He remembered answering a question like that countless times before. From the willowy elf in Iasa. From the fallen priestess on the borders of the world. From the carnival ringleader with all of her smart remarks. He supposed it was the question that everyone wanted to know. How did Skandra Tyullis push through? Every time it was a different answer. Games were only worth playing if the stakes were high. Trade gold for lives on the small scale and you were a villain. Trade them on a large scale and you were a hero. The difference was quantity, not quality. This one he would do for free because ...
... well, it was like he'd said before, wasn't it? Gershul had it coming for what he'd done, regardless of his motives. The only thing that mattered in the end was whether you won or lost. If Gershul won, they wouldn't even keep records any more. That would be victory so far as his father was concerned. That alone warranted death. If you forgot about the murder he'd done, the stealing and the lying, pillaging and raping his way across time and space. He was a charming bastard and his story was sad enough for most, but Skandra remembered one thing most of all. Gershul had tried to create a miniature version of himself. And he'd done it by murdering Skandra's wife, then framing Skandra for the crime.
That was all it took to turn Skandra's hands into fists.
"They're all just things," Skandra said darkly, his laughter vanished in the moment. "If all I had was my hands, I'd still kill that son of a bitch for what he's done. He doesn't get that there's a reckoning for all the things he's done. I'm gonna show him. It'll be the last thing he understands before I put him in the dirt permanently."