Inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale - 98/98
It did not truely come as much of a surprise. It was rare for the wicked to see wisdom, and realise when the odds had turned against them. More unusual still for them to hope for salvation. They would struggle, in vain, until they were at the brink of death. Only with their bodies spend and the life flowing out of them would they admit the dread they so gleefully spread to enter into their own hearts. A gleam would come over their eyes as they grasped at their one chance to live, and begged for mercy. He had seen it before, he had granted it before.
The inquisitor did not break his stride as he checked to ensure the net was properly folded. Seeing it was so, he hurled it at the many mages, and the owl in their midst.
The warhammer appeared in his hand not long after.
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