That inquisitor called Denerim came back as Viv was having breakfast. Marruk was chewing on a warm bun with a vacant expression as the man let himself in with that weird dude that gave Viv punk vibes. The idealized type that screamed their rage with a guitar and threw rocks at riot cops. And he had shiny tattoos. Her inspection skill only said that he was an inquisitor apprentice though.

Denerim told her that he and Orkan had to fetch their gear first, and to wait for them at home. Viv thought that it was super inefficient but whatever, it would give Marruk a moment to rest her eyes. Even with the magic reinforcing people’s stamina, it was clear that the door-wielding bodyguard was suffering from fatigue. It was an exertion of the mind that made the usually stoic warrior despondent and even a bit grumpy.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Marruk went up and checked through the shuttered window. Her face froze.

“It’s Gogen. The housekeeper.”

Fuck.

What if…

Viv was getting paranoid. Was the old, portly woman hiding a terrible secret?

She turned to Solfis.

//If she attacks you while I am here, she will die.

“Ok. Marruk, let her in, but keep a distance. Let Solfis react.”

The Kark woman nodded slowly, then opened the door. Gogen unhesitantly entered the room.

“Hello,” she said.

Viv looked into the depth of those bovine brown eyes and saw nothing there. Her visitor displayed the malice and cunning of a snail laying waste to a piece of lettuce. She took her surroundings with a look, huffed, and started to dust the table Viv was sitting at.

Gogen was an amazingly ugly woman, as if someone had carefully arranged the proportion of someone to maximize her plain appearance without ever dipping into the unhealthy or the grotesque. Quite an achievement, really.

Viv watched, tense, for a tentacle to sprout out of the woman’s back.

It did not happen.

The old Kazaran frump grabbed her broom and swept the floor with practiced efficiency. All the while, she was breathing loudly through her half-open mouth, eyes glazed, with a bit of drool dripping down her lips.

Viv half expected an evil cackle, accompanied by a shriek of “no one ever suspects the cleaning lady nyaaaahahahaha!” But no. Gogen finished her task in ten minutes and left, barely acknowledging Viv’s embarrassed ‘thanks’.

“Fuck, I really hope this gets over with soon or I’ll never go out again,” the witch said.

“We must face the challenge head-on,” Marruk agreed. She yawned again. “If we can find it,” she added.

Thankfully, the inquisitors returned before any more brilliant insight was bestowed upon Viv.

The pair had picked up nondescript suits of armor. They look like temple guards now, with a white cape over leather and chainmail.

Viv studied them again. The older one was tall and broad and very scruffy. He was also quite handsome in a dignified, solid kind of way. Even had the grey at the temples. He wore a well-used and quite obviously enchanted broadsword by his side. The younger one had a hooked nose, very dark hair and he was all edges. Especially with those red tattoos. He also wielded a broadsword, but on the other side he had nasty curved blade that looked like it was designed to bite around shields. The contrast between both blades was quite jarring. The curved one had seen much use.

Viv decided to leave Solfis behind as she thought that the two inquisitors might be enough to at least hold back the thing as Viv ran. They moved out.

“It’s very unlikely that your cleaning servant is the cultist, but you were right to keep your guard up,” Denerim said.

“So, except for, errrr, Gomogog, what other cults do you usually deal with?” Viv asked in an attempt to distract herself.

“The most commonly worshipped one is Efestar. Before I continue, do they not worship dark gods where you come from?”

“This kind of dark knowledge is hidden in my home country. Possibly censored,” Viv answered noncommittally.

The inquisitor looked at her weirdly but he did not comment on the half-truth.

“I see? Well, Efestar is the God of Resentment. His domain is that of the petty revenge, the secret scheme, the malevolent lies. His followers are always required to sacrifice something, or someone, of value to them to bring destruction on another. They are always the hardest to detect since the boon comes in a form that could be explained by fate or bad luck. A blight on one’s crop, for example. Once the treachery is found, however, finding the culprit is usually straightforward. Just find whoever suffered as well.”

