INQUISITOR KHALI – MERCHANT QUARTER, STEINER, THE HOLY TRINITY
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27TH FINSHAE, LATE WINTER 845 PBM (POST BATTLE OF MICRONIA)
Khali was a devout Inquisitor of Faylen, on duty this late winter evening, conducting investigations in the name of the Supreme God. Faylen. The magnificent Sun-God was the protector of the entire lands of Driax. His eternal vigil never ceased, and his Inquisition expected the same from its agents, or as near as mortals could manage.
Quietly, Khali slipped into the warehouse, blending into an inconspicuous space near the back of a small gathering of residents. The existence of this assembly was troubling, as the organizers were likely cultists devoted to one of the Dark Gods. That it was taking place within a city under the church of Faylen's rule was even more alarming.
’They would not be so bold if I had worn my normal robes,’ Khali mused. "While the black would definitely blend in here, the bright flames and bold sun sigils to Faylen would cast a stark light on the darkness in their souls. Few it is who do not reveal their own guilt and horror once the truth is shined upon them in all its magnificence.’
‘But the time to act has not yet come. We must wait for the leader of the rabble. Such pitiful gatherings are nearly always held together by an individual wielding charm or fear, and promising change and rewards unearned to tempt the weak and faithless. As long as there were those who refuse to accept responsibility for their life, and blaming others for their failings, there will be a breeding ground for the Dark Ones.’
The cult seemed to be in its early stages. The location—a run-down warehouse on the outskirts of the merchant quarter—indicated that the cult was still hiding its presence. The owners warranted investigation later, but from the look of the place they had not been here in some time. For now, Khali focused on the gathering: little more than a dozen disaffected citizens.
’I suspect that many of them are not even citizens of our great city but outsiders who have come to benefit from the glorious civilization the church has built. And now, after taking our charity, they plot its ruin. But this is where kindness can get you. This is why the Inquisition is always necessary. Despite what some of those of a weaker resolve within the church may think, love and good intentions cannot solve all problems; vigilance and decisiveness are crucial.’
In a dim corner of the warehouse stood a small table, under the remnants of broken stairs leading to a crumbling first-floor office. The warehouse floor was littered with broken glass, dust, and what appeared to be rat droppings. It was a far cry from the splendour of the magnificent churches dedicated to the righteous gods.
‘Clearly, those being recruited to the Dark Gods require no flashy displays. No, it seems the pitch must be, “Join us… we have dust and rat droppings for everyone."’
Five newcomers entered and moved towards the table. Khali assessed them.
‘Three move as if they wear serious amounts of armour beneath their robes. They have the casual walk of mercenaries or thugs, those with more than a passing acquaintance in violence. From the looks they are giving any of the throng who get to close, they seem willing to hand out lessons if anyone wants one. The robes don’t look so natural on them though. They aren’t the ring-leader of our little circus.’
She watched as one of them carelessly scuffed a chalk-drawn sigil on the ground, smearing what had been a well-drawn symbol of the Dark Gods.
‘Ha! Those three don’t even respect their own sigils. Good to know. If things get ugly, they aren’t likely to die for the cause either. And I suspect that goes for the would-be cultists too. Bathe a few of them in the cleansing flames of the almighty Faylen, and the rest will flee back to their miserable lives, with a strong word for anyone else dumb enough to repeat this little charade anytime soon.’
‘So that leaves us with the other two. No flashy robes adorned with sigils or colours. Probably rules out Saleercki. Good. The Goddess of Sin and Temptation is the worst. No straight up battles. No pitched duels of magickal might. Just manipulate the masses, and constantly try to get into your head to learn your darkest vices; your innermost secrets; your basest desires. Some within the church call this “weakness,” but in the end, everyone up to the High-Lord of Faylen himself has them. Trying to resist temptation for the thing your mind most covets is no easy thing for anyone.’
‘The cultists look to be of the poor and underfed variety. You couldn’t say they look like warriors, no matter how much you whip them into a mouth frothing frenzy. So probably not the Blood God, Kazak’Ta either. These troops would just embarrass their Lord. Also, if that were the case, the leaders would almost certainly be encased in the heaviest shell of steel they could afford, or stupidly bare chested and proud of it. Black non-descript robes are not his chosen priestly vestments.’
‘No sign of pets or wild animals other than the rat problem. So likely not the Beast-Lord, Malar. At the very least one of the rats would be on the table with him, and the gathering would likely all be bowing down to the stupid rat.’
‘No sign of advanced technology. Not Junk-Gar.’
‘That leaves three likely sources: Drezzim, the Goddess of the Night; Cyrus, the Lord of the Dead; or Tzy-Lord, the Arch-mage of Forbidden Magick.’
