“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, but isn’t she a beauty,” she said, gesturing to the Inquisitor’s Chapter Hall next to the Keep. I didn’t look at it at first and took in her smile instead.
“Yeah, she is,” I said under my breath, lingering a bit longer on the Inquisitor.
She nudged me again. “You’re not looking.”
I sighed and glanced over. It was a boxy building, five stories tall with gray, no-nonsense stone. Arched windows allowed one to look out but were too slim for a rogue to escape. Or break in, whatever the case may be. Encircling the headquarters was a stout outer wall, fifteen feet high, with an iron portcullis. It was beautiful in the same way an armor-clad woman who wanted to put you in restraints was. Whatever people were into.
We passed through the portcullis. The guards snapped to attention and saluted Kismet, welcoming her back. Within the yard were silver-furred Battle Wargs, sleek-feathered Griffins, and enormous Stone Salamanders with fat tails. Common mounts to high-ranking Imperials and Inquisitors, Kismet explained.
Thick, double wooden doors studded with brass rivets led to the main hall. Two more Templars stood sentry and again saluted Kismet as we passed. Once inside, the décor consisted of rich, colorful tapestries lining the walls, showcasing the history of the Templars, notably all victories, and stone tiles in alternating patterns that led one to the appropriate facility. Everything was neat, orderly, and well maintained.
To the left was a processing station for criminals and the jail. To the right was a check-in station for all other inquiries. Directly ahead led to a grand ballroom with a massive crystal chandelier that cast a halo of light over everything below.
“Do you host a lot of ballroom dances here?” I asked Kismet.
“Inquisitors don’t have balls,” muttered Yvonne.
“Yes, we do. Everyone loves our balls. They’re the talk of the town,” protested Kismet.
Corvus, Yvonne, and I snickered.
“What? It’s true,” she said, not getting the joke.
We stood in line with other citizens, mostly in white togas despite the chill, to speak to a secretary with long nails. Even so late in the morning, her voice was still chipper as she patiently listened to our request.
“One moment, please,” she said, typing a message into the air.
Shortly, a tanned Imperial woman with black hair so tightly curled it sat on top of her head stepped out to greet us in the hallway.
“Disciple Liset ‘The Blessed,’ of the Temple of Areste?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“I like the middle part of that,” I said, stepping forward. My friends waved me on. They’d catch up after they finished their business.
The Commissar looked me up and down, her lips pulled to a wry angle I wasn’t sure how to interpret. In a way, her scowl reminded me of Veronika. Only, Veronika’s face had been rounder, gentler, her hair a mousy brown, and this woman was so gaunt she looked like she abused Affka in her free time. No, on company time. Her eyes were deep-set with sharp wings drawn in harsh kohl on the lids. Her armor, unlike Kismet’s full plate, was a mixture of gunmetal gray chainmail and black leather detailed with two Griffins and Celtic knots, with a quilted gray riding skirt over black pants and ankle wraps for shoes.
“What are you looking at?” she snapped, tilting her head.
“You remind me of a woman I used to know,” I explained.
“I am Cecilia, Commissar of the Inquisition. Follow me,” she commanded, leading me to a side office just off the hallway. There was a line of adventurers outside waiting for quests. She paid them no mind and led me to her office.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, taking a seat behind a polished oak desk. She gestured for me to sit in a velvet-cushioned chair and poured herself a cup of wine.
“Give it time,” I said, eying the wine suspiciously, remembering the last time I was offered a job and a drink by someone behind a desk.
“I hear you have trouble with authority,” said the Commissar, pouring me a glass of wine as well.
I shifted in the comfy chair and declined the drink with a wave of my hand. “I respect expertise, not authority, is all.”
She shrugged and downed the glass for herself. “In that case, the Empire may have need of your expertise. As the Wodes say, in the matter of boots, refer to the bootmaker.”
I glanced at the heeled sandals Justiciar Olivia had gifted me, right after she made me drink poisoned wine. “I don’t have tailoring, but I’ll do my best,” I said.
