Fantasy Sanctus et Foedus Sanguis

[Aron the Aron]

Unfortunately for the inquisitor telepathic communication was rarely a two-way street, and in no small part due to laziness among other concerns Cecilia had elected for a more standard one-way communication. So, the mage remained blissfully unaware of her companion's whispered words - though she did have the sense to remain invisible during her teleportation, given how little she was doing to check her destination.

In less than a blink of an eye, Cecilia found herself a small distance behind the inquisitor -

Honed instinct and the faint, familiar pulse from her talisman was all the warning "Felicia" needed. Her body reacted before her mind caught up–a flick of the wrist, the glint of steel, and the dagger was already loosed from her fingers.

She hadn’t expected it to stop mid-air.

Felicia exhaled slowly through her nose, schooling her brief surprise into something neutral. Her other hand was already in the process of drawing her sword–

- or so it should have been, as no sooner had she processed the blatantly heretical decor of the small room than she noticed a knife suspended before her, barely a hair from her breast. Just a small error from her heart. She shrugged off the surprise as quickly as she had come to receive it, quickly scanning the room again before finally dropping the invisibility around herself.

"For an invisible target -" She reached up and wrenched the knife from the barrier it had wedged into, a faint crackling sound as the enchantment was broken by physical force, "- that was an uncannily good throw."

With a somewhat cocky grin, like the knife never could have really hurt her, Cecilia held the blade by the tip and offered the handle to her companion. "The lack of hesitation was also reassuring." If it weren't for familiar spindly fingers wrapped in bandages giving a hint of the weakness that had been the Cardinal's identity for the past few days, her escort may have been left to wonder who this imposter was.

...Shit.

Her mind, belatedly catching up, supplied a list of potential consequences for nearly impaling her charge; none of them were ideal. The Choir certainly wouldn’t have taken kindly to an overzealous attempt on the Cardinal’s life, no matter how accidental the circumstances. And now, she had to contend with the knowledge that Cecilia could teleport and vanish at will–details that, had she known earlier, might have prevented the knife from leaving her hand in the first place.

But the Cardinal was... smiling.

"Felicia" took back the dagger, careful not to let their fingers brush. She turned it over once in her hand, then slid it back beneath her robes. No apology, no excuse. She doubted Cecilia expected either.

After handing back the throwing knife the Cardinal pulled up her long skirt out of the way and squatted down without issue to observe the person that the inquisitor had incapacitated moments before, a man practically flaunting his wealth in his finery. "Difficult to tell the heretic from the vain. Found anything on your side?"

Felicia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she crouched beside the unconscious man, her gloved fingers brushing against the fine embroidery of his sleeve. He reeked of perfume–floral, overpowering, desperate to mask something fouler beneath.

Vain, certainly. But heretic?

Her gaze flickered to his hands, noting the absence of ink stains, callouses, or any other sign of labor. Soft fingers, adorned with rings too gaudy for subtle wealth; a man accustomed to indulgence, not study. If he was involved in the occult, he wasn’t the one handling the rituals.

"... Nothing yet..." she murmured at last, her voice quiet as was her usual. "... But he isn’t the one writing."

The Blanchette exhaled slowly and eased the door open. The corridor beyond was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a distant wall sconce. She padded forward, careful to avoid the creaking floorboards near the rug’s edge. Down the hall, a single door stood slightly ajar, a faint golden light spilling from within. The scent of burning incense slithered into her nostrils—cloying, metallic.

Bloodroot resin. A common tool in occult rituals.

This was it.

"Felicia" hugged the dagger in her hand close to her chest and inched closer, pressing herself against the doorframe. She risked a glance inside. A study—bookshelves lined the walls, but her eyes were drawn to the heavy oak table at the center. A candle burned beside an open tome, its pages filled with esoteric symbols. Next to it, a small wooden box sat slightly ajar, revealing a cluster of teeth—human, by the look of them.

Evidence.

She took a measured breath and stepped inside, every muscle tensed for the slightest shift in the air. Carefully, she reached for the tome, fingers gliding over its aged parchment. The ink was still fresh. A journal, perhaps?

