Inquisitors Incorporated

Prologue

Rain cascaded through the open gaps in the enormous, dark, and flourishing forest above. Its canopy ruled by huge pine trees, that were so tightly packed together they only allowed the miniature drops of rain and few beams of sunlight to pierce through the branches sparse of many leaves. There was no light chattering of birds or rustling of leaves to be heard amongst the sounds of the falling droplets. Nor was there any sight of an animal to hunt, or a place for shelter, all that could be seen for miles was the tall figures of wood and bark. After many stumbles over the anchored roots of the trees, and the mud forming at her feet, Renesme Wrayburn battled the crippling pains of an empty stomach, and the bitter cold biting at her soaking wet clothes. Her long black cloak hung limp, drenched and heavy with mud and water, whilst her feet - also exposed to the weather - were numb from the hours of walking in puddled boots. She held one hand palm up shielding her amber eyes so that she could somewhat make her way forward, and the other hand gripped tightly to her cloak in hopes to keep her only change of clothes dry although her efforts were admittedly futile. The battle against nature itself continued for over a mile of walking, and by this time Esme struggled to steady her shaking legs. With wood too wet to start a fire, she had to find shelter as soon as possible, knowing otherwise she would surely be dead by morning. Deciding to take a breath, she perched on a root curled up above the soil, and she unlaced her boots to pour out the water which had worked its way through the rim of the shoe. She longed for a fire to dry her soaking garbs, or to warm her numb fingers and toes, she longed for its light to cast enticing shadows around her, the same shapes and colours that lolled her to sleep with a bedtime story as a child. Most of all, she craved the smell of cooking meat and its homely smoky scent reminding her of the many comforting and memorable nights she had spent beside the flames.

A smile flickered upon her frozen blue lips, when suddenly, she felt a flicker of heat against her back. She thought back to her training which she had undergone for several years, which stated a person close to death will hallucinate out of desperation. 'I do not want to die' she thought as a second wave of warmth covered her back. She turned, to see nothing behind her but the bark of a tree. Upon the third wave of heat, she took the strap holding her sword off her back, followed by her cloak to find once again nothing of peculiarity. Cautiously wringing out her cloak, with her eyes flickering over her shoulders every so often she once again reminded herself that this must be her going crazy. She wrapped herself in her cloak once more and allowed the rain to roll off the pine leaves above and drown her sorrows. It was at this point, aware of what the hallucinations were a prelude to, she decided her succumbing to nature was inevitable. She looked down to her sword, hoping that the person who comes across it, finds it as comfortable to yield as she did, and that it may serve them well. It was impeccably made and had been a powerful ally -her only ally- in the little amount she had needed it. With a sigh so deep, she could see her breath in front of her face, Esme let her head roll forward into her hands and closed her eyes trying to distract herself from the stinging ice cold pain making its way up her legs. Until now, she had never experienced a numbness that had grown into pain, she had however experienced the inverse. She had learnt to quickly dampen the grief of her lost loved ones, even now she swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing the thoughts away knowing she was hours from death, and she would rather not waste them on old tears. As if on cue, a branch snaps in the distance, and without thinking her instincts kick in and her head swivels to target the noise. Resigning herself to the fate of the circle of life -predator eats prey- she waits for the animal to emerge.

With a second thought, followed by the lessons of her stepfather ringing through her head, she rises to grab the hilt of her sword. There was a familiar but also slightly foreign feeling to the blade, the handle itself was warm, so warm it was as though someone, high on adrenaline and blood pulsating through their veins had held the handle only moments prior to her. But the sword had been laying on the ground in the cold for as long as she had. The fingers on her left hand that had wrapped around the metal suddenly came to life, in comparison to the ones on her right hand which remained stiff and frozen. She once again found herself able to effortlessly twist the blade slicing through the air as a taunt to the creature in her path. Her eyes dart around the forest, as she readied her stance even though the trees serve as the perfect coverage for the creature, stealthily about to attack. There was a faint sound of rustling as the creature approached her, still guarded by the thickness of the trees. Even though there was still not much feeling in her feet, she felt herself moving forward towards the source of the noise. Esme was stopped in her tracks as she heard another branch snap significantly closer this time, a prelude to the creature she had now spotted, stalking towards her in the undergrowth.

A tall, foreboding, hulking beast slowly and majestically approached her. A wild horse, so big it could crush her head under its hoof with minimal effort, the animal stares at her with its enormous black eyes, and Esme is too scared to blink knowing this creature's strength and power. Its coat, despite its lack of armour or branding and therefore ownership, was immaculate, a radiant colour of golden brown. The horse's mane was a deep black, the colour of the back of your eyelids and a complete absence of light itself. The mane was long however contradictory to the fact it was devoid of any leaves or debris from its surroundings. She lowered her sword, instead backing away from the creature, hoping it would continue its path and she could continue with hers. But instead, the horse walked straight for her, it was menacing that such a towering creature was now bearing over her. The horse's nostrils flared as it came to a stop right in front of her face, and it scraped at the ground and through the mud with its hoof, as if impatient. Esme cautiously remained in place and perfectly still, trying not to scare the horse or make her seem any kind of a threat. The horse stamped at the ground once more, its eyes darting to the sword still glued to her hands. Without hesitation she put the sword back into the sheath on her back and held her hand up allowing the horse to smell it, in hopes to gain its trust. The horse almost immediately –so quickly in fact, it startled her- put its nose into the crevasse of her outstretched hand and closed its eyes. At the touch of this creature, a realisation washed over her telling her that this creature was a friend, and although she did not know why, Esme was compelled to find out more about where it had come from. With a break of connection between them, the horse turned, baring its back to her. There was a moment of hesitation and a worry that this horse belonged to someone else, before Esme decided to climb onto the horses back using the root of a nearby tree to prop herself up enough to swing her leg over its body. She gripped its mane with both hands, then tapped her legs gently at its sides and within seconds the horse was moving in huge strides across the dismal forest in such a way, that she had the strangest feeling that she would trust this horse, wherever it took her.

A sense of relief flooded her, and not even the faint sounds of thunder up ahead phased her mind. She clung to the horse as it began to canter and jump over the twisting roots of the trees nearly knocking her octagonal glasses from her face. As she reached up to prop them back on the bridge of her nose, she brushed a clumped strand of drenched pink hair out of her face, once she had reached shelter, she would have to make sure it dried before bed, so she did not catch a cold overnight, if she did not have one already. But the thought of her own hair sparked a thought inside her as she placed her hand back onto the horse's mane. The horse was dry, despite the rain still pelting through the cracks of forest and hitting them violently as they rode onwards. Maybe she had not noticed before as she was far too soaked to notice sitting on something dry, and her sense of touch was warped by wrinkled fingertips. The repetitive flash of tree trunks flew by sending her in a sort of trance, her eyelids grew heavy as the horse's movements became almost soothing and she realised she had not slept in almost a day. Before she could comprehend another thought, she slipped into a comfortable and peaceful unconsciousness.