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Part 3 of an Inquisitor's adventures in Golarion.

Part 1: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/33374470/

Part 2:

Part 3.

We were nearing the end of our journey. The city of Magnimar, my destination, was only a day’s ride away. When I asked what to expect of it, Sir Mortin’s expression became grim.

“Magnimar is the greatest hive of scum and villainy you’ll ever see. Except, of course, the countries of Chelaxia, the Shackles, the Hold of Belkzen, the River Kingdoms, Razmiran, Ustalav, Nex, Geb, and currently Galt.” Sir Mortin said gravely.

“No, it probably isn’t.” I replied.

He gave me a confused look.

“I can name 47 planets and an entire planetary system off the top of my head that are more likely much, much worse.” I clarified.

“Oh.” He said. He seemed sad.

He seemed to think for a moment. While I liked him quite a bit, he didn’t do much thinking. While this was an admirable trait in soldiers, Inquisitors were taught to trust no one. Corruption lurked everywhere.

“What, precisely, does your Emperor do?” He asked.

“Well, he guides us, for one. Literally. Our ships travel through what you would consider Hell as a means of faster than light travel. Err, it’s a dangerous form of teleportation. The Emperor’s power is like a navigational beacon that our…magic users use to not get lost in hell. So, he guides us into and out of hell, multiple times a day, and has been doing so for thousands and thousands of years.” I said.

“Have you seen him?” Sir Mortin asked.

“Err…no. I’ve never actually seen him. He doesn’t really get out much.” I replied, trying to skirt the truth.

Most didn’t know that the Emperor was currently dying on a complex life-support machine we had no idea how to operate because the knowledge of its operations had been lost thousands of year ago. They just believed he was a God. Life was kind of shitty like that. But no way was I going to allow him an excuse to bad mouth my Emperor.

“Why would he not wish to halt the corruption within his people then?” Sir Mortin asked.

I winced. Oh well. I was almost positive he was a human lie detector. Wiggling out of this one was going to be difficult.

“He’s very busy,” I hedged, “He’s got several warfronts to manage at any given time. Not to mention answering prayers occasionally.”

“Hmmph.” Sir Mortin said, obviously unsatisfied.

“Well, what about your god. Tons of corruption here and I don’t see her getting directly involved. She only has to manage one planet. Don’t throw stones if you live in a glass house.” I said.

Sir Mortin was not amused.

I did envy him some of the divine powers here. Bringing the dead back to life was a pretty damn good power. It made me wonder something though.

“So how many people die of thirst or starvation?” I asked.

“Well, quite a few, especially in the deserts.” He replied.

“Why?” I asked.

“Whatever do you mean.” He asked, sensing a trap.

“Well, I can create water just by saying a prayer. Food too, eventually. I can make water literally all day. Pure, drinkable water. Why would anyone die of thirst if they could just pray for water, or, if some lack the ability, why wouldn’t the churches just create gallons of water, especially in arid climates, and give them away as charity?” I asked.

He stared.

“You do realize lack of resources is the most direct source of conflicts, right?” I asked, “How many in those arid regions have died in wars over an oasis?”

He was silent. I felt a little bad for him, and a bit guilty about attempting to one up him. We had such completely different world views.

My morals were apparently quite gray here, my xenophobia was most likely off-putting to him. I’m more abrasive than most, but you get that way when everyone you meet is a demon cultist attempting to sacrifice you and murder a planet.

A scream rang out past the tree line off the path to our right. I was a bit startled, not by the screaming, I was used to that. Years on Hive worlds generally do that to you. I wasn’t used to it happen in the middle of the day. It seemed too convenient. Sir Mortin didn’t seem to think so. He practically leaped off his horse, starting for the tree line.

I glanced at Leo and Belize, who were doing the same, although somewhat slower.

“How often do you guys get ambushed by bandits?” I asked.

Leo and Belize looked at eachother, then turned to me, smiling.

“Never. HE gets ambushed all the time though.” Leo said.

“We usually creep around the side, and ambush THEM.” Belize said.

I nodded, getting off my horse. After days of riding, I was pretty sore, so I was much slower than them.

“Well, don’t wait for me. I’ll get there *ack!* eventually.” I said.

They nodded and advanced to the treeline, Leo barely making a sound, and Belize not that much loader as they moved through the undergrowth.

A twigged cracked off to the left of the path. I whirled, bringing one of the Talldar’s blades up in a guard.

The buck stopped, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. I turned back to the clearing, starting forward. Thank the Emperor it wasn’t some of the other fauna on this world. Without the prevalence of consequence-free psyker abilities on this planet and faith powers, this would have been considered a Death World. Actually, thinking about it, for the average inhabitant, it still was.

