Sir Bobby Bloodsax awaited his food. He had been busy praying to Agnelo, but he had been distracted by the constant sloshing and squishing that his blood made as it coursed through his body. It begged for release. It begged to right the wrongs he had used it to commit. It begged... for justice.

But instead, he opened the door. Sir Francin "Blood be dancin" walked into the room, his blood rushing in circles as he did so. With every step it was pushed away from his heart, tried to find release, but was cruelly imprisoned by a network of endless capillaries. Inevitably, it was forced back, forced to toil endlessly, never gaining its escape.

"More food. Paladin feed. Consume. Feed your... blood."

The other three paladins stumbled towards the nourishment, their prayers to Agnelo for the gushing release of their blood interrupted. Their teeth bit into the flesh, their tongues slurped the moisture. For minutes, the only sound in the room was the smacking of lips, the hurried consumption of animal and vegetable matter.




Soon, it would also become blood.



"Let us discuss morality" Sir Francin said. His eyes grew narrow, bulged slightly. He could feel the pressure, the blood straining to escape there as well. "If we were to be slain, would it be an unarguable good? Given that our deaths would save thousands, and that our actions have damned them."

The other paladins, gristle dripping down their stubbly, unshaven faces, looked up, frantically nodded. As one they intoned "Only by the release of our blood can we truly find peace. Be it slashing, piercing, or even bludgeoning damage."


The meal continued for some time.





Sir Roger Crimsonprison, his feast finished, looked towards his companions. His composure was sanguine. "I found a note. It recalls our very reddest essence towards home."

The others looked at him for several seconds before nodding. On the morn, they would slosh off, following their duty. And, Agnelo willing, towards their fate.