“No, maybe not.” The Commissar sipped from her own cup of wine. “But you did impress a lot of people with your... shall we say, unconventional tactics at the Black Temple. We interviewed the survivors and they had only praise for you.”
“The exarch was less than impressed with me,” I said. I wanted to add “he tried to have me killed,” but he hadn’t technically done so in this world. Not in a way that a native would understand. “They’ve been threatening to excommunicate me over it,” I added instead. Excommunicating a priest was close enough to execution in my eyes.
Commissar Cecilia laced her fingers together and leaned over her desk. “Tell me how you feel about him,” she said firmly. I couldn’t explain it, but there was something in her voice. Maybe it was her tone, or the tipsy sparkle to her brown eyes, but the effect was like magic. As stern as her exterior was, something in my chest told me to trust her. I felt as safe here, suddenly, as I had outside the Keep walls.
“He’s the worst possible exarch and a direct threat to Imperial peace and well-being,” I said, but that wasn’t the half of it. The feelings poured out of me in quick succession. Once the invitation to speak freely sunk in, I couldn’t stop myself.
“He’s a stinking pile of crap in a skin sack with a stick so far up his arse it hits his teeth. He might as well be called Lord of the Flies because the followers he attracts like the filth that comes out of his mouth. He’s the sort of man who would beat you half to death then charge you for the dry-cleaning of getting your blood out of his shirt. If the man were on fire, I wouldn’t piss on him to put him out. The whole temple could go up in flames and I’d light my cigarette off the ashes.”
The Commissar poured another drink. “I’m not entirely sure I get what you’re referring to, but I understand the sentiment behind your words.” She reviewed some papers in front of her and twirled the wine in her glass. “That’s certainly someway to speak about your own temple, though. That you showed mercy to Cian led us to believe you bought into Areste’s teachings, yet you leave none for your own exarch?”
“I hold a basic concept of love for humanity and life, and that’s unconditional, but my relationships with individuals are not,” I said. The feeling I had before of complete trust in the woman washed away like a tide. I swallowed a hard knot in my throat and couldn’t put my finger on what had changed.
“Then why haven’t you left the temple, if that’s how you feel?”
“Because I’d lose my class and I don’t want—”
I shook my head as if my brain were an Etch-A-Sketch and I could erase the thought. “Is this an interrogation, Commissar, or do you have a job for me?”
“Curiosity is part of my station, is all, Soror,” she said, setting her drink down without looking up. She flipped through the pages of a journal on her desk. “Two of my informants at the Broken Dagger, Therion and Kjen, have run into some trouble and insist they can’t do their job unless I get them some help. You’ll understand I’d rather not go there myself.”
I nodded. I had met them briefly back at the 12th Step Inn two days ago. I thought they were simple mercenaries. Kjen’s wife, Edni, had been captured and killed by the Darklings. It’d be good to tell him she got justice.
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Fallen Among Thieves
Commissar Cecilia of the Imperial Inquisition has asked you to speak to her informants, Therion and Kjen, at the Broken Dagger in Rowanheath. Win their trust and help them with whatever
is keeping them from fulfilling their obligation to the Inquisition.
Quest Class: Common
Quest Difficulty: Average
Success: Find out what the men think is more important than their duty to the Inquisition.
Failure: Out the informants to the other thieves; Fail to complete the quest chain within 3 hours
Reward: 500 XP; Increased reputation with the Inquisition; 1 gold payment
Accept: Yes/No?
<<<>>>
“How many Inquisition agents are there?” I asked, readily accepting the quest.
“While you’re in the area,” she continued, ignoring my question, “there’s some concerns in the Tanglewood. A Dawn Elf town, Ascomere, just north of Ravenkirk, has been having trouble reaching an ancestral crypt.”
Another quest alert popped up:
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Birds and the Zombees
Commissar Cecilia has asked you to visit the Hvitalfarian town of Ascomere and investigate why they requested you, specifically. The exact location is unknown but is said to be in the Whispering Grove.
