Yes

The knife sinks into Kleg's neck. His eyes bulge as he feels it. Donald presses the advantage and rolls out from under him, battleaxe in hand. He lopes off towards Daena, joining her in a now evenly matched encounter. In terms of numbers, anyway.

You twist the knife, unable to look away from Kleg's eyes, even as the light leaves them. Once you're sure he's dead, you sink back, surprised by the impact of what you've done.

Daena slays her opponent. The final man, the numbers now against him, turns tail and flees. Donald isn't having it, however. Hefting the axe, he sends the double-bladed weapon sailing through the air, the jagged edge of it finding the brigand's back as if guided by a spell.

The coast clear, the Beathan turns his attention to you.

"Edward, I'm so sorry." the Prince begins. "I've travelled these roads many times, never encountered so much as a-"

He trails off, noticing how your eyes are transfixed on Kleg's corpse.

"Your first time, eh?" Donald surmises. "Not surprising, I suppose."

"I've ordered executions, and- but..." You stammer.

"But it always feels different, don't it, doing it yourself?" He says.

"You know, it's considered a rite of passage up here." Donald mentions. "You're still a boy until you've killed a man."

"How old... were you?" You ask grimly.

"Nine or ten. Throwing axe, right in some demon worshipper's chest. Become a bit of a speciality, since." He adds, nodding towards the fallen bandit.

"You know... there's a ceremony. Just a little thing we used to do. Made me feel better." Donald mentions. You raise an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure if you would like it. Itherian sensibilities and all that shite. It's a little... messy."

Part of you is intrigued.