Sadon Rosse; a lanky fellow with a messy tangle of flaxen hair, often dirtied and oily from lack of grooming and his line of work in the stables stood there ringing his hands and pulling at the flesh of his neck nervously. He was recently removed from the knight’s ranks because of accused treason with the West, and had been on death row for quite some time now. He had lost all his muscle mass during this time of stress and evidently, his fearlessness. Now all that was left of the man was a bubbling, crumbled mess of remorse. Pitiful, if you asked Aaron Darkbolt.