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Well, after having any lack of creativity in terms of painting or modelling I thought I'd test out my writing skills. I saw this quote on the Warhammer 40k Fanon Wiki and was just inspired to write a story with it as the muse.

Comments and criticism are most welcome.

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Righteousness

"Pain is righteousness entering the body"
-Sister Ecatarine, Order of the Valorous Heart

She cowered in fear. In silence.

Heretic. Witch. Monster.

She had been branded with many names. Many weren't true. None of them completely accurate.

But facts are not a priority to the members of the Inquisition. There are many who have been captured on a hunch, tortured on a whim or executed on suspicion, all at the behest of furthering the cause of an Inquisitor. This poor wretch was just another of those unlucky enough to get in the way of an important investigation.

Her heart sank. She could hear them, her jailers and captors, as footsteps echoed throughout the corridor of the ship. She tucked her head into her knees, bracing herself for the worst. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes, as she winced at the though of what she was about to endure. Her body shook, as she was overwhelmed with primal fear.

She retracted her arms into her chest as she heard the hold door open, her head still buried in her knees. She couldn't face them. She wouldn't.

Two men, each carrying the end of a metal table, entered the room. They threw it down with no grace or eloquence. Another, likely an Interrogator, made his way to the table and set down an array of items upon it. She peeked up from the false safety of her position, and could see that some of they were restraints.

"Servitors," the man barked "bolt the table to the floor"

The two automatons did so, and moved away from the side of the furniture, and began to fasten the table to the panelling on the floor of the hold. Their drills shrieked as they penetrated the flooring, before carefully screwing the bolts into the holes they had created.

She glanced at the branded mark on her arm.

320934.

As she did so, she noticed something else. The doorway. And the glowering figure who now permeated it.

"That will be all Alexander," the mysterious figure commanded, "I wish to handle this delicate little matter myself."

"Right away sir," he replied, "the servitors are almost finished."

"Good. Then I can begin on schedule" the cloaked man responded.

He then stared directly at her. His prisoner.

"There is no need to fear me my dear. So long as you have nothing to hide," the Inquisitor spoke in a falsely kind manner, which had a malevolent undertone. "Just tell me what you did to end up here."

She stared back at him, unable to speak. Paralysed with fear.

"Ah well. It was worth a try. I guess we will just need to loosen your tongue through other means," he spoke with a peculiar lament.

She tried to speak. She would do anything to avoid being placed on that table. But she couldn't. Fear had betrayed her. It had restrained her rationality. It had caused her to remain meek.

"Servitors, bring her to the table" he commanded softly.

She remained limp and unfeeling. Despite being curled up, she did not attempt to resist the machinations when they took her. They forcefully straightened out her body before placing her on the table and fastening the restraints to her limbs.

The Inquisitor motioned the servitors away, before approaching the table. He stroked the hair of his subject, and gently rubbed her cheek.

"Alas, such a fair maiden as yourself should be caught up in all of this," he spoke plainly, "I lament it, I truly do."

He began to stare wistfully at her body. His eyes slowly analysing everything, from her emerald eyes to the tips of her white toes. He solemnly grabbed a small knife from the assortment of tools the Interrogator had assembled.

She saw the weapon, and instinctively began to struggle.

"Please refrain from doing that my dear. It will only make it more difficult for you" the Inquisitor whispered. "Now. Why were you situated in the same place as the Cult? That is all I want to know."

She remained silent. She honestly did not know. She did not know why, only how.

The Inquisitor took the blade of the knife and slowly pressed it against his prisoner's cheek.

She surpressed a scream, moaning in distress, as the metal stung her flesh. Fresh blood began to seep from the fresh wound.

But her fear was fading now. She felt something new. A sense of righteousness and clarity. She began to remember how she had ended up there. The people her brother had become involved with. And the debauched acts they indulged in. A smile began to form on her face.

"Miss Liras, I would be rather interested in what all you find to be so amusing" he enquired, while wiping down the blade with a silk cloth.

"I-I can't tell you why... " she said with contempt, "only how... "

"Now we are getting somewhere, Miss Liras," he slyly said.

"It was my brother," Liras quietly spoke, "who delivered me to the Cult"

"Is that so," the Inquisitor noted.

"But I don't know why they needed me," she bluntly stated

"And that is all you know?" the Inquisitor stared down at her face again.

"Yes, sir. That is all," she replied in an instant.

"I do not believe you," he spoke very deliberately, "there is more... I can sense it... "

Liras began to sweat. She did not know how to explain what else she knew, without incriminating herself.

"Well?" he asked.

Fear.

"Pity, I guess I'll need to be more direct," the Inquisitor stated in a clear cut manner.

She remained silent once more. She tried to think of something. A way she could relay what she knew without appearing to be guilty. But there wasn't one. There was no way out. Either way, she knew her death was inevitable.

"I'm sorry. But you'll just have to kill me, dear Inquisitor," she said righteously, "I'll be with the Emperor that way. I'll be safe from monsters, like the ones I bore witness to in that cult. I'll be safe from people like you."

"It is in my deepest regrets to hear that." he spoke gravely "but I will break you. I will discover all that you know."

A sinister smile began to etch it's way across his face and he slowly drew the knife across body of his unfortunate victim. She shrieked in pain, tears streaming down her face, slowly mixing with the blood that stained her cheek.

"For that is the only way that I'll be able to understand what went wrong with the ritual... The only way I'll be able to help your brother and the other righteous prophets of the glorious Dark Gods... "