An almost insane fanatic light burns in Tian's eyes. Perhaps he really was going insane. Light, or dark, or whatever it was he was supposed to think at times like this, he felt insane. He had been born with a purpose. He had, for the first time in his life, found friendship in his squad. And then he had killed them. But he had a goal, and never before had it burned so fervently in him. The Whitecloaks will all die. All of them.

"But I know who you are, rather what you are, and you, I. But I have not come here to bandy words. We have a duty," the word dripped with sarcasm, "and we will do it. Such is what we must do in the service of the 'Great Lord'. Come let us make plans."

He hated these people because of what they had done to his squad, for who they were and what they represented. He hated himself for letting them kill his squad before his eyes, for who he was and what he represented.

But he was willing to work with these... beasts, because as much as he hated them, there were still the Whitecloaks, whom he hated more than them all combined.