Duskfire Glacier no rest for the wicked

aw! wanting to start his merc trade. someone come fight him...

the border is where he spent most early mornings. rest did not come easy to the soldier, and often he neglected it. chose to busy himself instead, such as continuing his unspoken mission to hunt down rogues that were foolish enough to step within darukaal's territory. damned the moment they tainted the soil with their weakness. 

it was often too, that he needed to sate the need for bloodshed. it was a sickness within him, coiling around his mind and inking into his bones, whispering grim desires in his ears. but the weak rogues ever hardly put up a worthy fight. they fell as quickly as they came, left to sputter beneath the soldier's paws. 

the death rattle that'd trickle from their throats was music to his ears, but it wasn't enough to sate that itch. their heads would come easy; with a gruesome pop, perhaps some resistance before flesh tore from bone and the head was his to place upon a pike. 

faust mentioned he wished to have the borders lined with them, and so iosef would provide. 

but there was a glint in his eyes still. an itch that couldn't be scratched. he wanted a true fight; a worthy opponent.