They were supposed to be dragonkin.
Roen stared at the bloodied men and women huddled on the ground, their hands shackled behind their backs. More bodies laid beyond them in the snow, crimson stains spattered beneath them and across the frozen landscape. Severed limbs and scattered weapons littered the road, as well as the overturned caravan that still billowed smoke from the conflict that had ended mere moments ago.
Heretics. Roen had been sent to assist a squad of mercenaries and temple knights as they were to intercept what was thought to be a group aevis attacking a caravan on the road to Falcon’s Nest. But when they arrived, it was not dragonkin they found, but rather a group of armored men and women--declared to be heretics by the temple knights--attacking the convoy.
Dragonkin were easy to identify. Scaled, horned monsters that bore fangs and claws as they tore into human flesh, Roen felt no hesitation in fighting such fiends. But these assailants were Elezen and Hyur; they wore the same faces as those she had defended, and spoke with same intelligence and fervor as any religious zealot that she had encountered within the walls of Ishgard. And now, with naught to comfort them but the anticipation of what was to come and the frozen embrace of the frigid breeze, the fires of pious belief that had fuelled their crusade had vanished and in its place knelt the desperate common peasants in tattered, rusted armour, barely mustering the energy to shoot baleful glances at their opponents.
“Line them up!†Ser Marat shouted to the men. The mercenaries that Roen had accompanied then began to lift the chained captives up along the side of the road. Their knees trembled with each rough pull that forced them to kneel in the soft snow drift. The Elezen gave a nod to the rest of the temple knights who then began to draw their swords once more. The symphony of steel leaving scabbard caused one of the heretics to visibly cringe, and the knights grasped their weapons upright in both hands in practised stances. Though their faces were not visible beneath their helmets, their hardened gazes focusing on the heretics said enough: this was to be judgment.
“What are you doing, ser?†Roen asked under her breath as she approached the commanding temple knight.
Although Ser Marat had recognized her from their encounter in Brume many sennights ago and had accepted Ser Tournes’ offer to have her join his ranks for a sun, his expression quickly soured at the question. “Execution, Deneith.†Ser Marat said pointedly, in the same way that one might describe the current colour of the sky.
The paladin's eyes widened. “Should they not undergo a trial?â€
The knight arched a contemptuous brow. “We witnessed their crimes against Ishgardian citizenry firsthand. They bore arms against the sanctioned knights of the Holy See. There is no ambiguity in their guilt, Deneith.†His words were clipped and scathing. “No trial is needed. Only the administration of their sentence.â€
A dark scowl twisted her expression as she turned from the Elezen to the scene on the road; the prisoners were put to their knees with their heads bent forward to expose the nape of their necks. The rest of the soldiers had their swords drawn and ready, standing almost completely still like statues or chess pieces. Roen wondered with dismay if this was a regular practice for them.
The mercenaries and the knights all looked to Ser Marat for the final order, but it never came. A distant warning shout and the aggressive howl of a hunter's horn brought all eyes to the fore.
Through the light flurry of snow appeared several riders, many of them armored. Contrasting sharply with the functional chainmail of the temple knights, the new arrivals wore shimmering silver plate mail, immaculate in their polish and make. Their faces were hidden by helmets topped with flourishing azure tassels, matched by brilliant barding donned by their chocobos. Ser Marat barked another order and the Ishgardians parted so they could approach. Only one rider rode forward, dressed in dark cerulean robes trimmed in silver, the insignia of Ishgard emblazoned upon his breast. His face was obscured by the cowl of a heavy woolen cloak, but his steps carried confidence as he strode up to Ser Marat and leaned close to confide in the temple knight. Roen was not within earshot of the conversation, but she could see the temple knight’s expression shifting from irritation to one of reluctant acceptance.