‘Why do all three of those Gods love the colour black? This rabble do not look like studious practitioners of the arcane arts, so if this is Tzy-Lord, this lot must be nothing more than ingredients for the ritual. I suspect the other two options are more likely.’
‘Patience, Khali. All will be revealed in time, her mentor's voice echoed in her mind.
As the gathering moved forward, Khali ensured that her hood remained up, avoiding eye contact.
‘What role will these poor fools play: pawns, initiates, or sacrifices?’
The presumed cultist leaders reached the table, which would apparently double as a speaking platform. The larger of the two leaders awkwardly climbed onto the rickety table, looking out over his followers. Khali struggled to suppress a laugh.
‘This should be entertaining. Resist the urge to topple the table.’
But as the mysterious figure began to speak, Khali's amusement turned to concern. His deep, commanding voice resonated through the room, “Thank you all for coming, and for your willingness to be part of something much greater than each of us as individuals. We all know that the world in which we are forced to live is wrong, and unfair to the common people. And yet we are told to ignore this truism and to continue to labour hard so that others may live in comfort and enjoy the rewards that the Gods meant for all of us to enjoy.”
‘Good solid opening. Involve the masses. Make them feel a part of something bigger.’
With a theatrical flourish, the figure pulled down his hood, only to replace one concealment with another—an elaborate white mask resembling a skeleton.
‘The likelihood of Cyrus being involved just went up a lot. I bet Traviston must be excited... well, he would be, if he had emotions. But then, if he had emotions instead of being a cold-blooded killer wielding many blades, I probably wouldn't have much use for him.’
"But that is something we can change together," the speaker proclaimed, his voice resonant and commanding. "In three days, we'll celebrate the 'Day of Rebirth', marking the beginning of Spring. Today, we initiate the grand rebirth of this fine city. We'll return it to its rightful rulers and allow the common folk to savour its bounty, as the Gods intended."
‘Damn it. More questions I need answers to before I can begin warming up the room. Who are these rightful rulers? The mysterious Bone-Mask? The speaker's god? He certainly doesn’t mean the church of Faylen.’
The speaker paused, turning and crouching awkwardly on the table to confer with a smaller figure approaching from behind. From this distance, their conversation was inaudible, but the smaller figure seemed to gesture towards Khali.
‘Well, this could be a problem. Discovering an Inquisitor of Faylen amidst this gathering would rapidly shift the evening's mood.’
The speaker resumed, rising carefully. "We must remain vigilant. There are those that would oppose us restoring the natural order of things. Enemies who benefit from the current system will resist our efforts to restore the natural order. They will fight to keep you from reclaiming your rightful power."
‘Doubtful your master, whoever he may be, has any interest in sharing any of the power either. But before I illuminate you all in a soul-cleansing inferno just tell me which flavour of chaos I have to thank for this little gathering… please!’
"Even among the faithful, agents of your Overlords lurk. Those that would keep you as slaves," the speaker continued. "But they do not speak to you openly as I do. No, they conceal themselves for deceit and treachery are in their blood. But do not fear. My master cares for you as they do not. He sees them as they truly are."
‘Definitely not good!’
"I will reveal the truth to you all."
So captivating was the speaker that Khali missed the subtle signs of spellcasting by the smaller cultist leader
Did I just make a huge mistake, or was the speaker using magick to enthrall us? Perhaps some hot coals and a branding iron could persuade one of them to tell us the truth when the night is over.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Either way the spell completed before Khali could stop it. The spell sent a wave of invisible, disruptive magic washing over Khali, harmless to most but devastating to the magickal illusion masking her appearance.
‘Oh well. Time to see how the crowd feels about my flame covered robes.’
The crowd's reaction was immediate as Khali's illusion faltered. She now stood out, adorned in her intimidating black and flaming red robes, the flaming sun sigils of Faylen on her front, and the white eye of the Inquisition on the back. The crowd pulled away instinctively.
Fortunately, under her robe she was also wearing a black enamelled plate-mail breastplate. Her limbs were protected by the heavy links of blessed chain-mail, and at her side hung her much loved long sword, ‘Forgiveness’.
“You should not have come alone, Inquisitor!” preached the bone-masked cultist, “You will find your lord badly outnumbered here.” A smile enveloped his face as his eyes started to tighten in concentration. A spell was coming. Dark tendrils of necromantic magic formed quickly across his arms as the spell reached its conclusion, and the cultist leader threw them towards Khali, each tendril seeking to suck her life force from her body.
Needing vision more than obscurity now, Khali threw back her hood and began to pray, her tied back golden blond hair and pale blue eyes coming into view.
“Manannan stood alone against the horde of evil,” recited Khali, the words rushed, but each word still enunciated clearly to empower her prayer and counter that of the cultist. “And his protection did Faylen grant to his humble servant at the Kyziam Pass.”
