Witchkin, Dae, Throne-Worshippers, Pagans, Cannibals, and Cultists.
The First Province was a cauldron filled to the rim with the vile depravations of the faithless. Those that sheltered the heretical and blasphemous were no better than the monsters that savaged the First Coast with fang and claw. Ripping through the metaphysical barriers between the realms of Heaven, Eden, and Hel, and profaning the word of the Holy with their own sinful manifestations of avarice, lust, and gluttony. They fooled themselves into thinking they had obtained some mote of power, some shadow of knowledge, but all they did was drive the world deeper into the dark abyss. And, there was nothing to do put to purge these apostates and their willing slaves from the face of Eden. It was his calling. And, nothing else mattered.
Still, he could feel the cold satisfaction that came from plunging the steel blade between the woman's ribs, piercing vital organs. In truth, he did not see her as a woman anymore, but rather, a twisted abomination that had diminished and perverted the spark of the Eternal Flame which had given her life. She was not human, but rather, an ill-born beast, a cancerous tumor to be removed from the world, to bring their war that much closer toward a culminating battle. Foolishly, the Witchkin had attacked first, unprovoked -- and that was her fatal mistake. In mere moments, the miserable cultist was on the ground and the Lion's claws were rending her flesh with practiced ease as the Vigil prepared to extract from Anslem's tomb. No doubt saving the lives of the "crafters" that continued their vain battle against a spirit that would simply rise again. But, they did not wait. No gratitude was needed. The Vigil had done their job.
She struggled, multiple times, crushed under the militant heel of the Witchhunters, as she continued to bleed out from the mortal wound, and Alaric dragged her through the dark hallways of the accursed Monastery. Eventually, she scrambled away from their towering forms, bleeding profusely from her wounds as she managed to somehow call upon her profane art to escape the Hunters, no doubt to die as some wretched beast gutted by a hunter's blade, forgotten in the brush of this forsaken place. Little did they know that this same night, their brethren would be Martyr'd by the hands of a coward, unequipped to face the Vigil in honorable battle, which only seemed to drive home the ever-growing need to purge this valley with holy fire and steel.