The Commander named it imperative that the Inquisitor breach Adamant. I was first over the wall and from that day was among the vanguard and shock troop movements. First into the fray. That's me. I was first each day in the training yard, practicing armizare, proving myself by the only means I have ever known. My longsword was my life’s blood and the Inquisition was the beat that struck the flow of life's purpose through me.
Though I have admitted it to only one other besides myself, my sword in my hands was also proof of my love for the Inquisitor, to whom I swore my allegiance unto death, and to whom after two years in the Inquisition I gave my heart secretly, silently and without oath. He probably didn’t suspect until he lost his arm and then, drunk with empathy, ale, and the grief of one who can see no way to live if one is unable to fight, I raised my voice to him for the first and only time. I swore myself to him aloud. He was kind, thanked me, and assured me that he was honored.
Many of us hunt now. We of the disbanded Inquisition, we who have no homes to return to, hunt for a place to lay our heads every night. And we hunt for work, for a living, for coin made by doing what comes naturally to people with wills bound to steel. Some of us have turned to banditry; some to lyrium-starved beggary. I hunt alone, and I wait to see what will come first – a cause that calls my honor, sword, and heart…or starvation.
***Apologies if a story isn't what was meant by the question. I felt like a story.***