Orrin did not know exactly what to expect when he returned to the icy highlands of his home. He had a plan to find those that he led into the clutches of the Falling Stars tribe and, with the staff repaired by Vael’a, free them of their servitude. He knew their names, their faces and their patrols. It was because they were close to him, he trusted them and they trusted him, which made the memories of his betrayal even more painful.
His mind was under fetters for nearly more than a year so it had taken time for all those memories to come back, each instance where he offered up another brother in arms to the damned Nunh and his tribe seared into his brain like an inquisitor’s brand upon flesh. The action was so despicable and contrary to his being that even the slightest of recollection of that repressed past caused blood to boil and chest to rise in fury, the dragon within rattling against the chains, ready to fly loose.
However, he needed to remain calm, for the sake of the names of those he would not dare forget, for the sake of Donovan who defended him, for Carrault and Bainard who wrongfully died by V’aleera’s blade, and for Fontenac, Gauvierre, Carradine, Lemieux, Lucan and Harcourt who he could possibly still save. He had to, he needed to spare them of the pain and torment that would come from their unwilling service to that madman that thought himself to be god. Even if he needed to spend the rest of his life in chains, Orrin had to find them and make right. There was a plan, he merely needed to follow through.
Orrin did not know what to expect when he returned to the icy highlands of his home, but he knew he did not expect this: Within the bell of entering the republic’s borders, three knights approach Orrin without their blades drawn, quickly falling into formation around him as though they were his escort. He knew instantly that these three were men working for the inquisition. A strange sense of pride came over him. They found him out so quickly, the Inquisition actually worked. Orrin kept walking along the road he traveled on and the knights kept pace with him. Silence passes for several tense minutes before one of them wordlessly hands him a letter, stamped with the seal of the inquisition upon it.
That forced him to stop. With gauntleted hands peeking out of his long cloak, he tears open the seal and opens the letter:
Ser Orrin De Halgren,
You have me to thank for the fact that you are currently reading this instead of being brought before the Tribunal in chains. The matter of your “treason†has been suppressed by my hand, if only on the merit of Ser Donovan’s testimony and the greater threat to Ishgard’s security.
I suggest you come speak to me, Ser Halgren, sooner, rather than later. I await you in Camp Dragonhead.
—Inquisitor Brigie
Orrin looks up from the letter and to the knights who watched him through their visors with their stern, piercing eyes.
“Take me to herâ€
His mind was under fetters for nearly more than a year so it had taken time for all those memories to come back, each instance where he offered up another brother in arms to the damned Nunh and his tribe seared into his brain like an inquisitor’s brand upon flesh. The action was so despicable and contrary to his being that even the slightest of recollection of that repressed past caused blood to boil and chest to rise in fury, the dragon within rattling against the chains, ready to fly loose.
However, he needed to remain calm, for the sake of the names of those he would not dare forget, for the sake of Donovan who defended him, for Carrault and Bainard who wrongfully died by V’aleera’s blade, and for Fontenac, Gauvierre, Carradine, Lemieux, Lucan and Harcourt who he could possibly still save. He had to, he needed to spare them of the pain and torment that would come from their unwilling service to that madman that thought himself to be god. Even if he needed to spend the rest of his life in chains, Orrin had to find them and make right. There was a plan, he merely needed to follow through.
Orrin did not know what to expect when he returned to the icy highlands of his home, but he knew he did not expect this: Within the bell of entering the republic’s borders, three knights approach Orrin without their blades drawn, quickly falling into formation around him as though they were his escort. He knew instantly that these three were men working for the inquisition. A strange sense of pride came over him. They found him out so quickly, the Inquisition actually worked. Orrin kept walking along the road he traveled on and the knights kept pace with him. Silence passes for several tense minutes before one of them wordlessly hands him a letter, stamped with the seal of the inquisition upon it.
That forced him to stop. With gauntleted hands peeking out of his long cloak, he tears open the seal and opens the letter:
Ser Orrin De Halgren,
You have me to thank for the fact that you are currently reading this instead of being brought before the Tribunal in chains. The matter of your “treason†has been suppressed by my hand, if only on the merit of Ser Donovan’s testimony and the greater threat to Ishgard’s security.
I suggest you come speak to me, Ser Halgren, sooner, rather than later. I await you in Camp Dragonhead.
—Inquisitor Brigie
Orrin looks up from the letter and to the knights who watched him through their visors with their stern, piercing eyes.
“Take me to herâ€
RPC wiki! Leave rumors! https://wiki.ffxiv-roleplayers.com/pages/Orrin_Halgren
