On a wind whipped Prasus rooftop stands a figure. Tall and proud with a hawkish face and long black hair that is tugged this way and that by the fingers of the wind. He is clad in pure black apart from two things, the first is a golden cogwheel shaped symbol of Koth hung around his neck and second are four shining steel blades affixed to his limbs two along the edges of his arms and two along the backs of his legs. At the moment this man stands looking out at the sleeping world with an air of curiosity mixed with confidence, the very picture of serene civility.

To his right stood a far less composed figure. The honourable Baron Fairbanks pulls at his tight collar and sweats profusely, his beautifully folded cravat has been irrevocably ruined by the jerky motions but he barely notices; he is far too angry.

The first figure looks around the rooftop they stand on. He has seen the ruined wall of the minaret, he noted the missing gargoyle, he ran a finger along a deep molten gash in the stone of the rooftop, he pulled a single black bloom from its trellis and sniffed at it and finally he stands there on the lip of the rooftop and stares out at the city his fingers drumming against the cogwheel symbol above his heart as his mind works.

The Baron is talking still tugging at his outfit, “I mean what else could it be? What can change the colour of roses?!” he gestures frantically down at the rooftop, “and there is a tree where my safe used to be!” panting the man wipes his brow with a silk handkerchief. “... and... I mean when my servants told me they had heard the sounds of fighting on the roof I thought they were lying but...” He gestured mutely at the devastation on the rooftop and the shattered pieces of his dress sword that lay on the ground in front of him.

After a long moment the first man turned to his companion and nodded, “Thank you for alerting us Baron Fairbanks we will look into this matter immediately. You can leave it with the Order sire... and we’ll send a team round to repair your rooftop.”

The Baron smiled at the Inquisitor, he always did enjoy entertaining the warriors of Koth; so very polite. “Oh thank you, thank you! I wasn't sure if I would be wasting your time but I thought it best to inform you anyway just in case.”

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“Most wise,” reassured the first man smoothly. “If you have any other information regarding these... criminals please do not hesitate to write to us.”

“Oh I won’t I won’t,” said the Baron. “I am always happy to do my duty to Koth, thank you lord Inquisitor.”

“Not a lord yet sir... Nightsbane is fine.” Said Inquisitor Nightsbane looking down at the noble, he briefly considered killing the man but dismissed the notion quickly. He was wearing his ceremonial fighting blades and he didn't want to get blood on them.

Looking down off the rooftop the Inquisitor spotted something and raised an eyebrow then taking a step forwards he plummeted. The Baron rushes after him falling to his pudgy knees on the very lip of the shingles and staring down in wonder as the Inquisitor kicks off the manor wall and lands as light as a feather next to one of his gardening automatons.

The brass bag of blades, shears and tubes is entirely still and silent like it had run out of ticks but the Baron knew that was impossible, why he employed a man just for the purpose of ensuring his automata were all wound up correctly and with regularity!

The Inquisitor for his part seemed fascinated by the silent machine, he sat sock still next to the device for a long minute then he turned his gimlet gaze on the key sticking from its side. Experimentally he winds it a few times and sigh’s a satisfied sigh when the golem stays resolutely still.

“I am so sorry Nightsbane sir,” called the Baron's distant voice from the rooftop. “I thought I had purchased Church approved golems I will have it sent back right...”

“Oh there's no worry Baron, it should start working again in a few minutes.” Said Nightsbane personably, he was already starting to regret not killing this odious little twerp.

“Oh thank you lord,” said the Baron, forgetting the correct form of address again. “I am so honoured to have a personal repair conducted by an Inquisitor truly sir it’s...”

Nightsbane turned out the idiotic nobles babbling and stared at the automaton, he waved his symbol of Koth across it and nodded with a self satisfied air as the holy mechanism suddenly sprang back to life and began to plod away across the grass.

“Two at least,” he muttered to himself. Gently he lifted the black rose from his lapel and sniffed at its dark bloom before tucking it back into his pocket. “Two active mages... after all this time?”

And finally for the first time that evening he smiled.