“Of course we will comply, Inquisitor Bellamont,†was all the paladin could hear from their exchange, bitter words only barely kept from being uttered from behind clenched teeth. But she watched Ser Marat give a deep bow to the head rider, who now visibly wore robes of the Inquisitor under his heavy wool cloak.
A second rider -- a lean, aged Elezen -- rode forward, dark eyes narrowed with disdain as he looked down the length of his long nose. He, too, was dressed in the cerulean robes of the Inquisition, but he was lacking in the first inquisitor's shroud. His hawk-like features glared balefully at the execution line, and it was impossible to tell if his scorn was for the heretics or the knights. “Give praise to Halone, for the bell of your death has been belayed.†His eyes swept the row of heretics, many of them who now looked upon him with an expression of shocked relief. “All these transgressors are under arrest by the authority of the Inquisition.â€
Roen exhaled, some tension lost from her shoulders. She never thought she would be relieved to see an Inquisitor, much less witness them granting what seemed to be a mercy to heretics.
“Rise to your feet, sinners. Some of you will be afforded the fortuity of atonement. Raise your voices in both praise and sorrow for the tribulations you shall face, for should you conquer them, even you may be redeemed.â€
A few questioning glances were exchanged between the mercenaries, but the knights were immediate to obey. Such was the authority wielded by the Inquisition. The heretics were brought to their feet and lined up, leather collars clasped to their necks as they were strung together and marched away
“Where there is fear, we carry light.†The Elezen’s cold voice rang clear as a bell as he and his armored soldiers disappeared into the snowfall along with the prisoners.
Roen breathed a sigh of relief as she watched them ride away. More than a few of Ser Marat’s men grumbled in seeming disappointment as they began to gather up what was left of the caravan, but the paladin remained staring after the Inquisitor and his company. It was the first time since Roen's arrival to the north that she had witnessed any act of leniency granted by the Holy See. A tentative sense of gratification filled her heart, knowing that despite the strict and unbending fealty demanded by the theocracy, the church was still capable of some measure of forbearance.
Perhaps Coerthas, was not such an unforgiving place after all.
Roen stared at the bloodied men and women huddled on the ground, their hands shackled behind their backs. More bodies laid beyond them in the snow, crimson stains spattered beneath them and across the frozen landscape. Severed limbs and scattered weapons littered the road, as well as the overturned caravan that still billowed smoke from the conflict that had ended mere moments ago.
Heretics. Roen had been sent to assist a squad of mercenaries and temple knights as they were to intercept what was thought to be a group aevis attacking a caravan on the road to Falcon’s Nest. But when they arrived, it was not dragonkin they found, but rather a group of armored men and women--declared to be heretics by the temple knights--attacking the convoy.
Dragonkin were easy to identify. Scaled, horned monsters that bore fangs and claws as they tore into human flesh, Roen felt no hesitation in fighting such fiends. But these assailants were Elezen and Hyur; they wore the same faces as those she had defended, and spoke with same intelligence and fervor as any religious zealot that she had encountered within the walls of Ishgard. And now, with naught to comfort them but the anticipation of what was to come and the frozen embrace of the frigid breeze, the fires of pious belief that had fuelled their crusade had vanished and in its place knelt the desperate common peasants in tattered, rusted armour, barely mustering the energy to shoot baleful glances at their opponents.
“Line them up!†Ser Marat shouted to the men. The mercenaries that Roen had accompanied then began to lift the chained captives up along the side of the road. Their knees trembled with each rough pull that forced them to kneel in the soft snow drift. The Elezen gave a nod to the rest of the temple knights who then began to draw their swords once more. The symphony of steel leaving scabbard caused one of the heretics to visibly cringe, and the knights grasped their weapons upright in both hands in practised stances. Though their faces were not visible beneath their helmets, their hardened gazes focusing on the heretics said enough: this was to be judgment.
“What are you doing, ser?†Roen asked under her breath as she approached the commanding temple knight.
