Investigations and Inquisition

AN: Sorry for the delay. I got stuck on Ch 24 and I only post once I finish a new one to stay a few chapters ahead. Then this one needed a lot of editing when I read it back to myself. I am editing the next one right now so we might have another chapter today as well.

The noontime sun beat down on the town of Merrit's Bend, casting long shadows from the cobblestone streets and cracking wooden shingled rooftops. Samuel and Virrit stood at the gates, a small but formidable honor guard of goblins and men at their side. Virrit's eyes scanned the horizon, her sharp vision picking out the dust cloud that signaled the approach of the inquisitorial party. Samuel's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the tension in his muscles clear.

The party grew closer, a mix of gleaming armor and stern expressions on horseback. The town guard and goblin sentinels parted to allow them through, their eyes flicking nervously to Markash's contingent. The leader of the inquisitors, a tall, gaunt man with a shaved head and piercing eyes, dismounted with a clank of metal. His cassock fluttered in the breeze, revealing the crest of the Inquisition stitched in gold thread.

"What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed, pointing at the goblins. "Blasphemous abominations in the service of mankind! You!" the bellicose man pointed directly at Samuel. "What is this madness."

Samuel stepped forward, his hand still resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword. "My lord Inquisitor, welcome to Merrit's Bend." He said with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. " I am... Captain Samuel Ventari and this is Virrit Cinn, our esteemed ally from the Cinn goblin clan. Together we have been working to ensure the safety of the town."

The inquisitor's eyes narrowed as he took in the human and goblin standing before him, his hand on the pommel of his own weapon. "Alliances with demons, you say?" His voice was a low growl of disgust. "And what business does a creature of darkness have with the holy work of man?"

"Sir Inquisitor, please, your name? I will explain their presence." Samuel's voice was steady, a stark contrast to the inquisitor's growing rage. The gaunt man's hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white with tension.

The inquisitor's eyes never left Samuel's face. "Inquisitor Castor," he bit out, "And I demand an explanation for this... this heresy!"

"Ah, Inquisitor Castor, a man of such high regard for purity." Samuel's voice was like honey, thick and sweet. "The Cinn are indeed monstrous in their own right, but they are monsters trained to serve our purposes, much like a dog is trained to hunt."

Virrit's eyes flashed with anger, but she remained silent, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Samuel continued, his words calculated and precise. "They are creatures of instinct, easily molded. They have proven invaluable in dealing with the scourge of banditry that once plagued our lands." He offered a courteous bow, his voice dripping with false respect. "Rest assured, Inquisitor Castor, their loyalties are firmly aligned with the greater good."

"We shall see captain. Troubling things I have heard about this town. It will all be brought to holy light" Castor said with a stern look. Samuel's smile never wavered, his eyes holding Castor's gaze with a mix of challenge and assurance.

"Inquisitor, we've made no attempt to hide their presence, as there is nothing foul to hide." Samuel's tone remained calm, his gaze unyielding. "They are but tools in our quest to protect the innocent."

"And the Magister who has decided to make this his haven. His delving into heretical secrets of the firstcome?" Castor's question hung in the air, the accusation in his tone clear.

Samuel's smile tightened slightly, but he kept his voice level. "Magister Markash Roanan is an esteemed scholar, Inquisitor Castor. His knowledge of ancient artifacts and their properties is unparalleled." He paused for a moment, choosing his words with care. "The ruins of the firstcome are a treasure trove of knowledge, not just for us, but for the Church itself. The protection of such relics is a sacred duty. Please join us. He's at the mayor's manor having lunch prepared now for your arrival"

Inquisitor Castor's eyes narrowed further, his hand tightening on the pommel of his sword. "Very well, Captain. Lead the way." He turned to his men, barking out orders to follow Samuel and Virrit. The group made their way through the town, the inquisitors' horses' hooves echoing against the cobblestone, a stark reminder of their impending presence.

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The mayoral mansion loomed ahead, its grandeur a stark contrast to the modest homes of the townsfolk. The gates were open, a sign of hospitality that did little to ease the tension knotting in Markash's stomach. Chelsea and Maya had worked tirelessly to prepare the manor, ensuring every detail was perfect. Chelsea had taken on an ethereal glow since hosting Aeslith, and Maya, though still human, had adopted a poise that was almost regal. They had transformed the space into a beacon of warmth and light, the very picture of innocence and divine protection.

As Inquisitor Castor dismounted from his horse, his eyes swept over the manor, taking in the changes. The guards, both human and goblin, snapped to attention, their faces stoic as the inquisitors approached. Chelsea, dressed in a gown that hugged her new curves, offered a demure smile. "Welcome, Inquisitor Castor," she greeted, her voice like a chime in the stillness. "Magister Roanan awaits you inside."