A yellow glowing shield of Life Magick appeared before her, and it clashed with the Necromantic spell. A battle of magical forces ensued, as the dark tendrils impacted the shield. There was a fraction of a second where the magickal forces of each spell fought against each other. Khali’s breath caught in her throat and her body tensed for the dire repercussions if her shield failed. There really was no way to know how powerful this cultist leader was yet But one by one each of the tendrils dissipated harmlessly against the protective shield, leaving only a faintly glowing image of the Inquisitorial eye hovering in the air after it was over.
“A faithful servant of the Lord of Light is never alone,” Khali responded, her own voice rising in fervor as her hands and then voice started a prayer of their own, calling upon Faylen to assist in smiting these foes.
“As he had promised, Faylen brought wrath on those that had broken his covenant.
And his flames burned them until they sought forgiveness or perished.”
Her words became a fervent prayer, and she could feel the warm touch of divine empowerment as she conjured a tightly wound ball of flame. With a flick of her wrist she sent it hurtling towards the cultist and his wooden throne.
"There is no hiding from the light!" she proclaimed.
But her victory was short-lived.
As the flames exploded around the cultist there was, concealed within the explosion of flame, a secondary, barely audible crack, like that of breaking glass. Immediately Khali could tell her spell was not acting as it normally would. A faint, magickal, blue bubble appeared near the cultist leader and caught the fireball, its explosive force spent within the protective magical ward and leaving everyone unharmed. The cultist's smile was almost visible behind his mask.
"What's the matter, Inquisitor?" he sneered. "Is your God's power failing you? You should never have come alone. I was given a magickal ward against fire, and another in case you tried something other than flame… although that was always unlikely. You followers of the Lord of Light are so predictable with your desire to burn everything that disagrees with you."
He gestured to his various followers, signalling them to finish off Khali. Those on his side of the table surged forward with palpable confidence, their movements deliberate and poised. The citizens on the opposite side, however, hesitated, their faces betraying reluctance at the thought of attacking an Inquisitor head-on.
"I have a question before you attempt to kill me," Khali interjected calmly.
"Make it quick, Inquisitor. Your time is running out," the skull-faced cultist retorted.
"Whoever said I came alone?" Khali's lips curved into a smile.
Even with the mask covering him, the skull faced cultist was clearly unnerved, suddenly looking around at the many different shadowy spots within the warehouse. His spell-casting colleague also began to prepare a second spell, with more necromantic magick starting to form around his arms and torso. Whatever the spell was, he was clearly throwing everything he had into it.
Up among the rafters of the dimly lit warehouse, a slight movement caught the eye. The smaller cultist leader's head snapped back as a crossbow bolt found its mark in his forehead, and his body slumped to the floor. ‘Janus of the Night. Always had a gift for dramatic timing. Lethal with a crossbow, knife or tongue. The ex-whore with a body to die for. And die you will if you try to touch it without her permission.’
The door behind the would-be cultists burst open as a large, armoured figure charged into the room. His white polished plate mail gleamed under his Inquisition tabard, and he held a giant two-handed sword aloft, roaring a prayer to the Lord of Light. Acolyte Ramirez Rathutin. A failed aristocrat, failed knight and failed husband. No goals of his own anymore, but a desperate desire for a cause and a chance at redemption. A perfect tool for the Inquisition.
The cultists in the back scrambled in terror, no match for a warrior such as Ramirez. Panic spread like wildfire as his massive blade cut down the slowest to react, momentarily seizing everyone's attention.
Peeling himself from the shadows no more than ten metres from the back of the three armoured cultists, the last of Khali’s agents began to move. A tall, lanky and surprisingly agile figure, he closed the distance to the nearest armored cultist, his short sword plunging into back of the man's neck. Traviston, my most faithful agent. Almost certainly destined to be a killer. Only my timely intervention turned him into a killer for the light, instead of who knows what.
Traviston released the blade that he had plunged into his first target, and drew another of his never-ending supply of blades. He spun towards his second target, a scarred and battle hardened man. Scar-face had barely drawn his sword before Traviston sliced a blade across the back of his knee. It may have been an interesting fight between the two on any normal day, and Traviston would have been at a significant disadvantage with only his short knives versus a heavily armoured opponent with a long sword and shield. However, once his leg collapsed, Traviston was upon him, quickly and mercilessly stabbing through the weak points in his armour.
The remaining cultists broke, fleeing for the exit, while Ramirez gave chase.
Khali knew the impact of this victory would reach far, making it difficult for future cult masters to recruit. Still, she wished Ramirez were not so zealous.
‘None that survive this night will ever consider joining such a plot again. And their terror will spread far and wide, making it harder for the next cult master. But it is hard to reign in the zeal of a man such as Ramirez.’
Khali refocused on the cultist leader.
‘Still standing on a table. That looks even more stupid now.’