... The ink hadn’t fully dried yet when "Felicia" returned her focus to the original target of her attention.

She turned a page carefully, mindful of smudging the parchment and potentially self-sabotaging her investigation. The script was precise–methodical in a way that suggested discipline rather than frantic desperation or amateurish curiosity. Whoever had written this was experienced... Confident.

A prickle of dread ran down the Inquisitor's spine.

She forced herself to scan the words, filing away symbols and phrases she recognized; some she didn’t. The presence of teeth in the box suggested blood magic, but the writing lacked the usual erratic structure of amateur rituals. If anything, it read like a ledger—records, notes, observations.

Her grip on the tome whitened.

"... We aren't dealing with dabblers." she finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "... This is highly organized."

 

[That Lass Over There]

Felicia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she crouched beside the unconscious man, her gloved fingers brushing against the fine embroidery of his sleeve. He reeked of perfume–floral, overpowering, desperate to mask something fouler beneath.

Vain, certainly. But heretic?

Her gaze flickered to his hands, noting the absence of ink stains, callouses, or any other sign of labor. Soft fingers, adorned with rings too gaudy for subtle wealth; a man accustomed to indulgence, not study. If he was involved in the occult, he wasn’t the one handling the rituals.

"... Nothing yet..." she murmured at last, her voice quiet as was her usual. "... But he isn’t the one writing."

"... Hm."

Unlike her companion, Cecilia barely examined the man, instead turning her gaze to the woman beside her. That the inquisitor had found nothing yet, when she had come up with plenty? Perhaps this last location on the inquisitor's hit list was simply the last collaborator they had the name of to investigate. It would be surprising if more than a small number of Bursa's officials were playing part in this conspiracy after all, especially with what she had come to understand.

Those thoughts aside, she thought the response the inquisitor gave was a little cute. The one who wrote matters in differentiating heretics? She didn't think too much about the response. Probably, just like her own comment, it was simply idle chatter exposing surface thoughts. Still, the attempt to keep conversation was cute.

... The ink hadn’t fully dried yet when "Felicia" returned her focus to the original target of her attention.

She turned a page carefully, mindful of smudging the parchment and potentially self-sabotaging her investigation. The script was precise–methodical in a way that suggested discipline rather than frantic desperation or amateurish curiosity. Whoever had written this was experienced... Confident.

A prickle of dread ran down the Inquisitor's spine.

She forced herself to scan the words, filing away symbols and phrases she recognized; some she didn’t. The presence of teeth in the box suggested blood magic, but the writing lacked the usual erratic structure of amateur rituals. If anything, it read like a ledger—records, notes, observations.

Her grip on the tome whitened.

"... We aren't dealing with dabblers." she finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "... This is highly organized."

She didn't stop the inquisitor from getting up, finally turning her attention back to the man lain on the ground. Her back to her companion and the inquisitor's attention elsewhere, it wasn't entirely certain what she did with the man - only that it provoked a faint response from the talisman, and that by the time the Cardinal stood the man had ceased breathing.



"Mm? Something interesting in that scribble book?" Cecilia's grey eyes immediately locked on to the book in the inquisitor's hands when she heard such a reaction to its contents. The whitened knuckles and reddened fingertips, the whispered words that sounded like concern - it was enough to grab the flighty interest of the mage who had initially dismissed the book as nothing more than a Daemon's prank with a glance.

When she held out her spindly hand and received the book from the blanchette she eagerly flipped through the first few pages - only to quickly transition to a disinterested skim, whatever curiosity she had shriveled by the nonsense she read. "Highly organized," she started her comment as she continued through the book, at least finishing her due diligence - ", does not equate experience. There's only two usable spells in here. The Daemon must have had fun between giving its unwitting slaves the know-how necessary to summon and bind lesser Daemons to its own bidding."



That thought, at least, did provoke Cecilia to pinch the bridge of her nose, carelessly tossing the useless book to the corpse behind before they both set alight in white-red flame. "We're dealing with at least three middle-rank Daemons. One with a complex who's taking too much delight in bossing these fools around, one who's actually pulling the strings of this operation to keep the idiot one in check, and one that's gone rogue and perpetrated the solo kidnappings... Probably."

