see my Draconic visage and raise the alarm. I sat there, waiting, watching, knowing what the plan was, the plan that I had been silent in the stopping of.