Mehily glanced nervously over the table. Certainly, being put in a leading position of this Inquisition, as small is it might be, had bolstered her resolve in the divine, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with the actual Inquisitor sitting at the table with her. A woman of slender curves wearing an armour that smelled of burning coal, painted metal reinforcing leather that looked like it had been ripped from scorched animals, decorated with the icy blue of Jersoja. A strip of cloth hid her eyes, or the empty holes that would have been in her otherwise attractive face.
In return for their eyes, Inquisitors learned to better read the invisible guidance of the divine. It wasn’t as reliable as the Tracking spell of a medium level Hunter, but it gave the rough direction without needing to prior seeing the target. It had guided them here. As the gods preached, it was the mortals that had to make the actual decisions and find the truth of it all.
The Inquisitor’s name was Evmeria and she was perpetually silent. Her kind was known for a level of fanaticism that Mehily both admired and feared and as the Cardinal’s personal aid, Evmeria had the influence to ban her from the church if the Priest overstepped her boundaries. It wouldn’t cut her from her powers, only Jersoja and his high angels may decide to leave her faith unanswered, but no longer being part of the larger worshipping body was something most priests feared. Those following the more liberally minded deities like Hashahin aside.
‘The people following Trember almost look at it as a necessity to be excommunicated…,’ Mehily thought and took a sip of her water. The clear liquid reminded her of the translucent shape of their prey. Would they really find that chimeric monstrosity in this village? Mehily looked over to Berholdth. The massive warrior was all that remained of her starting party.
The Rogue of their group had showed no interest whatsoever in this whole Inquisition business and been vocal about his absolute certainty of never wanting to face that slime creature again. Berholdth, on the contrary, had just quietly agreed to come with her. As a reward, the Cardinal had sponsored him a new armour, a white thing that was almost more fitting for a Paladin than a Warrior. The resolve he had shown on that day had, for the first time, made Mehily looked at the man as more than just a member of her party.
‘Is what Reysha said about you desiring me true?’ the Priest wanted to ask. ‘Is your pure greed for my body the reason you are here?’
No answer came, as Berholdth reached down to his mug of beer and took a huge gulp. He had no qualms whatsoever about appearing improper in front of the Inquisitor, who could smell sin like a snake its next meal. That dastardly behaviour was oddly attractive. That aside, it would take more than a few beers to get a man of his size drunk.
A man suddenly sat down at their table all of a sudden. It wasn’t surprising whatsoever to see another person, this inn was well visited. There were enough empty tables to sit down at, however, and judging by the state of his beverage he had been here for a while anyway. “Don’t you know that it’s bad luck for two women to sit alone with a man?” the arrival asked with a toothy grin on his face. He had a stubby beard, barely covering a generally attractive, if rugged, face. Under his perfectly-sitting hat, fatty strains of hair grew out past his ears. “You religious lot usually believe in such humbug.”
“You reek of cheap whiskey and common whores,” Evmeria’s voice was like a shard of glass rammed between blocks of ice, crystal clear, grinding, disgusted and chilling. “What you are in reference to is something that only those unguided would observe. Not that your worldly kind will ever understand something beyond your own carnality.”
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“If you’re saying that I don’t care about anything else than two liquids, pussy juices and alcohol, then guilty as charged,” the man laughed, not caring whatsoever that he was surrounded by hostile eyes and repellent words. His voice quiet down to a whisper, “So, I can take it your little Inquisition is here to find that odd monster everyone is on about.”
Mehily’s kept her face straight. It wasn’t surprising that he knew about the Inquisition nor that they identified them. Since the slime was already publicly known, secrecy in the matter would have amounted to very little. Better to let news spread through the public so they would have no trouble convincing people to answer their questions, should they have any. The Inquisitor amongst them in her rank appropriate garb didn’t make things less conspicuous.
As such, the Priest allowed herself the simple confirmation. “Yes, why do you ask? Are you with the Guild?”
“You could say that,” the man kept his smirk. “Name’s Gabrame,” at the mention the Inquisitor tensed a little bit. Just enough to be noticeable. “The fact that you’re in this area properly means I got a lucky shot, huh?”
The Warrior of their group growled, “Do your own fucking investigations and you could have found that you-“
“Berholdth!” Mehily was quick to reach out to her comrade, the touch on his arm stopping him from saying anything else. The giant had never been the brightest and the way he had formulated his answer had basically confirmed what the hunter had wanted to know. Shuddering, the Priest could basically feel the judgemental, blind eyes of the Inquisitor resting on her.
Evmaria continued calmly. “By decree of his holiness the Cardinal, the chimeric creature shall be retrieved alive and brought to him. Do I have to assume that the Guild will interrupt in his wishes?”
“The Guild won’t but I might,” Gabrame knocked twice on the table and then got up, finishing his drink once he stood and nonchalantly leaving the empty mug on the table.
“Who are you to-!” Mehily was halfway standing up herself, ready to defend the mission of the faithful as the divine given necessity that it was. There was no chance to, Gabrame just tipped his head and immediately went to flirt with one of the bar wenches. By the depth of her décolleté it was easily seen that she was the kind whose service didn’t stop above the table. “What kind of scumbag was that?” she muttered to herself instead, wishing she had something more potent than water to take the edge off.
“He came to this leaf 12 years ago, Gabrame, a level 55 Sharpshooter,” Evmaria informed her companions, who both inhaled sharply. That put the man that had just talked to them around fifty levels above themselves. Even more than that, it meant that he was a person with an Art. If he had his bow, that guy could have taken the entire rest of this bar on by himself. Even Evmaria was only level 23 and that was around thrice the level of Mehily and Berholdth, 8 and 7 respectively. Inquisitors also paid for their special gifts with bad combat skills.
“What is a guy like that doing here?!” Berholdth was at least quietly outraged. “No, how did I never hear of him? A guy like that should be known to everybody around this leaf as a legendary instructor!”
“Gabrame retired here with no wish to become an instructor. I don’t have all the details. Something about being a friend of the Guild branches current leader. Fact is that he is easily over a hundred years old, accomplished and that he is searching for our target… which means that our chances of success just sank considerably,” the Inquisitor’s voice almost reverberated with palpable rage, but she always kept it just under the surface, a sheet of frost over her heating emotions.
Mehily whispered, without even noticing herself, “Failure cannot be tolerated while acting on the Cardinals behalf.”
Evmaria noted this approvingly.