"Miss Amaranth, your father is a pious and good man. his concern for your safety is what led him to reach out to us." Inquisitor Castor spoke plainly to her. "We are here to investigate these...unusual occurrences and ensure that the town remains pure in the eyes of the Holy Church."

Chelsea's smile remained serene as she led the inquisitors through the grand hall, her eyes flickering with a hint of mischief. "I know my father’s intentions come from the right place, but I assure you, Inquisitor Castor, the Magister's intentions are nothing but pure. He seeks only to enrich our town's knowledge and protect us from the shadows that lurk in the forests and beyond." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her hips swaying slightly, an **** effect of Aeslith's influence.

Inside, the scent of roasting meats and freshly baked bread filled the air. The dining table was set with the finest silverware and linens, a feast laid out as if to showcase the prosperity that had come to Merrit's Bend under Markash's guidance. The mayor, a plump man with a sheen of sweat on his forehead, sat at the head of the table, his eyes darting nervously between his daughter and the inquisitors.

Markash sat at the other end, his face a mask of calm, his eyes holding a flicker of amusement as he watched Inquisitor Castor's reaction. The priest took his seat, his gaze sweeping the room, scrutinizing every detail, looking for any sign of the corruption he was so certain he would find. "Magister Roanan," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We have much to discuss."

"I have no doubt Inquisitor. I assure you the people of Merrit’s Bend are prosperous and devout. We are, of course open to you." Markash gestured to the table. "Please, join us for lunch. It would be an honor to discuss to host you and discuss our mutual aims."

The inquisitor said a prayer over the food, a thin magical sheen over his hands the only indication of a spell. Markash silently noting the inquisitor's paranoia. He had been very clear in his instruction, nothing in the food or the home. Be pure, if only for the day. As they ate, the conversation was stilted, the inquisitor's eyes never leaving Markash's face. "Tell me, Magister," Castor began, his voice like a whip crack in the tense silence, "what do you know of the firstcome ruins above this town?"

Markash took a sip of wine, his gaze flickering to Isabella before returning to Castor. "Only what is written in the texts, Inquisitor," he replied smoothly. "The knowledge I seek is to understand the ancient world, to better serve the Church." He gestured for Maya, who quickly produced a sheet of paper. "These ruins can be dangerous, but they can also benefit us all. Relics of the church, including those that produce the holy flame, were found in places like this. I seek only to serve. My paperwork is in order." He could only hope the inquisitor would not notice the ink had barely time to dry.

Isabella stepped in, her voice soft yet firm. "Father has allowed Magister Markash to use the outpost for his studies," she said, her eyes shimmering with an innocent light. "He has been a great help to the town, and his research into the firstcome artifacts has brought us closer to the divine."

The inquisitor studied the sheet of paper. "Is that so?” He turned back to Markash. “Your interest in the ruins, Magister, is purely academic?" Castor's voice was laced with skepticism, his eyes boring into Markash's own.

Markash's smile remained easy, a charming facade that held no trace of the demonic power that pulsed beneath his skin. "Indeed, unless it serves the light Inquisitor Castor. The firstcome were a civilization that predates the Holy Church. Their technology and magic could hold the key to advancing our understanding of the divine. It is our duty to uncover the lost knowledge of the ancients, is it not?"

The inquisitor's gaze didn't waver. "And what of the rumors of dark artifacts, of rituals conducted within those walls?" His voice was a cold wind that seemed to suck the warmth from the room.

"Merely whispers and superstitions, we are well aware of the limits the church places on those working in the ruins." Markash said, his voice filled with the confidence of a man who knew his secrets were well-guarded. "The outpost is now a place of study and enlightenment, nothing more." He took another sip of wine, his eyes never leaving Castor's. "But if you wish to see my work for yourself, I invite you to join me there after lunch. It is a steep climb, but I assure you, the view is quite stunning."

The meal concluded far quicker than they had hoped, the inquisitor was clearly a man devoted to his mission. "Your dedication to knowledge is truly inspiring, Magister Roanan," Castor said with a **** smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would be most eager to see the fruits of your labor at this outpost." he paused, "One thing before we go."

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small metallic orb, its surface etched with ancient runes that glinted in the candlelight. The room grew tense as the inquisitor placed it on the table. The air around the artifact seemed to thicken, the tension palpable as it began to pulse with a faint blue light. It pulsed with a deep bassy thrum as Markash felt an aura creep out from the ball.