Quest Class: Rare; Race-specific; Class-specific
Quest Difficulty: Average
Success: Find the hidden city
Failure: Fail to find the city by sundown.
Reward: 500 XP; Increased reputation with the Inquisition
Accept: Yes/No?
<<<>>>
I accepted this quest, too. Maybe I could pick up some of those nuts that were in my salad this morning while I was there.
“They’re not forthcoming with information, but they assured me only a priest with Veracity could do it. After your exploits at the temple, we know you have that spell.”
“That’s true.”
“They insisted it had to be a Dawn Elf. Only Hvitalfar are permitted in the ancestral crypt.”
“Okay,” I said reflexively. “Wait, that means my friends can’t come with me?”
“No. Besides, they’re needed elsewhere.”
“Important Inquisitor business, I assume?”
“You would not believe the paperwork you brought upon us. Be grateful we still welcomed you.”
“What about Yvonne? She’s not an Inquisitor,” I said. “I think,” I added. Who knew at this point? I had been a chef and was becoming an agent of the Inquisition and it wasn’t even noon.
“She’s volunteered to assist as liaison between the Inquisition and your temple to secure Hector’s remains for a proper burial after one of our plague doctors completes their autopsy report.”
When I didn’t say anything, she glanced up at me. “Unless you’d rather—”
“No, she’s definitely better suited for that.”
Commissar Cecilia closed her book and leaned back in her chair. “Tell me why you look so apprehensive,” she said. It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and I felt it again in my chest.
“It’s been a bad history with negative daggers lately,” I said, remembering how the Darkling Rodya had killed himself with a cursed blade to return to Morsheim. How Hector had taken a hit from the blade when he tried to keep Cian from doing the same.
“I have full faith in you,” she said. After a moment, she added, “You don’t need your friends to go talk to someone, do you, Liset?”
“No, I can do it. It’ll be nice to see the Tryharders again.”
“I wish they’d call themselves something different,” said Cecilia, “but nobody suspects someone who doesn’t take themselves seriously. That’s why I think you’ll do a great job.”
“Th-Thanks?”
To be honest, I was a bit disappointed I couldn’t attend Hector’s funeral. I would’ve liked the closure. But not at the cost of setting foot on that supposedly “hallowed” ground again.
“You can use our facilities to clean up first, or you’ll make an easy target,” said Cecilia, eying the dusting of flour on my priest robes. I’m sure my Unwashed buff wasn’t doing me any favors.
“Anything I should know about the Broken Dagger before I go?” I asked.
“It’s a den of depravity. A central hub of the Thieves’ Union. Gentleman Georgie, their leader in this city, recently died, so expect fighting.”
“Cool, cool, cool. Lone priest in a bar full of angry rogues. Just what I need.”
1st Libations, 24:7
The Broken Dagger was a questionable establishment for a reputable citizen on the best of days. I made it a point to wander and not go straight from Inquisition HQ to the Thieves’ Guild. It was difficult to find, even with the detailed map and description the Commissar made me memorize and repeat to her over and over before she tossed the paper into the fire. One would’ve thought it was unmarked, except she had also taught me a few Umbramarks the thieves used to communicate with other rogues.
And then, especially with Keen-Sight highlighting them in a faint glow, I couldn’t help but see them everywhere in Rowanheath as I made my way into the lower quarters. A crudely etched cat in the eaves of a whitewashed cottage decorated with hanging flowerpots indicated a kindly woman lived there, and to tell a pitiable story. An X inside a circle on another home indicated there was nothing worth stealing inside. A few indicated that survival would be difficult if you tried, while some, more than I anticipated, claimed the house paid the Thieves’ Guild for protection. For others, X marked the spot of treasure.
The inn itself had no sign or indication it was anything more than another door in the windowless wall of yet another leaning building, but I found the mark of the guild, a circle in a triangle, on the inside of the doorframe and let myself in.
