Lord Inquisitor continued to gaze toward the west; he could also see they were getting closer. But instead of healing himself, he stood up and allowed the wind to flutter his dirtied robes. His crushed hands were engulfed in fire as if he prepared himself for battle.
"Your Holiness, Lord Bard… Sylvester Maximilian." Inquisitor High Lord started; his voice was heavy and deep, echoing from behind his visor. The man who believed in speaking less spoke the most on that peculiar day. "When I was born, I was cursed. The moment I took my first breath, my body was scorched by sudden flames, suffering the fate of the worst. Left hideous, my body burned and bruised. Called a demon by my own mother; beaten, hated, despised, and abused."
Taken aback by Lord Inquisitor's sudden openness, Sylvester listened with focus and senses on alert. 'This is harsh... But I don't like the timing of this.'