“This seems like a recipe for disaster. People who just got their lives ruined always look for a cause. It’s just too easy to blame it on someone else.”

Denerim turned to her, showing a bitter smile.

“Dark gods corrupt and destroy as much as they can, and they are most pleased when men turn on themselves without their input. Such is their nature.”

Just then, the younger man’s tattoos flashed a deeper red before settling down yet again.

“Hmm, can I ask about the tattoos?” Viv asked with all the tact and diplomatic touch of a drunken rhino.

“I used to be a Hallurian warborn,” the young man said defensively.

“Ooooooh,” Marruk and Viv echoed. Everything had suddenly become clear.

Well, no.

But at least they knew where to start.

The mentee, Orkan, glared at them as if he expected a remark.

“So, tattoos are a warborn thing?” Viv asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Her paranoia had successfully been replaced by a deep sense of cringe.

“I’m just tired, makes me say stupid things.”

“Do you often wake up tired?” Marruk asked.

“Hey!”

“Huhu.”

The discussion was nicely distractive, but it died out as they approached Kazar’s central plaza, where the massive purple-leaved tree stood as the original bulwark against the deadlands. Viv had always thought of it as a relaxing, exotic feature. Now that she also knew that it was a cultist magnet, the imposing paragon of nature had lost some of its charm. The sight of the tower filled her with a deep sense of dread. Not only had Varska become her ex, there was a remote possibility that a tentacular horror hid under all that fragile elegance, the soft skin, the delicate floral touch, the blush, and the way the banished beauty averted her eyes and frowned when she felt attraction.

Fuck.

The Helock mage had burrowed her way to Viv’s soft and mushy heart.

Viv banged on the door, and was let in by a particularly grumpy old housekeeper wearing her nightcloth. It was still the ass crack of dawn, after all. They climbed up three sets of stairs and Viv, again, banged on another door.

Varska opened the door wearing something like a bathrobe, but thin. Viv’s eyes drifted south to two well-defined pert breasts before she managed to refocus on the grave matter at hand. Damn her brain.

“Sorry, this is serious and concerns Kazar’s security. Can you meet us in the lounge?”

Varska’s hair was elegantly mussy and she was a little bleary-eyed, but the ‘I will throw you off a cliff’ expression turned to business as soon as Viv’s words registered.

“Give me a minute.”

She slammed the door in Viv’s face.

Fair.

It still stung a bit.

They went back to sit in the lobby’s comfortable chairs, all armed and armored like they had a noon appointment inside the walls of Jerusalem and the moors disagreed. Never had Viv seen such an awkward, socially inept gathering of idiots since her boyfriend’s birthday party back when she was eleven. Fucking awful. She almost prayed that the tentacular horror would burst out the door to bring an end to her torture.

Varska walked in exactly two minutes later, wearing a light green dress and hair held up in a no-nonsense tail. She crucified every attendant with her glare as she took her seat. Viv reddened. Marruk lowered her eyes. The paladin gave the fakest of smiles and his apprentice glared back.

“I hope you have excellent reasons to disturb my rest.”

Viv had plenty of good reasons to disturb her oh for fuck sake not that again the pressure was making her horny. And now the moment of truth was upon her and her stomach was drilling down her chest in an icy avalanche to settle slightly above her bladder.

Viv did not want Varska to be the worshipper.

Please no. Anything but that.

“There is an acolyte of Gomogog in the city. One who has been here for a while,” Denerim started as Viv was paralyzed by anxiety.

Varska leaned forward, expression blank.

“Are you quite sure?”

“We have found a charnel pit with ritual victims. There is no mistake.”

Varska slowly sat back down into her couch, eyes lost in deep thought in a way that Viv recognized. Varska was in full focus mode. She would not even answer questions. Then, a torrent of words erupted from her lips.

“Here for a long time so no recent immigrant, possibly low-profile, lives alone or with enough personal space to carry out their activity, close to the tree for added potency, unchanged over a period of… oh. OH! THAT MOTHER. FUCKING. BI—”

Viv’s danger sense shook her.

Danger sense: Beginner 5