"This is an artifact of the Church," Castor announced, his gaze fixed on Markash. "It has the power to detect the foul presence of demons. In light of what I have heard I feel it is prudent to use it here." Castor’s eyes burned into Markash, but his smile didn't falter, though his heart raced. He had not anticipated this. The demon inside him, Aesmaram, screamed in impotent pain, lashing out. Markash had to act fast. He reached for his goblet of wine, feigning a casual sip, buying time.

"Ah, a relic of the Church," he said, his eyes never leaving Castor's face. "How interesting. But unnecessary, I assure you." Markash’s voice was tight, but if it gave anything away the inquisitor did not show it. Desperately Markash reached into his magic searching for some way to shield his soul. That would never work though, these artifacts, rare as they were, acted like a lens over his own astral gate. The only magic he had was the tiny bit that sat ambient in his realm.

He felt a small crack in the orb, one that he could exploit. With a subtle flick of his wrist, Markash sent a whisper of void magic to the metallic sphere. Inside the sphere, countless runic circles trapped astral energy, cycling them through blessed crystals, it hummed with holy energy. But a tiny whisper of collapsing space was all it took to cut one of the crystals, breaking the delicate circuit.

The air around it grew cold and still, and the runes flickered with power before dimming, failing and unable to pulse to life. Castor's hand hovered over the artifact, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as the orb went quiet. "Your dedication is admirable, but as I said, we have nothing to hide here." He stifled the sigh of relief as Aesmaram collapsed in exhaustion within his soul realm.

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The group ascended the hill to the outpost, the goblin guards snapping to attention as they arrived. Castor's gaze swept over the fortifications, his expression unreadable as he took in the mixed goblin and human presence. "Your... cooperation with these creatures is curious, Magister," he said, his voice tight with disapproval.

"Indeed, Inquisitor," Markash said with a knowing smile. "But in these troubled times, one must make alliances where they can. The Cinn are surprisingly adept diplomats, scouts, and are of course useful for at certain physical tasks. Their loyalty is easily bought same as any beast."

Inquisitor Castor grunted, clearly displeased by the comparison. " Your man in the town said the same. See that they are kept in line," he warned. "The Church does not take kindly to those who consort with demons, whether they be of flesh or spirit."

"No creature of this world," Markash paused, "and they are of our world; is outside of the Light's gaze. 15th Canticle of Joan." Markash recounted scripture to the inquisitor.

"So they are..." The inquisitor was clearly unhappy to have to grant the point to Markash, but he did anyway. The group made their way to the outpost, the goblin guards saluting as they passed through the gates. The inquisitors' horses snorted, uneasy as the scent of the goblins wafted towards them. Samuel noted the way Castor's hand tightened on the reins, his knuckles white. "Why take over an old imperial outpost Magister?"

Markash chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down Samuel's spine. It was the sound of a predator toying with its prey. "That was a simple choice. It is the responsibility of men of power like us to watch over the flock, no? From here I can guard the town, and I have access to the ruins." The outpost was indeed in a state of disarray. The tower was the only part that looked remotely maintained. The half-repaired barracks was the only other part that approached habitable. The rest was a maze of crumbling stones and weeds, a clear reminder of the decay that had claimed it over the centuries. Yet, the central tower stood tall and proud, a beacon of the power that resided within. "Please come in."

As Inquisitor Castor and his juniors entered the tower, the inquisitor couldn't help but be impressed at the sight before them. The room was well appointed; bathed in soft light from candles and arcane crystals, the air thick with the scent of incense and magic. Scrolls and tomes lined the walls, and in the center of the room was a large table cluttered with arcane devices and artifacts. "This is where I conduct my research," Markash said with a proud sweep of his hand.

"My apprentice's meditation room is above us, and my personal chambers above that." The inquisitorial team spread out, pouring over the various artifacts. Castor's gaze fell upon an old switch hidden by a bookshelf, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He pushed aside a dusty scroll, revealing the concealed lever. With a grunt, he pulled it, and a section of the stone wall swung open with a low, grating sound. "And this?" The inquisitor stalked down the stairs his defenses on edge.

The hidden chamber beyond was a contrast to the scholarly and warm chaos of the rest of the tower. It was almost clinical in its emptiness, except for an array of darkened candles and a large stone slab at the center. The air was thick with a coppery tang that sent a chill down their spines. The inquisitors' eyes widened in horror, and Castor's hand shot to his sword.

Markash rushed to stop them "Hold! Hold, please sirs.” He pleaded for a moment. “Just a preparatory space for... certain experiments," Markash said stepping in front of the inquisitors, blocking their view. His eyes glinted with amusement at their fear. "I've found that some artifacts require a more... controlled environment to study. But fear not, Inquisitor Castor, I assure you, my work is for the greater good."

