Mr. Bright, Vigilante of Pelor

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" the guard says, sizing me up, "This guy called down some major dark magic. Two of the Watch that brought him in are still under observation. They're sick with..."

He is silent as he looks into my eyes, or tries to. The smoked lenses I wear make the task impossible, which is the entirety of the reason behind wearing them. I can see the doubt on his face. In the months since my unexpected arrival I haven't changed the way I dress in the slightest. Unsaid is the general premise; what kind of an idiot walks around in the middle of the desert with no shirt and heavy plate armor on all four limbs?

"I'm sure. The Church of Kord will take full responsibility for what he does while in my charge." I reply. He sighs and steps down from the front of the prison wagon, leaving the reins in my hands.

"I'll have the wagon back before dawn." I say, getting the horses underway before the question can be raised.

In the back, behind stout iron bars, wrists bound with thick chain, and with a gag stuffed in his mouth is the current front-runner for the annual most-hated man in the city awards. Or he would be, were there such an award.

Argos Kane, heir-apparent to the Kane family trading fortune, has been engaging in some rather unfortunate extra-curricular activities. Dark magic, creation of undead, kidnapping, murder, and a host of other unpleasantness that ruins the appetite to think about.