King Elk Forest We stir up the truth, but it's never to harm, steeped in

A symbol of the High Elk pierced his devoted follower. How ironic, Cenric thought with a twisted smile, how tragic. Stabbed in the gut by your god... that should break her spirit. He hoped her mind was unraveling as she bled out. He hoped whatever sanity she had left would wither away as she lay dying elsewhere. He hoped she’d see the faces of the Déorwine Kings as she drew her final breath, and regret ever thinking about hurting his sister for eternity.

A part of him wished to watch Rohesia’s downward spiral towards death. He chased after her for a few moments, fueled by a rush of adrenaline (a similar rush he felt with Clarence), before stopping short. Watching her perish sounded entertaining but—his eyes followed the trail of blood—he could not let desire cloud his senses.

What a mess she’s made. Cenric turned his head towards his sister, but his eyes were fixed on the place his cousin disappeared. 

I’ll tidy up. Hide the blood with dirt. Cover the scent in piss just for good measure. It’d be a long process but a necessary one. Keep the others busy will you? Wouldn’t want anyone interrupting me.