Castor's eyes narrowed, and his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. "I suspect you're hiding something, Magister," he said, his voice cold as steel. "Your blasphemies have gone unchecked for too long, this is what I feared. The ruins corrupt man’s soul." With a sudden burst of speed that belied his bulk, he lunged at Markash. The demon within Markash's soul stirred, ready to respond with a fury that would leave no survivors. But before the magister could act, Isabella's panic took root. Her eyes flashed with a blue-white light, and an ice spike shot from her fingertips, impaling one of the junior inquisitors who had been examining the artifacts. The man's scream was cut short as the spike of ice pierced his chest, freezing his blood in an instant. The room fell silent, the only sound the echo of the man's dying gasp.

Castor's eyes widened in shock and horror as he saw his comrade fall. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Markash's hand was on his forehead, and the inquisitor felt a sudden pressure in his mind. His thoughts scrambled, and his vision blurred. He tried to shout a warning, to call for divine intervention, but his mouth would not move. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was the smug smile on Markash's face, a smile that promised a fate worse than ****.

The remaining junior inquisitor, a young man named Adrian, panicked at the sight of his superior being struck down. He lashed out with his mace, blindly swinging it in the direction of the nearest threat. The heavy weapon connected with the skull of a goblin guard, the crunch of bone and spurt of green blood a grim testament to his fear. The goblin fell to the ground, lifeless, its eyes glazed over. Adrian's breath came in ragged gasps as he searched the room for more enemies, but the goblin had been the only one close enough to intervene before Markash had acted.

The magister's grip on Castor's forehead tightened, the demonic power within him surging forth. Castor's eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees buckled. Markash caught him before he could collapse completely, holding him upright with an eerie calm. The room was frozen in time, the air thick with the scent of burnt ozone from the discharged magic.

Brother Adrian backed towards the stairs, only to realize he was trapped. Chelsea sauntered towards him the newly summoned succubus, Aeslith, helping her move like a predator stalking its prey. Her eyes held an unnatural glow that seemed to pierce his very soul. He raised his mace in a trembling hand, the fear of eternal damnation battling with his duty to the Church.

The succubus's smile was a promise of exquisite pleasure and unbearable pain. She reached out a hand to him, her voice a seductive whisper that seemed to resonate through his very bones. "Your faith is strong, little one," she cooed, "but it won't save you from the truth that lies within these walls." As the magic flooded into the young man his eyes glazed over and the mace slipped from his hands.

Markash gently lowered the **** inquisitor to the floor. He stepped back, wiping his hand on his robe as if to cleanse himself of the taint of the holy man. He glared at Isabella, fury written across his features.

"You foolish girl," he hissed. "Do you wish to bring the wrath of the Church down upon us?"

Isabella's eyes were wide with shock and fear. "I didn't mean to, I just..." Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice quivering with the tremble of her body.

"Samuel, take what guards are loyal to us and tell them to occupy the rest of the inquisitorial party, get them drunk on the church's wine for all I care." Markash's voice was low, dangerously calm. "I will handle Castor." Samuel nodded and disappeared out the door, the thump of his booted feet echoing through the corridor.

Turning to Chelsea, Markash's gaze softened slightly. "Take Adrian and... convince him." His anger had abated enough to address Isabella again. "You… Go to your chamber, meditate, channel, recover. I will come to you after I have handled this mess."

Isabella nodded, her eyes still wide with shock, she stared at the had that had so casually killed a man and fled up the stairs, her robes swishing around her. Markash was left with the **** form of Inquisitor Castor, the sizzle of magic still hanging in the air. He knelt beside the man, his hands moving in a series of precise, arcane gestures. The room grew colder, the candles flickering as shadows danced on the walls. Markash's eyes glowed with a faint blue light as he whispered an incantation, his lips moving in a silent chant that seemed to pull at the very fabric of reality. With a snap he found himself in the man's mind.

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Castor's consciousness was a tumultuous sea of thoughts and emotions, a maelstrom of doubt and anger. Markash's magic wove through the chaos, seeking the core of the man's beliefs. He found the inquisitor's unshakable faith in the Church, the very foundation of his identity. It appeared on the mental landscape as a great Cathedral, it's doors barred against the magister and demon.

With a snarl, Markash focused his power, a tendril of dark energy lashing out like a whip. The doors shuddered, creaking under the onslaught. Castor's mind reeled, his thoughts becoming a cacophony of fear and pain. The barrier shuddered, but held. Markash lashed out impotently at the doors, but they held firm. Killing an inquisitor was going to be very problematic. They could make one body disappear, but killing Castor - no, if he failed to report back to the church proper it would destroy their work.