There was a scrape behind me, and I rolled on instinct. The buck’s antlers pierced the air where my torso had been a second ago. It paused, seemingly stunned when it hit nothing, glancing around wildly. I hefted my sword.

“Eat Eldar sky-metal, foul herbivore!” I cried, chopping at its neck.

You could accuse Eldar of many things, but shoddy craftsmanship was not one of them. They lived on giant space arcologies call “Craftworlds” for the Emperor’s sake. Swinging the sword made me feel like Espicio Reynardo, Assassin extraordinaire. His glorious murders for the Imperium were some of the top selling holovids on my home planet.

The buck parried my blow with his antlers. It didn’t work out for him though. This sword is SHARP. Half his antlers clattered to the ground. The buck backed off, shaking his head and pawing at his head, where I noticed half an ear was dangling as well. I grinned.

The buck started chanting. My jaw dropped.

No fucking way. I swear on the Emperor’s holy name that it was grinning smugly at me. I charged.

“Be purged, foul witch!” I swung again.

My heart wasn’t really in it though. A fucking deer. Emperor preserve me.

Instead of parrying, it simply trotted backwards, continuing its chant. I wasn’t an expert in casting spells, but I knew foul heresy when I saw it. The fact that it was STILL chanting meant really bad things for me if it got the spell off. It sounded like it was finishing up, its voice was rising. I did the only thing I could think of. I threw the sword.

The buck seemed to try twisting out of the way, its eyes wide. My sword pierced its side a good 8 inches. Possibly a killing blow, I thought.

The buck staggered and fell on its side, breathing heavily. Pink froth was coming out of its mouth and nose. Definitely hit a lung.
I unsheathed my dagger and walked forward. It looked up at me, almost pleading, and I heard a rasping sound, followed by a gurgle. I bent down and cut its throat. Blood gushed wetly onto the path.

We had fresh venison just the other night. Leo had killed it. I had to admire the people of these lands. They killed and ate witches on a regular basis. I listened for any sound from the clearing, but heard nothing. That they didn’t come running could mean they were in trouble. I strode to the tree line.

I heard voices up ahead.

“Tie these three up. Leeroy’s looking for the other one,” a female voice said.

I tensed, looking around behind me. I didn’t see anyone. I wondered how he could lose me. I turned back to look at the small clearing. Leo, Morin, and Belize were lying on the ground, not moving. Standing around them were weird people in green robes. They wore animal skulls as masks, and the one who spoke was wielding a golden sickle.

There were 4 of them. I didn’t like my odds. To down all three of my companions took a hell of a lot. I wondered how they did it. I waited in the brush. A few minutes passed and sweat began to trickle down my brow. The cultists were looking worried. Leeroy hadn’t come back. I wonder if he had gotten lost.

“Khal, Mard, go find Leeroy, we don’t have time to wait for him. The sacrifices MUST be made when the new moon rises or the ritual will not work!” The female cultist seemed a bit frustrated.

Khal and Mard, two rather stout looking fellows, started off into the brush, thankfully not the same place that I was hiding. I breathed a sigh of relief. 2 to 1 odds weren’t great, but much better than 4 to 1. I wondered just how unconscious my companions were. Finger Water might bring them around.

The other man had his back to me, watching his prisoners, while the Cultist leader was pacing around angrily. I only had the sword, a dagger, and my faith, and I really only knew the one prayer.

I weighed the dagger in my hand. It wasn’t really made for throwing, but I was 15 feet away, so I would probably hit whatever I threw it at. They might not get the business end, but it would keep whoever I hit off balance.

I considered my targets. The man standing over my friends was armed with a mace. If I couldn’t get a direct hit on the woman, I’d have to deal with both of them. One of the two had to go down with the first swing.

I charged. The female cultist looked up, startled, and gave a brief cry. The male started turning. I tossed my dagger at the female, who had already started chanting. It hit her arm, making her stumble and interrupted her casting. The man had turned and was bringing his mace up in a guard, but he was too slow. My sword went up through his ribs.

The cultist woman had recovered, and was casting again. I tugged the blade free, advancing on her. She finished her spell, and I felt my sword heat up in my grasp. I dropped it with a hiss of pain. She smiled and started chanting again. I barreled towards her.

“Finger Water!” I cried, splashing her in the face with my stream.

She sputtered and coughed, putting her hands up to ward off the water. I dove for her legs, dropping her to the ground. She brought the sickle around to stab me, hit one of my arms. I screamed in pain, and cold clocked her with my other arm.

