The anger radiates from behind the eyes through to the temples wrapping its arms to lock hands at the back of your mind.

Venomous tongues spitting words to fatally wound the already weakened made so by their own timid behaviors in the faces of monsters.

The wrath of the noble will strike down any who so ignorantly attack the young.

Wicked is he who raises his hand to a child.

Doomed is he who fears not the mother.

A jealous rage, a heart pumping green blood. Calm, but cold as he watched she who owns his soul being enchanted by another. She will rue the day she wandered from his arms, though she knows it not as her eyes lock to those of her tempter.