The evening sun casts a long shadow over the little depression the hamlet sits in as I lean against the roughly hewn fence of a bare turnip garden, scratching in the black and gold notebook. After sending my message page off to its paired book which is hopefully in the possession of the Archivist team, I had gone back into town to begin interviews with several villagers.

  Young and old, man and woman, their answers to my questions were disturbingly similar, their personalities all just as lively as a rock. They all thought the Mayor had made the village better, they all said they were happy about the pigs being so healthy, though any joy which may have entered their heads wasn’t visible on their face, nor could my sylvane senses pick up on it. Questions about the past or timelines about their lives were met with confusion and vague dates. They all professed a lack of faith in the Trinity or the Pantheon of Light, the major churches of the Settler State, but some, the most lively of the bunch, did believe in some minor pantheons.

  I tried to push my questions about the old mayor or the village before Richard took over with a few villagers, and each time I was met with real emotions, a combination of fear, desperation, and guilt, and the villagers would quickly dismiss me, saying they had work to do. I had decided not to push it further than that yet.. The villagers who I didn’t try to push the topic on were helpful and willing to answer my questions as long as I was speaking to them. Once, I spoke to a single villager about a single pig for an hour straight. They had been in the middle of feeding the pigs when I stopped them, and they had stayed, standing in the pen, for the whole conversation. Despite their lack of specific historical knowledge on any other topic, they were able to trace that single pig's bloodline back four generations, knew the day they had been born, and told me they would be butchered in eight weeks, four days, and seven hours.

  As I lean against the post, lost in my own thoughts, I notice one of the children of the village watching me, staring me down from the shadows of one of the town's alleyways. I haven’t interviewed them yet. They’re constantly running about, but each time I look for one to approach they are nowhere to be found. This one stares at me like a hawk, but when I lift my head to look at him directly, he slips into the alley. Eventually, I will need to speak to some of the children, they are often some of the best sources of information, and their emotions are often so uncontrolled even my currently impaired emotion senses would be able to gather a lot of information.

  But right now is not the time. I have decided to push the topic of the previous mayor, Eithan Finly. I adjust my messer and cloak, and put away my notebook. I have a few measures in mind, as this may get messy. This is a risk I must take however, if I am to complete this investigation, and prevent this dangerous, hidden heresy from growing any more. I quickly make my way across the village to a small pig pen I had found earlier. I have thus far only noticed a single villager working here, and should things go awry, I would prefer as little collateral around as possible. It’s unlikely a simple pig farmer will choose to fight an inquisitor, but mental magics can have unpredictable side effects.

  The man, likely in his early thirties, is going about his duties simply. I had interviewed him earlier that day, but avoided the topic of the Mayor, suspecting he would be one I would come back to. He is a middling case. Hardly the worst I have seen, but certainly not as aware as the Innkeeper or Mirabel. As I approach, he looks up at me with a blank look, before an awkward smile slowly crosses his face.

  “Inquisitor. How may I help you.” He asks me. “I can tell you more about my hogs. They are very healthy indeed. Soon for the slaughter the Mayor says.”

  “Yes, I actually wanted to ask you about the Mayor, Justinus.” I peer about the pig sty, and see no other figures around.

  “Yes! Mayor Richard has done much for this village. I wouldn’t have raised such well fed pigs if not for his foresight and planning.” He replies with something approximating enthusiasm.

  “No, I wanted to ask you about Mayor Finly. The Mayor before Richard.”

  Justinus stops his tasks and turns to me, “Richard is Mayor.”

  I begin to reach out to feel his emotional states. He’s still quite impassive internally, but I can feel something, almost like movement. It’s difficult to make out through the stench of the village. I have begun to suspect that the smoke of the village is interfering magically, though whether it’s intentional tactical thinking is something I’m unsure of. I can almost feel the Void aspects, a feeling of absence, of something not there. Only Daemons and their ilk can control void directly. So instead I draw out what I had prepared for this, a stick of Hart Sage incense, a magical sanitizer, as the Archivists say.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “Yes, Richard is Mayor now, but he took that office from another Mayor” I take a small match out and strike it. “the man who founded the Village,” I light the sage. “one Eithan Finly.”

