The Inquisitor

He had the pallor of a corpse. The man stood in the threshold of the cabin doorway silhouetted against a backdrop of weeping rain. His dark, wide brimmed hat drowned his eyes in shadow but one could see the stitched scar running up his right cheek and ending at the bridge of his nose. When his lips moved, razor sharp canines glinted in the lantern light.

“Where is the Afflicted?” he asked with the voice of an old crow. The farmer, a sturdily built man with greying hair and patchwork clothes, regarded the stranger with suspicion. He picked up a kitchen knife off the worn wooden table that sat in the main room.

“You’re the inquisitor then?” the farmer said, ignoring the man’s original question. The inquisitor nodded, pulling up his coat sleeve to reveal a brand in the shape of an encircled scythe on his right forearm. The farmer stared at it for a moment before giving a hesitant nod.

“My name is Brek. She- it, is locked in the basement.” as if on cue, a rage filled shriek flooded the quaint wooden home, practically rattling the shutters. Brek jumped at the noise, but the inquisitor didn’t even blink, instead moving smoothly to the wooden table and setting down a thick leather bag, almost cubelike in shape. The farmer noticed that a silver rapier sat on the inquisitor’s hip. The hilt, wrapped in dark brown leather, was also inlaid with a glittering ruby. Brek grimaced and looked away quickly.

“So, there’s no way you can…heal her? Help her be how she used to. Must you use…” Brek trailed off, his voice breaking as he glanced at the inquisitor’s sword again, as if against his will. The strange man let go of his bag, his face still cloaked in darkness.

“Your children, are they here?” the pale man asked and Brek blinked at him in surprise.

“No, they…I sent them to my sister’s house, she lives on the edge of the city. I told them I would heal their mother…I lied to them.” he admitted slowly, muscling the words out of his throat. The inquisitor nodded in understanding, turning his back to the farmer.

“It was a kindness. I can already tell by her aggression that it is too late. For the Afflicted, there is only one cure.” the inquisitor said solemnly. Suddenly, an irrational anger flared in Brek’s chest and he advanced on the inquisitor, knife in hand.

“You’re just gonna execute her without trying to save her, you bastard!?” he shouted, brandishing the chipped blade. The inquisitor turned around and Brek stopped cold in his tracks. The knife clattered to the floor and the farmer began to slowly step backwards as if his limbs were made of lead. The anger he had felt only a moment before turned to gut twisting fear as a pair of dark crimson eyes stared into his brown ones.

“You’re a vampire…Gods s-save me, you’re a shit-heaping vampire.” Brek stammered out. The inquisitor gave a slight smile at the farmer’s eloquent turn of phrase.

“Not quite, dear man. You could say I’m half of one, but we’re hardly here to discuss my family tree.” he said, and the smile faded from his grim face. “Your wife has been turned, there are ways to stop the process from happening but once it’s done, the only solution is to return her to the cosmos.” the inquisitor explained, giving Brek time to get used to the man’s frightening visage. Another screech and a round of violent banging bounced through the house, which seemed to be enough for Brek to put aside his fear for a moment.

“But how did this happen to her? She didn’t have any bites or scratches or any injuries. It was like she changed overnight.” Brek asked in exasperation, taking a seat in a nearby chair and burying his face in his calloused hands. The inquisitor felt a pang of sympathy for the man but did not move to comfort him and instead walked over to the staircase in the corner of the room that held the basement door at its base.

“Physical attacks aren’t the only way to become Afflicted. Curses are the second most common and have a quicker onset then being bitten by a zombie. Did your wife have any enemies?” the inquisitor asked, glancing over his shoulder. The farmer met his gaze with a look of disbelief.

“Who would make an enemy of her? We’re farmers, for the love of Lorcia. There aren’t even enough bloody people around here to make an enemy out of.” he responded tersely. The inquisitor looked back down the steps. There was sense in the farmer’s words. But people didn’t change into violent flesh eaters spontaneously.

“What about a site of affliction? Er, a cursed place or somewhere that all the locals avoid.” the inquisitor pressed, turning back to the farmer. Another round of violent shrieks and bangs began and ended before the man could respond.

“There’s a small forest to the northeast. There are tons of stories of warriors and cultists and ghosts and the like but…we’ve never been up there. We avoided it like the plague for this exact reason, damn it!” his sentence turned into a frustrated shout as he slammed his fist on the table. The inquisitor opened his bag with a faint click and pulled out a small cloth pouch. He set the pouch on the table and drew a pistol, which Brek had not noticed before, from his belt. It was a scratched flintlock pistol, the kind a brigand might wield in a highway robbery. The farmer watched anxiously as the half-blood untied the string around tip of the pouch, revealing a lump of silver bullets.

“Sometimes the filth of the sites can seep out, affecting those who lived around it. Or…maybe she encountered a denizen of such an area and did not tell you.” the inquisitor commented as he loaded the pistol efficiently, tucking it back into his black leather belt. Brek grimaced but said nothing. The farmer dug in his pocket and slapped an old metal key on the table. He said nothing but the inquisitor understood. It was time. The inquisitor slid the key off the cracked tabletop and into his hand, turning swiftly to the basement stairs. He stopped just before he descended, his dark frame unsettling in the low light of the cabin.

