Her hands shook, not just her hands but her body. The whole of her being vibrated as she looked down at the woman in front of her. Her finger tips rubbed against eachother. They felt empty, like something had gone missing. A weight had lifted from them, had lightened them, lightened her body and as she shook she began to grow weightless.
     She saw the bloodied halberd fall toward the marble floor but did not move to catch it. She had slain people before, had killed them without thought in the name of Helm, her Lord God protector. What she had done now was in his name. What she had done now was necessary. It was a just killing, for a just war and this woman would be but one of hundreds of casualties. For this act of Helms divine will she could be rewarded handsomely. Despite all this her hands trembled, refusing to grab the falling halberd and finish the job she had begun.
     She allowed the heavy metal of the weapon to crash to the floor. It echoed through out the halls of the temple, empty for the time being, except for her and the dying woman before her. This woman was an enemy of her Church. She was an enemy to the unstoppable will of her God. She followed under a banner which would lead to the growth of evil in their home and to kill her would prevent this. To kill her would stem the flow of chaos to come.
     Her trembling body kneeled down to reach for the pole arm. An opponent of her faith would have to perish, it was Helms will. She lifted the heafty weapon and placed it above the throat of her enemy. She closed her eyes. In her mind her hands moved downward, the flesh parted under the might of the metal and the woman before her let out one last gurgle before she perished. Easy. Natural.
     Her eyes opened. On the temple wall opposite her sat the golden statue of Helm. His knees bent his hands lifted palms upward in prayer, it was a fitting place to act upon his will. She was certain the woman before her had a church very similar to her own in this city. She, like herself, answered the morning prayer bells, fasted during the afternoon ritual and asked for the God's power during the evening ritual.
     She, like herself, had followed the orders of her superiors. She had fought with the same will and determination. She had performed, today, a task that would ultimatley lead her to her death, probably without question.
     She looked up to the monument of her faith. His eyes were cast downwards, looking into the hearts of the followers beneath him, respectful of the powers above him. He held no weapon and wore no armour. His believers were militant, he was not, any one who truly studied and understood him would know this to be true.
     This war was not one of his making. This war was not a Holy one, it had not even been recognized by the Greater Church. In his temple, under his eyes her hand had failed to finalize the death of another. He did not want this.
     Her eyes looked over the bleeding woman, her face contorted in pain, her breathing sharp and shallow. She was no more responsible for this war than herself. She placed her hands under the shoulders of the wounded woman and began to pull her from the temple.