  The smoke of the Hart Sage begins to spread about the area, and slowly, the smells of pigshit and smoke recede from my senses. The headache I had begun to ignore slowly withdraws.

  He shakes his head. “I- I don’t remember that. That can’t be right. Richard has been Mayor as long as I can remember. But, I, I can’t remember that far? Wait, no. Richard is Mayor. Yes, Richard is Mayor.”

  Curious. The Hart Sage has fully caught now, and the smoke is spreading through the area. As it reaches the man in front of me, he seems less robotic, though his emotions are still flat. No, that’s not quite right. I can feel them better now. They begin to form and then they are snapped away, like something is taking them right as they grow into real feelings.

  “No, Justinus, you must remember, Eithan Finly was Mayor first. By my estimates, you would have been in your teens around when Richard took over. You probably moved here in your childhood with Eithan.” It’s like watching a man awaken from a dream as I speak to him.

  He shakes his head. “No no, I didn’t move here in my childhood. In my childhood I was… no, wait. Yes. No. Richard is Mayor. Look, Inquisitor, it’s been nice talking to you but I really must get back to work…”

  I take up the Hart Sage and approach the farmer, who begins to back away from me. “Inquisitor, please, just let me get back to work.”

  His backing up begins to become a full back pedal as I advance on him with the Hart Sage. The more it’s magical aroma affects him the more desperate I can feel his emotional states, though he never fully adapts a true emotional texture like some others. “Please Inquisitor, just leave me be.”

  I must understand further. I can’t stop here, there is a much deeper layer to this whole story. “Just tell me about Finly, Justinus. It’s quite simple, really. Who was he? How was he as a Mayor?”

  He appears quite frantic now, backpedaling quickly through the mud. He isn’t looking where he’s going, and his foot catches a trough, causing him to fall back in the mud. “I don’t know inquisitor! I don’t Know! Who was my mother! Who was my mother! My father! Oh my Father!”

  His emotions are fully forming now. Whatever mental block there is still remains, but fully formed feelings of anguish and sorrow are beginning to form. He begins to sob to me. “What did they do to me? Inquisitor! What have they done? Who did this to me?”

  I kneel next to the man, and rest my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I have awoken the man from a dream just to leave him in a waking nightmare. “It’s okay, Justinus. I will find the one who did this. I will bring justice to them. The rule of law will be brought back.” But I can’t leave him just yet. Now that he’s awake, I must find out what he knows. “Just tell me, who was Eithan Finly?”

  He sobs. “I- I don’t know. It’s all a blur, Sir. It’s, it still hasn’t come back to me. Except. Finly was a kind man. Yes, his family was so nice. He had such a beautiful family. His daughter…” He pauses. Finally, some information.

  “Yes, Justinus. What about her?” I ask.

  He goes still. His sobbing stops. There’s a wild spike of emotion. It doesn’t remove the mental enchantment upon him, but I feel that he’s broken it in some way. The spike of emotion is so brutal and violent that I jerk back from him, withdrawing my hand. It’s such a strong feeling of shame and anguish, I almost feel ashamed myself.

  For a few moments, he is still and silent, and I can still feel his mental pain growing, until he lets out a slow, agonizing sound. It reminds me of a dying animal. “Ohhhh. Ohhhh gods. What have we done? What have I done? What did we do? Ohhhh.” He shudders, shoulders hunched. “Inquisitor. Ian. Sir.” He shudders again. “You must seek vengeance, sir.”

  I nod, “I will seek justice for the wrongs done on you, son.”

  “No.” He says, suddenly convicted. “Not for me. For her. For his Daughter. For the Mother. Avenge her.”

  His emotions go flat again, but I can feel his emotional states like bolts of energy run through it. He stands, and begins to stride off, not towards the village, but out, towards the barren hills in the distance. I’m slow to react, still processing his request, but I stand as well, “Where are you going Justinus?”

  He does not respond, but just strides off. When I begin to follow, he turns, and asks, “Leave me. Leave me Inquisitor. You have a job to do.”