I believe the Faterinos have an authority problem which leads us to turn on any who would dare influence our behavior. Can you blame us? Burning liquid! Tanneries! This masked Heliosh who presumes to dictate to us the terms of our adventuring! The Faterinos can only be guided by the tenaciously bullheaded whims that we have learned to trust. The day that we are bullied into going along with some madman’s plan for the world, a madman more than content to destroy the city itself, will be the day that this dwarf hangs up his boots and becomes a barber.
I wonder how it felt for the fiend we were riding with to be taken unaware with an axe to the belly? Did he think to himself, “I have underestimated these Faterinos!”? No! He told me he thought we could have been brothers! BROTHERS! I have only a four siblings now, and they are called Faterinos. The sheer arrogance of the statement made me feel better about disemboweling the wretched cur. Have we made enemies? Of course we have, but the day you start dancing like a marionette for the enjoyment of others is the day that you cede true freedom. Consider our strings cut.