Justice by the blade.

[Uguu]

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."

[Uguu]

Warning: Contains violence, gore, and mature themes.


As sure as the storm came, leaving the land drenched, it left. The silence that fell as the storm left was broke by the rattle of metal and chain. An ornate libram shook at the waist of the inquisitor as he marched down the road, muscles aching from the battle before. His hand remained firm around the hilt of his claymore and held it to his side, the blade dragging through the air just behind him as he marched onward. Mud caked his boots and greaves, blood stained the garments worn over his armour. His body reeked of sweat, but still he pressed on. Every painful, aching step he took parted his lips in the faintest of smiles, assured that every ounce of discomfort was for the Light.

His smile died abruptly, nothing short of a disgusted glare to replace it. His eyes were set upon a scene that blinded him to the pain he was in, his hand tightening into a fist around his sword. A man stood on the porch of a small cabin. He wore a set of robes, not unlike a priest of Stormwind. His hair flowed just past his ears, balding at the top of his head, coloured a light brown. In his hand he held a finely crafted shaft of wood, a large glass orb resting at the tip of it. The two locked eyes with one another. The inquisitor slowly marched just shy of six yards from the man, standing before him at the base of the stairs.

The priest offered a warm smile, trimmed with guilt and fear, as he turned and gestured a hand toward the wooden door of his home. Anson slowly set himself up the stairs, eyes never left the priest untill the two stood face to face. A breath exhaled from his lungs as he brushed past the man and shoved the door aside, striding into the cabin. His eyes swept across the confines of the wooden home with a narrow of his brows. Blood soaked the bed sheets and walls, the dresser had been thrown across the room. A small woman laid dead in the middle of the room, skin pale from blood loss with an expression that failed to do justice to her horrible end. The inquisitor shut his eyes for but a moment, hands pulling his sword forward and armed the tip toward the woman. He gently turned the blade over and thrust the tip between the floorboards, leaving it to remain as he marched outside.

His eyes set upon the priest, now shaking and welling up with tears. Another deep exhale from his lungs as he stood not but a few inches from the man, staring him down with ever ounce of restraint he could muster.

"For too long have I allowed you to continue with your heresy."

The priest cringed at the word. His eyes shut tight as he began to cry, hands clinging tight to his chest and wrapped around a small, broken icon of the Light. The man begged and pleaded, his words falling entirely upon deaf ears as he confessed his sins and crimes. The necklace dug into his hands as he gripped it so tightly it drew blood. The man burst into an outright sob as the inquisitor grabbed him by the arm and threw him through the door, pinning him down beside the woman's body with his boot. His hand slowly wrapped around the hilt of his sword as he drew it from the wood, the tip swaying to press against the throat of the man. His sobs ceased as he began praying in a shuddered, weak attempt at mercy.

"Where was mercy for the woman you raped and murdered?"

No sooner is the question asked is the blade thrust through the man's throat. His arms flailed as he kicked and squirmed, the blade jerking and twisting around in his desperate attempt to escape. It all became quiet as Anson swept the weapon aside and severed his head entirely. The inquisitor slowly drew his sword high and cleaned the blood from it with a piece of cloth. His eyes went to the woman again, his glare having faded since. The blade found its way into its protective sheath, Anson putting it away as he marched to her.

Her hands came together over her chest as he tucked his arms under her and lifted her up in his arms. His eyes shut as he left the cabin with her in his arms, the building coming alight with the torch he kicked off the table. He set himself off toward Darkshire, gently brushing her hair neat with his hand.

"It is all I can do, Jenny."

[Uguu]

Warning: Contains violence, gore, and mature themes.

Chapter 2: How we sleep at night...

The inquisitor stood now in a simple garment. A brown robe, long since worn down and patched together in places. His eyes turned down to the open grave as two men began to slowly lower a coffin in. A small child clung to his leg, tears streamed from the girl's eyes as she smeared her face into his robes. Anson simply stood there, watching as the lowered the coffin in and the men hoisted themselves from the grave. His hand went to the girl's head, patting her and running through her hair with a slow sway from side to side. The men brought their hands up and saluted, remaining so as the grave was slowly filled with dirt.

Anson looked down at the grave marker they had placed for Jenny. A tear ran down as his cheek, though he refused to allow himself any more a show. The child had since fallen asleep, now held against his chest in both arms. A man set his hand on the inquisitor's shoulder, offering him a smile. The two quietly made their way back into the house, seeing the girl to bed. The inquisitor lowered himself into a small rocking chair, barely enough to sustain his weight, and looked to the other by the table. Silence pressed into the small wooden home as the two simply stared, broken only by the odd sip of tea.

The morning came with neither men taking a measure of sleep of their own. The girl waved with an almost forced smile as Anson marched from the home, clad once more in armour. The man looked upon the road ahead as he pressed on, thoughts ran through his mind with each boot he set down in a march.

"Two others..."