Even with the air of confidence that followed the Cardinal tonight, she couldn't help but squeeze in that final word under her breath. She didn't really know what was going on, after all, and her previous involvements with Daemons skewed much more towards the 'cleansing' side than the investigation they found themselves doing here. "Whatever the case, it's certain that the situation is far past what the guard is prepared to handle." Not that calling up the city guard had been her plan A, but given her discovery that they would be dealing with a large number of lesser Daemons while poking around on her end - the thought had crossed her mind. They were only two people, and a disadvantage of numbers should be avoided when possible.

 

[Aron the Aron]

"Mm? Something interesting in that scribble book?" Cecilia's grey eyes immediately locked on to the book in the inquisitor's hands when she heard such a reaction to its contents. The whitened knuckles and reddened fingertips, the whispered words that sounded like concern - it was enough to grab the flighty interest of the mage who had initially dismissed the book as nothing more than a Daemon's prank with a glance.

When she held out her spindly hand and received the book from the blanchette she eagerly flipped through the first few pages - only to quickly transition to a disinterested skim, whatever curiosity she had shriveled by the nonsense she read. "Highly organized," she started her comment as she continued through the book, at least finishing her due diligence - ", does not equate experience. There's only two usable spells in here. The Daemon must have had fun between giving its unwitting slaves the know-how necessary to summon and bind lesser Daemons to its own bidding."

That thought, at least, did provoke Cecilia to pinch the bridge of her nose, carelessly tossing the useless book to the corpse behind before they both set alight in white-red flame. "We're dealing with at least three middle-rank Daemons. One with a complex who's taking too much delight in bossing these fools around, one who's actually pulling the strings of this operation to keep the idiot one in check, and one that's gone rogue and perpetrated the solo kidnappings... Probably." [/font]

"Felicia" paused, her eyes still locked on the book as she let her grip on it fall slack. She had no illusions about what was happening, and her instincts told her that the situation was escalating at a pace that she couldn't let go on for long. If left unchecked, the Daemons would move on to do far worse than gifting low-level magic to some cultists.

She couldn’t afford to fail.

Her gaze flickered briefly to Cecilia as she noted the scene behind her, watching the fat tub of blubber and finery that was the nobleman be eaten away with arcane fire. There was some surprise, but little shock-the Cardinal had her methods, and they were hardly "Felicia's" concern. Still, it was just more things about the Cardinal's capabilities that "Felicia" was learning.

"... They won’t be satisfied with just this..." Her voice was low, a near whisper as she spoke more to herself than to Cecilia. Her eyes flicked toward Cecilia for a brief moment, a rare attempt to convey more than her usual guarded silence. She didn’t want to admit it, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her safe if it all escalated further.

Her fingers tightened, not around the book, but the sword at her hip. It was a moment of weakness-too brief to notice, but one she despised showing.

"Whatever the case, it's certain that the situation is far past what the guard is prepared to handle." Not that calling up the city guard had been her plan A, but given her discovery that they would be dealing with a large number of lesser Daemons while poking around on her end - the thought had crossed her mind. They were only two people, and a disadvantage of numbers should be avoided when possible.

Call it a matter of personal pride, but the Inquisitor had always felt strongly about not involving the locals, even if it afforded the advantage of greater numbers and wider coverage. While a single lesser Daemon could be handled by a small team of trained militiamen, it was always a gamble to put civilians in harm's way. In her mind, they were not equipped for the sort of battle that awaited them, facing a Daemon was more than just dangerous, it was cruel.

She had seen the aftermath of what happened when people who were unprepared were dragged into Daemonic affairs

"... Not their fight." She muttered softly, barely audible. It wasn’t just about protecting her own, or keeping the Daemons contained; it was about sparing the innocent from the kind of terror they weren’t meant to face.

This wasn’t a fight for the guard; this was her responsibility, and hers alone. She’d see it through, as she always had.

"... I’ll handle it."