“She will be returned to the Trisphere with all the swiftness I am capable of.” the pale man said softly.

***

The inquisitor’s red eyes adjusted to the pitch blackness immediately. Scholarly tomes he had read said a vampire’s vision could pierce the night more effectively than a cat. The man found that applied to half-bloods as well. The basement, small and cluttered with miscellaneous items accrued over a lifetime, was suspiciously quiet. And suspiciously empty. A ghoul, then, the inquisitor thought to himself as he silently drew his rapier. Smarter, faster, and quieter than zombies, a hungry ghoul could tear through a farmstead in an instant. It was a miracle the middle-aged farmer trapped it in the basement before he was torn to ribbons.

He placed his feet delicately as he stepped forward, ducking under cobwebs and sidestepping dilapidated shelves. His crimson eyes scanned the room, looking for signs of an ambush. But the ghoul’s hunger gave it away first. A deep, rumbling growl emanated from the corner of the room and the inquisitor whipped around to see a dark mass huddled on the floor, glaring hate at him with yellow eyes.

It leaped at him with a shriek, covering the length of the room in less than a second. The half-blood dove to the right of it, ensuring that it crashed into the shelves behind him. He turned on his heel and lunged at the creature as it was emerging from splintered wood. The point of his blade pierced its decaying green and stretched chest. Another head-splitting shriek and the creature swiped with dagger like claws, forcing the inquisitor onto his back foot. Sensing an opening, the ghoul lunged at him, aiming an overhead strike at his already scarred face. The inquisitor caught one clawed hand in a diagonal block, his arm shaking against the strength of the beast. In one fluid motion he unholstered his flintlock with his off hand and fired a blind shot into the creature’s gut. A cloud of smoke and scream of pain allowed the man to push his advantage. He forced the creature off of him and aimed his rapier, thrusting with the power of years of practice, right through the undead’s neck.

A horrible gurgling sound came out of the ghoul’s mouth and it was only now that the inquisitor noticed the floral pattern on what used to be a dress, ripped and tattered over the monstrosity’s body. It scrabbled desperately, its unnaturally long arms knocking his hat off his head and flecking him with cuts. He dropped the pistol and reached into his belt for a stiletto, coming up under the ghoul’s arms to drive it into the bottom of the monster’s skull. All at once, the struggle ceased, and the ghoul dropped like a ton of bricks. The inquisitor’s chest rose and fell dramatically as he stared at the corpse, waiting for it to get back up.

When it didn’t, he sheathed his weapons and recovered his hat as well as his pistol. Not his cleanest extermination but the job was done. He went back to the staircase and called for Brek to bring a lantern. Though his keen eyes pierced the dark, the fine details of an undead’s body needed more light. After the farmer left the lantern at the top of the stairs, refusing to come down, the inquisitor grabbed it and made his way back over to the corpse. He set the lantern down on a wooden box nearby and took a knee next to the creature. The inquisitor began to methodically go over the corpse’s features, one by one.

Its hair had fallen out in clumps, as is typical with the zombification process. Its skin was a dark green-gray tone, stretched and leathery across its frame. Its arms had been unnaturally elongated and the claws of an apex predator had sprouted from its fingernails. The floral dress had been shredded by the transformation and any indication of sex had shriveled up. The most horrible thing, perhaps, about becoming Afflicted is that one is robbed of their humanity. The man moved onto the legs, which had also become elongated, making the creature a foot taller than it had been in life. Finally, a pair of monstrous clawed feet had replaced the previously human ones. Scraps of leather from her shoe still remained on the talons. From these signs, this was no mere zombie, but indeed a ghoul, as he had suspected.

Satisfied, the half-blood got to his feet and ascended from the basement, blinking in the stark light of the cabin’s main room. Brek sat at the kitchen table, looking at the inquisitor with sorrowful, frightened eyes. The pale man met his gaze.

“She is at peace,” he confirmed, setting the lantern on the tabletop, “Contact your local temple, they will dispose of the remains in way that won’t taint the area. Or your home.” his instructions were businesslike and matter of fact, an odd contrast to his cut face and ripped clothing.

Brek nodded, staring vacantly at the far wall as he took in this information. The inquisitor quickly packed up his things, taking his leather bag in hand as he stepped towards the front door. The farmer stood abruptly.

“Wait! Who did this to her, what did this to her? I don’t know much about the work of darkness, but she wasn’t a normal bone walker.” Brek exclaimed, causing the inquisitor to pause. He hesitated for a moment, thinking on how best to phrase the truth.

“Someone cursed her. Who or what, I don’t know yet. My theory is that she was in the woods you mentioned and had a fateful encounter. I plan to head there next, to burn out this filth. I will avenge her.” the inquisitor responded with determination. The half-blood once again turned to leave but Brek stopped him one final time.

“Wait. Thank you for…giving her peace. I don’t know your name.” he said with an expectant pause after. An almost imperceptible smile crossed the half-blood’s face as he turned back.

“Luca.”

Then he was gone.