“It seems the Lord of Light’s followers now have yours outnumbered. While it pains me to do so, I must now offer you the opportunity to surrender peacefully, and you will leave here unharmed. Otherwise we will apprehend you with deadly force.”
‘Please don’t surrender. I want to beat submission into you.’
Nobody spoke or moved. The only sound was that of Traviston’s blades being punched into the soon-to-be-corpse of scar-face.
The last armoured figure dropped his blade with a loud clatter, grovelling, "Spare me, Inquisitor. I'll tell you about Kravath and his—"
His pitiful desperate voice was cut short, and he began to clutch at this throat. The cultist leader had barely raised a hand, but it was clear from the gesturing of his fingers that the spell was of his doing. Khali reached out with her magick and felt for weakness in the spell that was both strangling and sucking the life from her potential informant. She could sense the spell was well cast and the magickal threads were strong.
Why did I never pay attention in those classes on dispelling magic? she thought, redirecting her energy into an offensive spell.
"Vumont had heard enough of the Dark Lord's words through his minion's mouth.
He asked the Lord to help silence them.
And the Lord of Light gave him the air to command," she intoned, her voice clear and resolute.
The air around skull-mask’s neck began to stir, and as Khali squeezed her hand, the air tightened its grip.
‘Maybe when you can’t breathe you will drop the spell and I can take you both in for questioning.’
There were weak attempts to disrupt her spell, but it was very difficult to both cast a spell and defend against one at the same time. And it would seem skull-mask was more interested in strangling his turn-coat than in maintaining the ability to breathe.
‘Damn it! This one might be willing to die for his beliefs.’
Shifting tactics, Khali released the choking spell and instead channeled a new prayer, summoning a fierce gale.
"King Darius asked the Lord of sun and sky to grant him command over the winds.
The Lord looked down on his humble servant and granted his request.
And with this command, Darius unleashed the rage of the winds upon his enemies," she recited.
The air around her swirled, growing in force until it whipped up the surrounding dirt into a miniature storm.
‘You can see this. Drop the spell and save yourself!’ she urged silently, preparing to unleash the full might of her wind magic.
A few tense moments passed as Khali drew enough magical energy to feel her God's power surging through her. The air around her quivered with anticipation as she focused her gaze on the skull-masked cult leader and the table he was standing on. Then, with a fierce determination, she unleashed her maelstrom.
The ferocious hurricane blasted from her and slammed the cultist leader. Skull-mask never even tried to defend himself. The table was sent skittering across the room, with skull-mask tumbling with it. He crashed mercilessly into a stack of boxes that collapsed inwards, a cacophony of splintering wood, dust, and decayed foodstuff.
Khali advanced cautiously toward the buried cult leader, her blade ready and a prayer on her lips to detect any magical disturbances such as somebody else spell casting. If there were any more surprises from skull-mask she wanted to be ready. Khali was vaguely aware of one of her acolytes moving towards the slumped over form of her potential informant, but the cult leader was the better catch by far.
As she sifted through the wreckage, she discovered a lot of blood, particularly on one jagged plank of wood that looked very much like it had impaled someone. But there was a disconcerting lack of a body, dead or otherwise.She used both her sword and her boots to clear away the obstructions, but she found nothing She looked around hoping she had somehow missed something but as she scanned all the possible places skull-mask may have been able to get to from the boxes in that time, a chilling realization crept over her: he had vanished.
‘No trail of blood. If he didn’t crawl out of here, the only thing left is magick. But then I didn’t detect anything with my ‘sense channelling’ prayer. I don’t like questions to which all possible answers are eliminated.’
“Inquisitor,” the deep, hushed voice of Traviston broke her thoughts, “this one is dead.”
‘So much for my potential informant.’
“Good!” Ramirez growled; his voice filled with disdain. “Worthless heathens do not deserve to draw breath.”
“That’s not good,” Janus countered, descending gracefully from the roof. “Now we can’t cut and burn him to get to his truths. And men like this always deserve to be cut and burned.”
The banter of her followers became background noise as Khali’s mind reeled.
‘Well, that’s just fucking great! Sorry Preceptor, we confirmed there is a cult operating within your great city, but the leader got away and I don’t have the faintest idea how. Oh, and we killed everyone else who might have known anything.
If it helps, Preceptor, we know the cultists had help from someone powerful. A mystery force that seems to know a lot about us and how we work. But I don’t know anything about them either, because we killed everyone who might have known anything.
She imagined the look that would come over the Preceptor, his eyes filled with concern and disappointment. ‘Do we have any leads to go on?’ she imagined him asking.
‘And then what will I say?’
Her mind raced for how she would answer that. She thought through everything that they had seen and heard. She could only come up with one.
‘Only a single name my Lord. Kravath. A name that means absolutely nothing to me.’