"Do it," the voice said coldly behind him.
"You know what he is and you know what we need." On the dusty ground before Legaine lay a whimpering
slip, choking on his own blood as it slowly filled his lungs. The thieving halfling gave them a good chase, but no has escaped Legaine's justice yet. With an arrow in his hamstring and an arrow through the lung, the slip wouldn't last much longer.
"I need that information," Legaine thought to himself. Kneeling down in the blood-stained sand, Legaine ripped the arrows out of his flesh, unleashing agonized cries from the criminal. He moved quickly to place a hand over the halfling's mouth, smothering him - he always hated when they screamed. His hand glowed brightly as healing magic effused into the halfling, illuminating his face. For a brief moment, their eyes met and the halfling appeared both thankful and relieved, but he soon realized the motive of this act of kindness. He was to be dragged off and never seen again, kept alive against his will and forced to endure unending torture, all for a few names. He began to fight back, trying desperately to tear the inquisitor's hand from his mouth, but to no avail. With the halfling's wounds sealed and mended, Legaine pulled him to his feet for his mentor to clap in irons.
"Jericho "Two Fingers", Methindra Pureheart, and Mason Cooper! Those are our leaders! Please, just let me go! I've told you everything!" The halfling was kicking and screaming, begging for mercy as they dragged him through the streets. He was a revolutionary, spreading treasonous propaganda against the Chelaxian government. His name was Milo Oswold, and Legaine would be the only face he saw for the next several months.
Legaine served as a torturer for the Cheliax government, extracting information from rabblerousers, rebels and revolutionaries about any and all conspiracies and contraband. It was grim work, but was all he seemed to be good. That, and hunting people through the streets. In his muggy and humid subterranean chambers, a chorus of wailing victims echoed thoughout. To Legaine, it went as unnoticed as the wind. As he set out to begin a new day of criminal confessions, he was paused by heavy footsteps clattering down the stairway. Sinister, fully-armored men filled the room - Hellknights. A group parted for a man dressed in dark crimson robes to step forward. It was his mentor from the day before. "The Lictor was very impressed by your story. You might just make the cut." He handed him a sealed parchment, turned and exited the room with his troops. Legaine looked down at the note, "A Hellknight...now that is justice."
