The Docimasy

[RoryN]

An apple, red and green coloring swirling over it in blended patches. Father Malon picked it up from the stand in which it sat, not bothering to look at the man who was selling them before walking away and digging his teeth into it's flesh. Boots with black metal coverlings stomped through the mud puddles as he sauntered through the city, sneering at the stink of swine and cattle urine from the corrals their owners placed them in. Today was market day and the priest had just arrived with his retinue, still clad in his jagged and elegantly spiked armor from the ride here.

His garb marked him out as different from other holy men, with a symbol emblazoned upon his black cloak of the order and division he was a part of - the Docimasy. Specifically sanctified warriors and priests dedicated to the search and destruction of witchcraft and paganism in the land. And his searches had brought him here, to the city of Ellison, where there were subtle whisperings of unholy things going on here. The mudpacked streets curved and twisted between tall, white-washed buildings standing shoulder to shoulder; carriages pulled by oxen filled the wider byways as farmers came in and out of the gates to sell their produce and stock up on supplies.

Every one of them was a sheep to his eyes. Such flimsy and weak hearts, swayed by charismatic priests and doing lip service to the God he served and seduced within seconds to the haunted whisperings of demons and Satanism. Malon's work had turned him into a cold man, his eyes dark and piercing and his face always stuck in a debilitating frown. His head was shaven bald, clean and smooth, with just a trimmed circlet of dark facial hair framing his lips and chin, and for what he lacked in height, he made up for in hard muscle. Feeling infected by the smells of the streets and the closeness of people around him, he finally tossed away his apple after a few bites, carelessly dropping it into the mud before a few messy faced children.

 

[RoryN]

Out of the corner of his eye, Malon saw a flash of white glide by about a dozen feet from where he stood. Surrounded by mud and people dressed in dirt stained rags, it caught his attention and he turned to regard the woman walking through the crowd. Instantly, his calculating gaze made note of her dark skin, but she was walking away from him and he didn't see her face. Still, he decided to pursue her - those with mixed blood were often predisposed by their lineage to give into the whims of Satan and join covens. And a foreigner was definitely something to investigate.

Walking towards her, the oncoming crowd parted before him with ease and with his quick, gliding step, he made it to her within minutes. Coming up beside her, his gauntleted fingers wrapped around her upper arm to stop her and he said in a smooth and elegant voice, "Where is your man? A woman wandering by herself in a crowded city street is never a sign of anything good." Up until this point, all he'd gotten a really good look at was her hair and her clothing, but now he actually got a view of her face and it made him pause.

Normally, Malon was a very racist man, and incredibly xenophobic. He was trained to target those who didn't belong, and this had come to translate those with darker complexions. Being a holy man, anything associated with darkness and evil was loathed and instantly given all the hatred in his heart. So, this attitude had come to define his relation to these people, his hatred instantly singling them out. But this woman... first of all, she wasn't entirely of gypsy blood, something else mixed in with the rest of her, which he could see clearly now that he saw her face. Green eyes and dark hair, blended together to give her appearance a shade of something familiar and yet all at once exotic... And right then, he felt the stirrings of something deeper inside him; a desire for her.

"What is your name?" he demanded in an authoritative tone, giving her a cold look.

 

[RoryN]

All of a sudden, Malon became aware of her aggressive stance and it put him on guard as well. Did she honestly want to fight? Or was she getting defensive about something? Possibly his questions had hit a nerve. As far as her story went, it made sense and he could understand it being true about the men here, even though he was starting to feel strangely attracted to her, himself.

"Well, Isabella," he said her name with a sneer. "I expected to hear such defenses of innocence from you. But tell me, do you think I would hear the same from those around town?" Standing in the street with her, the crowd still moved like a river around them. But because of Malon's station and garb, he drew attention wherever he went and stopping this young woman had certainly brought eyes upon them. Malon was not the type of man to bribe those who he questioned while investigating witches stories. He depended on threats and natural guilt - anybody was a possible victim of a witchcraft accusation and nobody was without secrets they'd rather not have shared.

"As for whether or not you have done anything wrong, it is my job to pursue investigations with the presumption of guilt. However, it would definitely look good for you, if you came with me for a more thorough interview. On the other hand, if you'd prefer, I can bring the discussion to your homestead, but I warn you, things will be a lot less pleasant if I am forced to come and find you."