01-11-2012, 05:18 PM
Warning: Contains violence, gore, and mature themes.
Chapter 1: Blood begets blood.
Anson Parker. An inquisitor of an order long dead. A man clad head to toe in armour, adorned with hope and righteousness in the form of texts and holy icons. His eyes narrowed sharply as he beheld the sight before him. A man stood before him, veiled in golden light and an aura of faith. The inquisitor's eyes shut entirely as a sword was set upon his right shoulder, then moved to his left. A tear ran down from the corner of his eye and along the scar of his cheek, before finally vanishing into the shadows of his armour. Moments passed in silence before Anson snapped both eyes open and got up from his knee. His hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, held firm to his side, as he looked out across the road in Duskwood.
"The sanctity of this place has been fouled."
The words met with a racket of metal as the man set himself forward in a resolute march. His lips parted faintly behind the cover of his helmet, words of faith and devotion uttered coldly from him. A booming blast of thunder rocked the man's ears as the rain set in. Droplets bombarded his armoured form as he moved forward with relentless drive. His eyes swept back and forth across either sides of the road, his suspicious and ever watching gaze set upon each and every shadow and tree. The inquisitor came to a stop in the middle of the drenched road. A voice came out ahead of him, a man garbed in tattered and black clothing. A dagger brandished in hand, the other motioning another pair of men to his sides.
The three men exchanged a mess of yellow grins, teeth stained and crooked. A tongue swept across a split lip as one bandit rolled his dagger between his fingers. The apparent leader stepped forward a few hard paces, ragged blonde hair reaching just past his shoulders, mask shielding much of his face. He spoke. He rambled on for what felt like minutes about past victories. About his own strength in battle. How many had his blade tasted blood from. The inquisitor met the story with a harsh narrow of his eyes, a cold glare matching the claymore he raised in hand. The men laughed for a moment before rushing after him. One man fell to the ground as a hammer of Light rocketed out from Anson's hand, smashing into the man's jaw and forcing him down.
The leader and his remaining cohort closed to melee as their comrade fell. The smaller of the two thrust forward toward Anson's gut, the inquisitor made a spin to the side and allowed him to pass harmlessly. His eyes set coldly on their leader as he too struck. A blade jammed against Anson's pauldron, only to be rebounded by the thick plate. His hands jerked the hilt of his sword to the side, dragging the edge of the blade toward the bandit's throat. He let off a gurgling wail as he was nearly cut to the bone, arterial spray painting the faceplate of the inquisitor's helmet. With a hard thud the bandit fell to the drenched road, blood pooling under his thrashing body. Anson swung himself aside as he felt the bandit behind him grabbing hold of his armour, sending the man rolling across the road.
The two bandits quickly got to their feet and paired together once more. They abruptly split and charged the inquisitor, flanking him on both sides. The first of them met with the cold edge of a claymore, taking his arm off at the shoulder. Blood stained his ragged clothes as his screamed were deafened by boom of thunder. The other charged into Anson's side, nearly toppling him, and struck his dagger into the man's side. The inquisitor grit his teeth as the impact of the blade was just barely stopped by armour. His arm swung and wrapped around the man's neck, hoisting him nearly off his feet before he stepped back and forced them both to the ground. The man screamed as his jaw broke from slamming against stone, lodged between the road and plated armour.
The inquisitor released his hold on the man, allowing him to thrash and wail as he cared. His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath, sweat covered his face and soaked through his hair and beard. Blood pooled around the tip of his claymore as he thrust it through the skull of the screaming bandit, ending him instantly. His eyes turned to the last bandit left, now crawling one-armed away and in fear. The inquisitor marched after the man, snatching him by the hair and held him up several feet from the road. His pleas for mercy were met with steel as his head was severed and thrown across the road, rolling like a ball.
Anson exhaled heavily, emptying his lungs of air. He turned to look out over the slaughter, to each of the three corpses. He simply turned away and continued his previously interrupted march down the road.
