This organization calls itself the Inquisition. My last visit planeward had been maybe... three years ago, but I was trying to subtly nail that down in the market when I'd been discovered. Back then, there'd been a reformation in the ranks and a push for a softer title, something less associated with their acts of torture to create the confessed out of the accused.
Seems it hadn't stuck. Call a mace a mace, I guess. They were the same ol' chaps from where I sat. A door opened and I tried to get a look at my new company; my shoulders flexed as my head lolled to one side, which made my wrists chafe against the rope.
Last time, they'd all been so uncomfortable in dresses and tunics. They weren't part of the fivefold faith anymore, and they hadn't been acknowledged by the military or civilian forces. From what I could tell with my difficult view and the weak daylight leaking through the unglazed windows, I thought these leathery coats and capes were the best so far. Trying too hard, maybe. They'd cut an impressive figure through the market streets.
Chairs moved. I failed to lift my chin from my chest and made a big effort to focus my eyes. There were two inquisitors. The graying man sat awkwardly to make space for the sword he wouldn't unbuckle that he probably wasn't supposed to carry. The youth--well, probably not that young--not an apprentice, but maybe a junior agent... he was... rough-made. Years of good meals and daylight sat poorly in his skin. The bones stood out, and he was heavy-padded and spidery at the same time.
I made something approaching eye contact with the young agent and he began to fiddle with his hands, wiping them together and then fiddling with a ring.
How much of a mace were they nowadays? How were they forging their young people?
"I demand to know the charges," I slurred. Newbie jumped.
"There are no charges at this time," his elder said. Oldman, for now.
My eyes widened. "You... you aren't the police!"
Oldman scoffed. He leaned down, grunted, then shifted the pommel from his torso and tried again. A sound I hadn’t bothered to notice grew louder. Oldman drew out a flat, fist-sized rock and set it on the table. It shuddered so hard he had to clamp his fist against it to keep it on the table, but I knew it would have a hole straight through the middle.
“You’re coated in enough outer energy to crack a sight stone,” Oldman said loudly. “I’m sure this isn’t your first appointment with the Inquisition.”
Well, hells.
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