"The name is Settionne, dear Lady, of no particular title save the shorthand "Sett"," the priest introduced himself. The way he carried himself was far different from the other priest, Ursaren. He was too casual, too ready to come so close to her. It narrows down which God or Goddess did he serve exactly. As he helped adjusted the straps on her breastplate finely, Jezebeth could feel his fingertips, light and gentle and no doubt agile, great for a good number of applications.
But dare I say, 'tis a shame for the gods to disregard a woman of such fine moral standing as yourself," Settionne went on, and Jezebeth would have snorted in amusement if it wasn't her darkest hours.
You have no idea, Settionne, you have no idea, the knight thought, with much guilt and regret. Even before her husband was killed by an incubus, Jezebeth had cheated on him more than once, when the needs that had been plaguing her for so long would not be placated by even her other half. She had ended up soiling her own honour and that of another knight, who would relieve her when the time was right. After he fell victim to a demon attack, Jezebeth had given up her restraint- there was something inside her, an inner demon, as the philosophers would call it, that she couldn't shake off. In the end, she had pulled several knights down with her, including her own squire, who was always by her side...
Putting on her knightly armour, and taking them off in the night.
And that wasn't to mention the consorts she had kept in her city.
"I admit, I am only marginally aware of the Guardian Order, for I have not often found time to discuss current matters over the books and sermons of old, you know how it is with us priests, but a bane of Demons, Poverty and Famine? I can hardly say I've heard a more ringing endorsement in my life! And going by your own obvious battles against their sort, well, I'd assume you are nothing less than noble in thought and deed," the priest Settionne would go on ignorantly, as they moved on to her left arm. Yes, noble in thought and deed. Well, mostly. Jezebeth had made her own mistakes in her time with the Guardian Order. In her early years as a lesser knight, she had shown promise in a great many vocations, and one of them was as a torturer-inquisitor. Jezebeth was just so empathic, you know, a talent required by a skilled torturer. She had assisted the chief torturer-inquisitor on several occasions, and on one, she took charge and went nearly all the way in the many steps of the Guardian Order's system of torture.
First, you list out every phase of the torture, including everything that was to be done to the prisoner. If that does not dissuade him from keeping silent, then it would be the first phase of torture: Breaking, in which non-permanent wounds and unmarked pain were inflicted. Cuts were inflicted, the victim beaten. His family was threatened, including the little boys and girls. She would toy with him and his dedication to his wife by disrobing, and forcing herself on him even as she drove her dagger into him. He was faux-drowned with nails driven into fingernails, which were then pulled out. needles inserted into the most sensitive areas. Deeper, deeper...
But the man had insisted that he was innocent, that he was not a member of a demon cult. So Jezebeth began phase two: Mutilation, in which irreparable damage was done in the most painful ways possible. Fingers were broken, flesh were gouged out. Limbs were dislocated with the rack, sinews cut to prevent escape. His privates were torn out - he had sired enough children anyway. Teeth were pulled out, one by one, but not the tongue, for the prisoner needed to talk.
Yet again, the prisoner remained stubborn, so Jezebeth went on to the final phase of the torture: Erasure, in which the guilty was slowly picked apart until he confessed. Thousands of cuts were inflicted, shredding flesh and skin. Fingers and toes were severed, then slices of meat off the limbs. Magic kept the prisoner from bleeding out and dying. This would go on until the prisoner was but a worm made of torso and head, and then it would go on. Eyelids were sliced off, ears and nose as well. The prisoner had finally confessed but then the torture continues as punishment and execution. He was skinned alive, lips sliced off and eyes put out. The tongue was finally ripped off for it was no longer needed - and finally, death came.
It was later found out that the prisoner had indeed been innocent, and Jezebeth distanced herself from the torturer-inquisitors of the order despite their insistence that she would make a fine addition to their chapter, that her talent would be wasted on other pursuits. For years, she would dream of the innocent man she tortured, every step of the way, for years, his endless screams, which lasted weeks, would haunt her.
But worst of all, Jezebeth believed she enjoyed it, and it horrified her so.
"But needless to say, the loss of your Order's members is a grave and tragic blow to the forces of good in this world, and I am very sorry for the losses you have suffered. Trust, however, that such was not your fault in any way," Settionne headed for the breach again as they moved on to her right arm, the priest armed with nothing but good-will, depending on the God he served. Jezebeth knew for a fact that it had all been partly her fault, but that was a well-beaten path her consciousness had taken.
"Sometimes, of course, we are tested for our faith, in hard and distressing manners, but failure of faith is only confirmed when one first fails to do their best work in rising above such times. Naturally, I can only imagine that you and yours did their utmost to save themselves and their companions, and if that is the case, then you need not feel shame, for they will have earned their rightful and just places in the life after this one, as shall you if you but maintain your own faith," the priest would ramble on. He had tried, Jezebeth knew, and it was most certain in his closing words, how he gave her hope that, despite everything, all was not lost, and her brothers and sisters watched her still, from above. It had moved her, pain and comfort working together at last. Tears spilled once more, but she was able to control herself better, her day of mourning giving her consensus and strength, her armour somehow reinforcing her mind as well as body.
Jezebeth stood up, her upper body now clad in steel. Only her lower body and accessories were left. But something was not right.
"Help me with the straps on my right arm, they're loose, Settionne," she said, even as the priest's words floated in her mind, and she was picking through them carefully, not in suspicion, but lovingly as she remembered them over and over. She gave a sigh.
"I wish all that you have said is true. But the reality is that much of it isn't.""Tell me, priest," Jezebeth said, her mind wandering back to her youngest years, when she woke up a teenager, with nothing but her name and necklace.
"What could one possibly do to earn the loathing of all the Gods and Goddresses that they would not even speak to me? Not even for a good cause would they so much as give me a sign... I have prayed every single day of my life since my foster father had found me, diligently frequented the temples and lived by the rules. Yet when the time came when I needed their guidance and help the most, I was left to my own devices. How may I appease them? "@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@The Fated Fallen 