His jaw clinched, teeth grinding in anger, as he drew out his claymore. His hand kept it out to his side, blade dragging the air behind him, as he moved down the road and further into Duskwood. All was quiet for hours until he came to a tall tree, standing just off to the side of a dirt path. A woman leaned herself against the tree, smiling as he strode up to her. She wore a finely tailored white gown, embellished with gold and ruby necklace dangling comfortably over her chest. She gave naught of a flinch as a gauntlet snapped to wrap around her throat, pressing her back against the bark. Her lips showed a knowing smirk, painted a sharp red, as he released her after a few moments.

"Mmh... You should work on your manners..."

A shiver ran down along the inquisitor's spine as she let off a mocking chuckle. His eyes narrowed behind the veil of his helmet, claymore in hand, as he directed the tip toward her throat. Her eyes rolled as she gently pushed the blade aside with her finger, nodding toward a nearby crate.

"Down, boy... I have what you seek. Though, you are certainly in hot water this time, hmm?"

His eyes drifted from hers and toward the chest at her feet, leaving the claymore to be held at his side once more. His fist tightened around the hilt of his sword as he saw the look in her eye. That usual, mocking leer that she always had sported when they met. His boot slammed into the top of the chest and kicked it open in one sharp motion, her eyes rolling as she leaned back against the tree. The inquisitor needed only a moment to look through the chest before he stood again. The man lifted with a scroll in hand, tethering it carefully to his belt. The two exchanged a mix of looks with one another, her lips showing nothing but a content grin.

"I am truly sorry about your sister, Park-"

She let off a sharp breath as a plated hand wrapped tightly around her throat, choking her off and slammed her violently against the tree. Her eyes met with his, a barely restrained glare trained back at her. Her eyes trailed left to the claymore brought close to her throat, his hand tight around the hilt, the want to carve her apart made obvious to even the thickest of brutes.

"Never speak of my sister again, you whore."

His grip stayed for a few moments longer, just enough to make her struggle for air, before he released her at least. She let off a gasp and grabbed for her throat, grinning still. The two traded no final words as the inquisitor marched away from her, sword in hand, sweat rolling off his forehead and down his still clinched jaw. The road seemed to stretch endlessly as he once again found himself set to walk the stones through Duskwood.

[Uguu]

Warning: Contains violence, gore, and mature themes.


The path the inquisitor walked led him to a dirt road, barely visible off to the side of the stones one of saner mind would cling to. Barely the time to set his boot upon it before his attention snapped to his side, a woman in white following him closely. His eyes narrowed upon the figure as she closed in the stand beside him, the hand around his sword tightening on habit. The two stared at one another in silence for several moments longer, her usual dress replaced with loose cloth. Her blouse and pants kept her prefered golden embellishments, her necklace replaced with a dagger at her waist and tethered by a cord. Her boots stretched nearly to her knees, her long, red hair tied up in a tail, instead of framing her head like she always seemed to like.

"I'm coming with you."

His lips tigthened in a sharp snarl as he nearly took her head from her shoulders on the spot, though she refused to even flinch as the blade pressed against her throat. Their eyes narrowed on one another's, breathing heavier than it once was. Her hand lifted to wrap around the blade, only a light grip to avoid the edge of the weapon.

"I want the bastards as much as you do, Parker... You're not stopping me."

The words met with nothing short of a disapproving glare, the man towering over her. She stood her ground and glared back, though to a far lesser degree. Her hands went to her hips and she nodded her head toward the dirt road, in a rather assured manner. The inquisitor ground his teeth for a moment as he thought, a breath exhaled out with a slight nod of his head.

"You know the risks."

The two exchanged looks for a moment longer before they both set off down the path ahead. The two marched on in relative silence, little more than the shuffle of chain and plate to disturb the peace. After what felt like hours the two had come upon the entrance to a cave, a large steel door blocking their way. They cautiously made their way closer, only to bolt to cover behind a tree as the door creeked and swung open. A pair of bumbling drunks stepped out, laughing and chuckling, with filthy bottles of swill one can only imagine. The two watched as the men made their way to a burnt out fireplace, boots kicking and prodding in some pathetic attempt re-kindle the flames.

"I'll take the smaller one..."

The inquisitor mearly nodded to his warlock companion as the two split off from each other's company. Anson quietly moved, as much so as armour allows, toward the men on their flank. His sword drew through the air as he put down each boot to the ground, eyes trailing right as he watched the woman casually stroll into the open. The two men gave up on the fireplace when they set their eyes on her, both sporting a pair of drunken grins. She merely smiled at them both and waved them over rather enticingly, letting off a faint giggle into her hand. She pressed forward as they came closer, a hand slipping the dagger from her waist. The larger man fell abruptly with a spray of blood as the inquisitor cleaved the top half of his skull with a swing of his claymore. His arms flailed as his body fell to the ground, his partner went for the pistol at his side but found little more than a dagger cutting across his throat.

The two merely exchanged looks before they rushed to the door.