In a way.

The thought irritated the knight. He was a professional. His Liege gave him a task. He carried it out.

Why did he feel so bad about it? He'd merely removed monstrous creatures from existence! Why did he wake up, these last few days, to the sight of himself, fully armored, charging at the pond? It was a frightening nightmare, that always ended as his own greatblade made contact with his lithe neck... as he experienced the last minutes of life of his victims.

Filled with anger, he slammed his fist on the table with far greater **** than he realized. The glove of steel broke through the fine marble, breaking the altar's cover in several parts. In the silent depths of the immense cavern, the noise was deafening, like an incredibly powerful thunderclap. It rebounded on the towering walls.

Macius felt shaken to his core. He hadn't planned for this, and he felt like a thousand people suddenly stared at him, even though he was entirely alone. He cursed under his breath, anrgy at himself now.

He looked at the altar, and considered the mess he'd made. He certainly couldn't repair any of this... all he could do was pick up a piece of the altar and take a vow to fix the damage he'd done.