Showing off

[beejazz]

I'll get to work on that. Internet's down at home, so I'll have to mooch a scan off somebody. But I'll get around to it. Visual descriptions or a link thereto?

[Seraph]

I wrote fiction about the Inquisitor Knight.  It includes some descriptive text.  But I have another vision of them as well:  Most importantly, a cold mask of iron beneath a long hooded blood red cloak.  The Cloak of the Inquisitor wraps about white robes from which protrude a gauntletted hand and armored forearm.  Oh!  And emblazoned on the robes across the chest is the symbol of Bethor: A fist clenched before the rising sun.
 [spoiler=Inquisitor Knight Fiction]A thunderous crash sounded as the door flew off its hinges. Felricâ,¬,,¢s heart seemed to leap into his throat. He strained his eyes in the gloom, to make out the shapes beyond the doorframe, but he could not distinguish one from another in the dark and the rain. He did not have to. With a dread sinking he saw upon the fallen door the unmistakable verification of his fate. In the center of the door lay a smoking mark of the five fingers of a fist before the rising sun; the mark of Bethor.
A voice spoke out from the door, echoing with imperious satisfaction, like brick scraped over pavestone, causing Felricâ,¬,,¢s frantic heart to grip with pain, as if pricked with a needle of ice.
â,¬Å"Know thee why we have come? Of course you do. Retribution. Youâ,¬,,¢ve been expecting us. Know thee this face?â,¬Â
Robes and cloak of a cruel crimson flowed towards him like blood. His own blood seemed to be leaving him. The angle of the light made the head and shoulders impossible to discern and they seemed to fade into the black of the imposing shadow.
â,¬Å"F-f-forgive me. I, I cannot see your face.â,¬Â
â,¬Å"Know thee this voice?â,¬Â
Felric nodded in helpless horror as the embodiment of his doom glided from the shadows. Beneath the crimson cowl of death rested the senseless nothingness of doom. In that non-face Felric saw his fateâ,¬'oblivion. No mere death for the heretic, but non-existence. His annihilation would be complete. It a matter of hours he will never have existed, in a matter of weeks those who thought they knew him will repent their temporary loss of sanity. The void spoke again.
â,¬Å"The sinful shall be purged in the cleansing fires of Retribution, and Bethor shall speak forth his word and all that is dark will die, and all that is light shall live. And the darkness will be never was, for where there is light there never can be darkness. Thus always for the Heretic.â,¬Â
A shock surged through the room, rippling the air, prickling the hair on the back of the neck, tracing its way down the spine. The very air erupted with the cacophony of iron thunder. A deep peal of the Bell Tower, as a knell, sounded in the freezing night air. Felric knew that he must flee, must somehow get away, but he could not move. His legs, despairing, lacked the will for locomotion. The Inquisitor advanced, and Felric knew only fear. His hands and arms flailed futilely to pull their owner to safety, but safety was nowhere to be found. With each passing moment the figure of his erasure drew closer. It was inches away. From the folds of its cloak, a stark white sleeve and a stark white hand rose slowly so as to almost touch the nose.
â,¬Å"You are hereby charged with the sin of Heresy; the punishment for which is death. How do you plead?â,¬Â
Out of the darkness a scream and a silence.
[/spoiler]