Searing 33 4619
The Inquisition acted in the best interests of Daravin, and they had no need to be stealthy. It was difficult to begin with for groups of primarily winged men and women in full plate armor to be stealthy. Still, no force could mobilize or travel as quickly without the assistance of magic, and the Velsign of the Inquisition could travel Daravin from end to end in a matter of days if they so desired. Still, it was dark when they arrived, and the light of the moon shone like a silver spotlight on the crumbling, abandoned ruins in the middle of an overgrown clearing near a tiny village in Couronne, two-and-a-half day's walk from Amoren.
Camille saw the tarps that crossed the rubble, protecting the denizens of the rubble from incelement weather, but it was warm and the breeze through cracks in the stone would not be unwelcome. She almost felt sorry for the heretics, living in hiding like this. It was difficult spotting movement in the dark, but there were eight Rectors here to flush them out. Those that fought would be killed, but those that cowered would be enslaved, and the enslaved still had a chance at redemption. She did not know which errant god they worshipped, and she did not care.
Soon it was not just Camille's wings that darkened the sky, and the rest of the inquisitors caught up to her. She had always been one of the faster Velsign in the sky, with less weight and bigger wings to make up for it. Her hawkish feet curled in the anticipation, and then the leader of this particular endeavor raised his hand and gave the signal. They quickly overwhelmed the few stationed lookouts who barely had the time to look up once they heard the beating of massive wings in the sky. Camille was enraptured by the sight and uttered a prayer to her God as she waited, but it was not her duty to engage in the battle, despite the fact she could fight. As the clash ensued, her attention was on the exits, ready to grab anyone who tried to escape this cleansing.
A man scrabbled out of the building, perhaps hoping he was safe under the cover of darkness, and it was Camille's turn to dive. It was dark, he was tired, and her grasping talons hooked around his arms as he tried to escape into the brush and she took off with him in her grasp. He was small and thin, much shorter than she was and not even difficult to carry as he tried to scrabble out of her grasp. But no matter how much he kicked, she was able to fly high enough that any attempt at his escape would result in his death.
With a whisper, carried by Resonance through the air and into his ears, she asked him: "Do you repent?"
The wind was stronger in the sky, and Camille could hardly hear his reply as her wings fought against it. But she had heard enough. She released one of his arms. But this man had a frightening will to live for a heretic, and he managed to reach his free hand to grasp her other leg. The weight of one man — even small — on one leg was almost too much. He clawed at her leg as he desperately tried to climb up, and then held on even when she released his other arm. With an especially violent beating of her wings, she managed to throw him off. By the light of the moon, by Ulen's grace, she watched him fall to the ground at the edge of the clearing, and her eyes traveled towards the ruins where blood and chains now reigned.
Camille landed on the ground next to the man and pushed his body over with her glaive, his glassy eyes and broken bones enough evidence that he had died. She whispered a prayer over his body and kneeled down to close his eyes.
