Some call me psychopathic. Others call me deranged, But I call myself sane. In this dark world, the Monarchs, inquisitors, so called "saints" all declared there shall only be one religion. The only true belief. They call people like me evil, the devils spawn, deranged, heretics, barbarians. My name is Mikal Miller, I work at a disheveled and disturbed old inn called the "Rusty Knight". With food like mud and booze akin to bile. The beds are somewhat passable as a place to sleep. The only somewhat good thing is the people. We are family built through trust. through thick and thin.

"God oh God!" A man exclaimed, I peered over the rundown counter, The man was distressed with a bloody gushing wound on his shoulder, and had limp on his left leg. he appears to be 40 years old with a thick brown beard with gray streaks. And a accent what people call a barbarians. With only tattered rags on his back with a dull dead look on his eyes.

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The door flew off the hinges, I was disoriented and my ears ringing. An inquisitor walked in with authority in his every step. His deep blue eyes looking with a watchful glare, with luscious blond hair. His blue vest and nice pants with a expensive gold trim. His waist was fashioned with a rapier made of the metal so called blessed by god. The metal is as light as air, and many times stronger than steel. "Kill the heretic, and cleanse this place." With a disgusted look, his men cut down my friends; no family. I laid on the ground powerless with burns head to toe, as the ashes of my family filled my lungs.