The interior was smoky and dim, illuminated by a roaring fire on the right-hand side. Any rogue here could claim to sit in the shadows because that’s all there was. It didn’t make much of a difference to me, though. Being a Dawn Elf, my Night Eye ability let me see in dark places, albeit everything was in purple and blue. I didn’t mind the smell of smoke so much as the acrid stench of sweat, dirt, and stale beer. The patrons didn’t mind either as they packed the place, laughing, gambling, drinking, scheming. A golden-skinned Dawn Elf in a lacy dress serenaded everyone with a jaunty song.
I looked around. The crowd was too distracted by her dress or their own business to understand what she was saying. The happy melody hid her sadness, and she was performing in more ways than one.
I understood, though. She was singing in Hvitalfarian about her, our, homeland. How she dreamt of a time when the sun never set on it and the rivers and trees spoke to us as neighbors. She sung of her family “slumbering under the hills,” and may they long live.
When she finished, they clapped and smiled along, some cheering and tossing coins into a bucket on the platform. The coins that landed on the stage instead were quickly snatched up by unseen hands.
Behind a long wooden bar, a barkeep with a bald head and large gut served pint after pint of mead. My mouth watered. I still didn’t see my contacts, though, and that made me nervous. It’s not like I wasn’t used to bars, but usually they had a string of lights out front and prettier women.
A waif-like dark elf in black leathers winked at me from the bar. I made an exception for her.
Everyone was looking at me now, eying the golden bangles on my right wrist and the soft, intricately woven fabric that made up my priest’s robes. They exchanged smirks and grunts of disapproval. I wished I had stopped to buy a cheap dress instead, but I was glad I didn’t. If I had money, it would have been gone by now, and if I stashed the full armor of God in my inventory, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been gone, too.
A representative of the crowd pushed out his chair and downed his mug in one gulp before marching over to me. He chuckled to himself and stroked a long beard as he looked me over.
“What’ve we got ’ere, eh?”
The dark elf woman at the bar was gone when I looked to her for backup. She appeared beside me, peeking over my shoulder. “You get lost on your way to church, priestess?” she crooned in my ear.
My spine stiffened like a metal rod, but I kept my smile up. “A life of purity and virtue was getting a little boring. I thought I’d check out the local Gentleman’s Club for a drink.”
The woman cackled and appeared in a burst of smoke behind the bearded Wode, slapping him on the back. “Go easy on her, Arne. She’s fun.”
“What did you call us?” stammered Arne.
“Thieves’ guild, you know. I heard your Gentleman recently passed. My condolences.”
Arne laughed. “Georgie doesn’t need your last rites, sister. Look, we’re more like a union really. A sort of loose coalition of like-minded individuals—”
“Dirty deeds done at standard union rates?” I asked with a grin.
Arne smiled. He touched the corners of his eyes then brought his fingers forward so they looked like guns. “See, you understand,” he said with a wink. “Everyone here is concerned with themselves first and foremost. With that being said, it’s a cold, hard world out there, and we recognize there’s a certain strength in numbers. So, from time to time, we work together for mutual benefit and survival. When it suits our individual goals, obviously.”
“Obviously,” murmured the individuals around us, nodding in agreement.
“You seem more in line with my virtues than my temple, then,” I said, which got a beer-laden snort from someone at the table beside me.
“You want to be a rogue?” asked Arne, scoffing.
“With tithes, the temple is the biggest thief of them all, am I right, fellas?” I asked, turning my palms to the ceiling as if I were preaching.
I spotted Kjen and Therion and the others at a table in the back. Therion took a swig from his mug. He wiped the foam from his braided beard and did a double take as he spotted me. I wiggled my fingers to say hi, and he spit the beer over Kjen.
Kjen stood to curse him out, wiping beer off his leather armor, but Therion grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him to look at me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the din, but they slapped the others at the table to get their attention and raised their glasses in a toast to me.
Arne, spotting that I wasn’t unknown or unwelcome here, stepped aside. “Temple’s unthiefly,” he muttered.
Viridian Gate Online: Schism: A litRPG Adventure (The Heartfire Healer Series Book 2) Page 4