Although Ser Marat had recognized her from their encounter in Brume many sennights ago and had accepted Ser Tournes’ offer to have her join his ranks for a sun, his expression quickly soured at the question. “Execution, Deneith.†Ser Marat said pointedly, in the same way that one might describe the current colour of the sky.
The paladin's eyes widened. “Should they not undergo a trial?â€
The knight arched a contemptuous brow. “We witnessed their crimes against Ishgardian citizenry firsthand. They bore arms against the sanctioned knights of the Holy See. There is no ambiguity in their guilt, Deneith.†His words were clipped and scathing. “No trial is needed. Only the administration of their sentence.â€
A dark scowl twisted her expression as she turned from the Elezen to the scene on the road; the prisoners were put to their knees with their heads bent forward to expose the nape of their necks. The rest of the soldiers had their swords drawn and ready, standing almost completely still like statues or chess pieces. Roen wondered with dismay if this was a regular practice for them.
The mercenaries and the knights all looked to Ser Marat for the final order, but it never came. A distant warning shout and the aggressive howl of a hunter's horn brought all eyes to the fore.
Through the light flurry of snow appeared several riders, many of them armored. Contrasting sharply with the functional chainmail of the temple knights, the new arrivals wore shimmering silver plate mail, immaculate in their polish and make. Their faces were hidden by helmets topped with flourishing azure tassels, matched by brilliant barding donned by their chocobos. Ser Marat barked another order and the Ishgardians parted so they could approach. Only one rider rode forward, dressed in dark cerulean robes trimmed in silver, the insignia of Ishgard emblazoned upon his breast. His face was obscured by the cowl of a heavy woolen cloak, but his steps carried confidence as he strode up to Ser Marat and leaned close to confide in the temple knight. Roen was not within earshot of the conversation, but she could see the temple knight’s expression shifting from irritation to one of reluctant acceptance.
“Of course we will comply, Inquisitor Bellamont,†was all the paladin could hear from their exchange, bitter words only barely kept from being uttered from behind clenched teeth. But she watched Ser Marat give a deep bow to the head rider, who now visibly wore robes of the Inquisitor under his heavy wool cloak.
A second rider -- a lean, aged Elezen -- rode forward, dark eyes narrowed with disdain as he looked down the length of his long nose. He, too, was dressed in the cerulean robes of the Inquisition, but he was lacking in the first inquisitor's shroud. His hawk-like features glared balefully at the execution line, and it was impossible to tell if his scorn was for the heretics or the knights. “Give praise to Halone, for the bell of your death has been belayed.†His eyes swept the row of heretics, many of them who now looked upon him with an expression of shocked relief. “All these transgressors are under arrest by the authority of the Inquisition.â€
Roen exhaled, some tension lost from her shoulders. She never thought she would be relieved to see an Inquisitor, much less witness them granting what seemed to be a mercy to heretics.
“Rise to your feet, sinners. Some of you will be afforded the fortuity of atonement. Raise your voices in both praise and sorrow for the tribulations you shall face, for should you conquer them, even you may be redeemed.â€
A few questioning glances were exchanged between the mercenaries, but the knights were immediate to obey. Such was the authority wielded by the Inquisition. The heretics were brought to their feet and lined up, leather collars clasped to their necks as they were strung together and marched away
“Where there is fear, we carry light.†The Elezen’s cold voice rang clear as a bell as he and his armored soldiers disappeared into the snowfall along with the prisoners.
Roen breathed a sigh of relief as she watched them ride away. More than a few of Ser Marat’s men grumbled in seeming disappointment as they began to gather up what was left of the caravan, but the paladin remained staring after the Inquisitor and his company. It was the first time since Roen's arrival to the north that she had witnessed any act of leniency granted by the Holy See. A tentative sense of gratification filled her heart, knowing that despite the strict and unbending fealty demanded by the theocracy, the church was still capable of some measure of forbearance.
Perhaps Coerthas, was not such an unforgiving place after all.