Confessions of an Inquisitor: Elves, Tarts and Roses

Steam, laden with the scent of roses, drifted above the bath. Spellweave cloth softer than the finest silk pooled on the floor around Marda’s feet. She moaned softly as she lowered her body into the water, feeling the knots in her shoulders and back relax.

Extravagant? Yes, it was. The devout had no need of such comforts, but inquisitors were a breed apart. With their gifts came odd quirks which required special consideration. The Scarlet Crusade saw it as a small price for the service it received: scapegoats to keep the Crusade pure by doing what was necessary and, ultimately, paying the price for those sins. No one envied their positions.

Marda closed her eyes, letting the warmth and fragrance of the bath work its magic on body and mind. She could almost see information dancing before her eyes; little pieces of a large puzzle drifting in a breeze, waiting for someone clever to fit them together and reveal their secret. Someone perceptive. Someone brilliant. Someone strong enough to bear the burden of whatever knowledge was concealed. Someone like her.

The whore she spotted leaving the fortress hadn’t shocked her. Such things weren’t encouraged and it was no secret that any soldier that contracted the Plague would be executed along with his squad, but men were stupid at times. Regular rotations and restrictions to movement between units were in place to prevent any sudden outbreak, so a small amount was tolerated. Better to let the troops use some Argent Dawn tramp than rape each other.

No, seeing the woman slip away wasn’t enough to interest her, nor was she feeling playful enough to use a psychic scream to cause her to flee into the claws of a nearby gargoyle. But when she met the elf with the silver double-headed eagle on a dark blue field, she had Marda's undivided attention. Troops were gathered, orders snapped, and within half an hour she had two prisoners locked inside Tyr's Hand and a myriad of questions to be answered.

Marda let herself slide deeper into the bath, the water caressing her neck and behind her ears like a lover's fingers. She poked the puzzle pieces, examining and cataloging them as they drifted into new patterns.

the elf was a Silver Dragoon... commander had a reputation for irrational belligerence... the Crusade couldn't antagonize her allies too deliberately... four spies in less than three months... Salvation was near... the Vessel was a Dragoon... the tart had "flippy red hair..." two strangers were asking about a woman with "flippy red hair..." her name was Delphiee... pretty name... the Vessel had a lover named-

She sat up so violently water sloshed over the sides of the bath. They knew! Somehow they'd found out! But how much did they know? Were they ready to move against the Crusade or trying to gather more data?

She grabbed a towel and dried as she went, wet footprints following her through her bedchamber, down the hall and into her study. She seized paper and pen and began to write, her hand still elegant despite her haste.

"I have captured two more spies at Tyr's Hand, one a member of the Silver Dragoons. Use every means available to secure the Original Sin and Salvation. See to the guests I left with you; I will want to see them when I return. Prepare a room for another guest and provide it with laboratory equipment. Do not fail in this.

The Crusade will prevail.
Inquisitor Du Bois
Tyr's Hand"

She rang for an attendant, which arrived as she was sealing the message. She walked around the desk and thrust the message into his hands before he could compose himself.

"See this delivered. Guard it as if it was your very soul." He nodded dumbly as she turned from him and picked up her towel. "I grant you pardon for your current thoughts. Make this incident known and I will flay you alive for your penance. Now, go!" He slammed the door shut as he quickly retreated from the room.

Marda returned to her chambers and brushed her hair, her mind fitting pieces together and determining which she still needed. The elf could reveal the depth of the Dragoons' knowledge. How difficult he made it would determine his final fate. As for the tart...

Marda chose a cut rose and put it in her hair. If she was right about the woman, there was much they could learn from her. And learn it they would. One way or another.

She admired her face and hair in the mirror for a moment, then went to find appropriate clothing for the evening's activities.

{{ edited the letter slightly }}