She yanked the sickle free. That arm was useless, and a feeling of coldness spread from the wound. She brought it back for another swing, and I caught it with my good hand this time, jamming my elbow into her cheek. She struggled, trying to bring her knees up to kick me off her.

I reached up and bit her wrist. She screamed, her hold on the sickle weakening, and managed to kick me off of her. I rode the kick up and over her, twisting the sickle free from her grasp. We scrambled to our feet, and I swung her sickle at her, catching her throat. Blood sprayed all over my new travelling clothes.

I looked around. My companions were still on the ground. I heard rustling and shouts from the path. Looks like the rest of them were on their way. I turned to my companions.

“FINGER WATER!” I cried, splashing them all.

Leo was the first one up. He quickly shook off his disorientation, and then squared off with me.

“Bout focking time you showed up! What the bleeding fock were you doing, taking a piss?” He shouted.

“Look Leo, I experienced complications. And there’s still two more left,” I said, nodding to the brush.

“Oh good,” his lips twisted into a feral grin, “I was hoping to get a shot at them!”

He started off into the brush, and I heard screams. I heard the brush rustle, and then another series of screams. These ones didn’t end like the first ones had. I shook my head with a smile. Hiveworlders.

I saw Sir Mortin had some nasty wounds, but was still alive. His head was bleeding profusely. I unstoppered a healing potion and force fed him it. I saw his eyes flutter open, unfocused.

“Am I within Saranrae’s holy realm?” He asked.

“That depends,” I replied, “is it filled with dead cultists?”

His eyes focused on me.

“No. Ass.” He said.

"I disagree." I said, grinning.

Belize was already coming to on her own. Guess they were gentler on her. I wonder if they had planned on killing her. With her garments, most would have held her for ransom first.

She groaned, clutching her head. She was looking around, and upon seeing the corpse of the female cultist, gave a wry smile.

“Wow, I never expected a backwoods hedgewitch would be capable of dropping me with one spell. “ she marveled.

“So, I’m slightly confused,” I admitted, “why didn’t she just use the same spell on me?”

“Well, because if you don’t prepare a spell twice, you can’t cast it twice.” She replied.

“What?” I said.

She gave me a blank look. A lot of people here give me that look.

“You guys memorize complex formulas and incantations to cast your spells. You use these spells literally EVERY DAY. And you’re telling me that you can’t cast a spell twice unless you memorize it…twice. In a day. Right after you memorized it the first time. So I ask again, what?” I said.

“That’s just how it is, a faith-based magic user like you could never understand the vagaries of my craft.” She sniffed.

“Right.” I replied

We all marched back onto the path, careful not to step in the scattered intestines of Khal, or possibly Mard. We met up with Leo on the road, cleaning the deer carcass. He looked up.

“You let us get downed by those losers so you could frolick with the focking wildlife?” He asked.

“Well, now we have dinner,” I shot back.

He shrugged and went back to dressing the deer. Seeing it now, there was something different about this one. There was much more fat on it than I had seen on the other deer Leo brought back. I wondered if that would make it better or worse eating. Probably better, though I disliked the filmy taste venison left in my mouth when the fat cooled off.

We made camp, tossing the remains of the carcass back into the clearing filled with dead cultists. The deer was delicious. As we ate, I asked Leo how the people here managed to deal with all the spellcasting deer.

Everyone stopped eating and looked at me.

“I-I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” I asked.

“What do you mean, spellcasting deer?” Belize asked.

“Well, while I was readying myself to join you, that deer attacked me, and started chanting a spell at me, so I killed it. I’ve been wondering how people hunt them when they have psyker powers.”

They slowly put down their bowls of venison stew.

“Hank, deer don’t cast spells.” Belize said.

“This one did.” I said defensively.

“Some people can take the forms of animals. We call them druids.” She said.

“Ohhh, so it used to be a person. I see.” I replied, and continued eating.

“B-but that’s cannibalism!” Sir Mortin exclaimed.

“Noooo, if he was HUMAN, it would be cannibalism. He’s a deer. It’s not my fault he turned into something delicious.” I replied.

Sir Mortin and Belize excused themselves. Sir Mortin I could understand, Belize, though, confused me. She often agreed with my utilitarian morality. I wonder if she could do this
Leo had been thinking, with the bowl still steaming in his hand, shrugged, and started eating too.

It was a good night.

And that was the end of part 3. I'll start on part 4 tomorrow.

File: muhsides.jpg (29 KB, 260x506)
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>“Eat Eldar sky-metal, foul herbivore!” I cried, chopping at its neck.

Create Water is such a versatile spell, especially if you take it out of the rpg system restraints.

I wonder what you're DM will say when you hand him this fucking book as backstory.

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