Professional Zeal – Dawn of a Pilgrimage

[Pavel Vesely]

The campsite near the prison had been cleared out, a rather encumbered Guy trudging his way toward Holdfast's gates.
"A job's a job". 
The words echoed from the page throughout the mercenary's mind, part of him viewing those four simple words as an excuse, an escape. Protecting the prison was a job. War was a job. Guarding Quill prior to her execution? A job. Yet, he'd grown to doubt his mentor's teachings, and his faith had wavered time and again. Was the job all he had, or simply his way of absolving himself of his sins, of making himself detach from the madness that was Holdfast and their war on Providence, his conflicting faith with Kondor and his cadre?
This question plagued him, a man who saw nothing to be proud of, and grew to question both place and identity. The brand. The scars. The conclusions they led him to draw... 
Adjusting his prosthesis with his teeth, the man continued his slow, heavy-footed march, intent on finding some safe settlement upon the peninsula where he could contact Sallas, or even her parents, in hopes of reconnecting with the faith Maxim had imparted upon him.
Maxim... Mentor, father-to-be... Deceiver? He'd lied about the sword, Moralltach. Lied to the point where Guy had sincerely believed it cursed.
His thoughts visibly muddled, he could but carry on. What he knew for certain, however, he needed answers, one way or another.