"Evil will be brought to light."
Chapter 1: Blood begets blood.
Anson Parker. An inquisitor of an order long dead. A man clad head to toe in armour, adorned with hope and righteousness in the form of texts and holy icons. His eyes narrowed sharply as he beheld the sight before him. A man stood before him, veiled in golden light and an aura of faith. The inquisitor's eyes shut entirely as a sword was set upon his right shoulder, then moved to his left. A tear ran down from the corner of his eye and along the scar of his cheek, before finally vanishing into the shadows of his armour. Moments passed in silence before Anson snapped both eyes open and got up from his knee. His hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, held firm to his side, as he looked out across the road in Duskwood.
"The sanctity of this place has been fouled."
The words met with a racket of metal as the man set himself forward in a resolute march. His lips parted faintly behind the cover of his helmet, words of faith and devotion uttered coldly from him. A booming blast of thunder rocked the man's ears as the rain set in. Droplets bombarded his armoured form as he moved forward with relentless drive. His eyes swept back and forth across either sides of the road, his suspicious and ever watching gaze set upon each and every shadow and tree. The inquisitor came to a stop in the middle of the drenched road. A voice came out ahead of him, a man garbed in tattered and black clothing. A dagger brandished in hand, the other motioning another pair of men to his sides.
The three men exchanged a mess of yellow grins, teeth stained and crooked. A tongue swept across a split lip as one bandit rolled his dagger between his fingers. The apparent leader stepped forward a few hard paces, ragged blonde hair reaching just past his shoulders, mask shielding much of his face. He spoke. He rambled on for what felt like minutes about past victories. About his own strength in battle. How many had his blade tasted blood from. The inquisitor met the story with a harsh narrow of his eyes, a cold glare matching the claymore he raised in hand. The men laughed for a moment before rushing after him. One man fell to the ground as a hammer of Light rocketed out from Anson's hand, smashing into the man's jaw and forcing him down.
The leader and his remaining cohort closed to melee as their comrade fell. The smaller of the two thrust forward toward Anson's gut, the inquisitor made a spin to the side and allowed him to pass harmlessly. His eyes set coldly on their leader as he too struck. A blade jammed against Anson's pauldron, only to be rebounded by the thick plate. His hands jerked the hilt of his sword to the side, dragging the edge of the blade toward the bandit's throat. He let off a gurgling wail as he was nearly cut to the bone, arterial spray painting the faceplate of the inquisitor's helmet. With a hard thud the bandit fell to the drenched road, blood pooling under his thrashing body. Anson swung himself aside as he felt the bandit behind him grabbing hold of his armour, sending the man rolling across the road.
The two bandits quickly got to their feet and paired together once more. They abruptly split and charged the inquisitor, flanking him on both sides. The first of them met with the cold edge of a claymore, taking his arm off at the shoulder. Blood stained his ragged clothes as his screamed were deafened by boom of thunder. The other charged into Anson's side, nearly toppling him, and struck his dagger into the man's side. The inquisitor grit his teeth as the impact of the blade was just barely stopped by armour. His arm swung and wrapped around the man's neck, hoisting him nearly off his feet before he stepped back and forced them both to the ground. The man screamed as his jaw broke from slamming against stone, lodged between the road and plated armour.
The inquisitor released his hold on the man, allowing him to thrash and wail as he cared. His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath, sweat covered his face and soaked through his hair and beard. Blood pooled around the tip of his claymore as he thrust it through the skull of the screaming bandit, ending him instantly. His eyes turned to the last bandit left, now crawling one-armed away and in fear. The inquisitor marched after the man, snatching him by the hair and held him up several feet from the road. His pleas for mercy were met with steel as his head was severed and thrown across the road, rolling like a ball.
Anson exhaled heavily, emptying his lungs of air. He turned to look out over the slaughter, to each of the three corpses. He simply turned away and continued his previously interrupted march down the road.
"Evil will be brought to light."