"A subtler approach?" Aesmaram waved his hand over himself, changing form to a nun in her habit. Even in this mind-space the Incubus could not hide his nature fully, and the habit did little to hid the nun's large breasts, or voluminous hips; even her habit was designed in a way to emphasize her sexuality.

Castor's mind was in uproar, his thoughts a storm of doubt and fear. The cathedral, a bastion of his faith, was now under siege from this... this... demon! He had to hold firm. He had to. A gentle rapping came from the door that was just battered with the Magister’s ****.

The nun stepped forward, rapping on the door, a gentle smile on her face. "You must be tired, my son," she said in a soothing voice. "Let me in, and I will ease your burdens."

A nun? His dream scape filled in the gaps for him. He had to take care of her, rescue her from the demon’s outside. "Mother? You cannot be out there alone!" There was a moment of confusion, Castor's mind reeling to fill in the gaps, like any dream in which the sleeper knows something does not make sense, yet follow along none-the-less, the massive cathedral doors slowly opened, just enough to let her in.

The nun walked through the crack in the door before Castor hastily closed it behind him. The nun stepped closer, her eyes filled with a compassion that seemed to melt away the ice that had formed in Castor's heart. "You are a man of the Church, Inquisitor Castor," she said softly. "Your duty is to protect the innocent, to bring light to the darkest corners of the world. Do you doubt yourself so easily?"

Castor's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He knew this couldn't be real, that demons could not take the form of holy figures. Yet, as he looked into her eyes, he felt a strange warmth spread through his being. "I... I don't know what's happening," he stammered, his hand moving to his chest where his holy symbol hung. "There is something wrong with this town, the people here need us."

The nun nodded solemnly, her smile never wavering. "You are correct, Inquisitor Castor. The town is in dire need of protection, but not from the forces you suspect." She stepped closer, her habit brushing against his arm. "You have been sent on a noble quest, but you are blinded by your own suspicions. You seek the corruption where it does not dwell." The nun moved into the cathedral and sat on the stairs leading to the altar. "You look so tired, come sit." Her voice was so smoothing, but he couldn’t make sense of her words, why was he sent if not for the demon?

Castor found himself moving on legs that seemed not his own, his body responding to the gentle coaxing of the nun's words. As he sat, she leaned closer, pulling his head to rest on her bosom. Her heartbeat was a soothing lullaby that seemed to replace the cacophony of his doubt with a steady rhythm of assurance. The warmth of her embrace helped to melt the icy grip of fear that had held him moments before.

"You are not here to find evil in those who wish to serve the light," the demon whispered in the guise of the nun. "Your true purpose is to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to be a beacon in the night." Castor nodded, feeling the burden of his suspicions slipping away. Her hand stroked his hair, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her habit, and his body responded.

“But the demon.” He started.

“There is no demon, just a magister who seeks to protect the people. You exist to help in those moments.” The inquisitor's mind grew hazy, the lines between the demon's words and his own thoughts blurring. His body grew heavy with desire, and he leaned into her embrace, his hand moving to rest on her thigh. The nun's smile grew broader, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "You see now, don't you?" she purred. “The church abhors those who seek protection where they have failed. This magister is a holy man, he protects the innocent, like we are meant to do. Not just through dogma.”

Her hand slid up to his neck, her grip tightening slightly. Castor's mind struggled against the seductive haze, but the demon's power was too strong. The cathedral around them grew dimmer, the shadows deepening as the demon's influence grew stronger. "You will leave Merrit's Bend," the demon's voice grew firmer, the gentle coaxing replaced by a command that resonated through his soul. "You will tell your superiors that the town is clean, and that the rumors of heresy were unfounded."

The demon did not press him for sexual satisfaction, comfortable in the knowledge that the doubt they had sown would blossom. Castor's hand remained on her thigh, his breathing shallow as the demon whispered the words of compliance into his ear. With a final, gentle squeeze of his neck, she released him, allowing him to stand. His eyes remained glazed over, but there was a newfound calmness in his demeanor.

"You will rest now," the demon said, her voice still carrying the warmth of the nun. "When you wake, you will remember only that you felt the warmth of the light within these walls, and you will speak only of our town's devotion to the Church."

Markash stepped back, his eyes returning to their usual charcoal hue as the illusion dissipated. He turned to the now compliant, ****, inquisitor, who slumped to the floor, utterly drained. "Take him to my chambers, that he might rest. He'll not remember this so may have questions." The guards nodded, hauling the heavy man up the stairs and into the tower.