#hulrun

[vagrant-muffin]

Started Wrath of the Righteous. It’s going well!

[jean-dieu]

Torn between faith and fury: A Trial of Faith (Pathfinder WoTR)

Or how Raphaël abandonned his dreams of priesthood and jointed the Menedvian Inquisition.

(English isn't my first language, please forgive my mistakes ;-;)

---

"Raphaël Esdras."

An older human smiled kindly at the young tiefling who had just entered his office, nodding in approval. Raphaël was always diligent and on-time, it had not be ten minutes since he'd sent someone to fetch him that the priest-in-training was already there. Judging by the puzzled and slightly wary look on his face, the tiefling had no idea why he was called in his mentor's office… nor why he was there.

His mentor, Elev Beffroy, wasn't a surprise. After all, they were in his office. But why on Golarion was Hulrun Shappok there? Did the man finally find an excuse to drag him on trial?

After a brief moment, Raphaël realized he had been staring silently at the unexpected guest for a little too long, judging him as much as the inquisitor was judging him. None of them stared down, but Raphaël spoke first.

"M. Beffroy." The young man nods at his mentor, before turning to the intimidating figure that is Hulrun. "… Inquisitor."

"Please, take a seat." The priest said in his compassionate voice, kindly showing the only vacant chair in front of him and Hulrun. "I see you're not wearing your robes. Again." There was no reproach in his voice. It was merely an observation: Raphaël, once again, was not wearing his clerical gear, preferring much more practical clothes. And from the sweat beading his fur, the priest knew what the tiefling was up to..

"I'm glad to see you so eager to improve your swordfighting skills, but I'd rather see you practice your sermons. Your last ones were lacking depth if I recall correctly. Did you take into consideration my advice for your next-"

"I did." The young man objected, interrupting his mentor with a voice that he didn't want so agressive, his perpetual frown deepening ever so slightly. "I was just… Clearing my mind. I'll rewrite them tonight."

"I know you will. You're a serious young man after all."

An awkward silence ensued. Raphaël sensed there was more to this improvised reunion. Hulrun appeared to grow impatient. And Elev was… Searching his words.

"AS you can guess, I didn't call you just to exchange plesantries" Elev murmured, rummaging through his papers to avoid looking both men in the eyes. "No, I wanted to discuss your vocation as a priest."

A slight twitch on Raphaël's lips was the only sign of the anguish that grew inside him.

"You think I'm not suited to be a priest."

"I think you'd be more suited for other things." Elev answered swiftly with a sigh, lifting any possible ambiguity. He knew damn well Raphaël was not going to take that well.

The tiefling could feel his tail wrapping slightly around one of the chair legs and his claws digging just a bit too deep in his palm. Part of him hoped that his mentor would brush of his concern. That he would just wave with a chuckle, telling him it was just a mandatory meeting for every priest-in-training. That everything was fine. That he was doing a good job.

Raphaël couldn't say a world, every inches of him occupied at keeping him decently calm when he wanted to scream back at him so badly. The anger, the disappointment, the overflow of emotion he struggled to contain was probably noticed by Hulrun who decided to intervene, cutting Elev short in his speech.

"Unlike Beffroy, I don't know you personnally, boy. But if what he told me about you is right, then you definitely have nothing to do in priesthood" As hoarse as Hurlun's voice was, it remained very calm. Even quiet. The man was just stating fact. He wasn't there to start a confrontation… And he wasn't there to sugarcoat things either.

As Raphaël's was struggling to tame the inferno that was consuming his mind, Elev came to moderate his colleague's words.

"You would be a decent priest, Raphaël. But we think you'd be an excellent Inquisitor."

"I am not joining the Inquisition."

It was easy to understand Raphaël's turmoil only by looking at his eyes. They were almost glowing with rage. He was disappointed in himself, but above everything else, he was angry. At him, at them, at the world, at the Gods and everything in between. Was it too much? Probably. But he'd never been good at deal with his own emotions, especially the unpleasant ones.

"We won't force you. We just want you to think about it, maybe just-"

"Maybe just what?" Raphaël's voice was starting to crack, betraying his feelings. "What am I doing wrong? As far as I am aware, I've been studious, I've always taken into account every piece of advice I could get from you or anyone. I know I am a good fighter, a good spellcaster. I can recite Sarenrae's tennets by heart, I-"

"And how are your people skills?" Hulrun interjects, frowning. He leans a little closer to Raphael's face, clearly unimpressed by the tiefling's growing aggressiveness. "A priest is expected to officiate Mass, to guide people to their God, to show them the way, to help them during their most difficult moments, and to demonstrate compassion and kindness. Tell me, Raphael, how will your sword-fighting skills help in such situations? Do you intend to intimidate your followers into obeying her tenets? Are you devoted to Sarenrae or Asmodeus?"

Hulrun's words felt like a stab not just in his heart, but in his soul. Oh how he wanted to scream at him, to punch him in the face for these words. It was definitely ironic coming from Shappok, but deep down, Raphaël knew the prelate was right: He was downright terrible at anything that involved working with the community. For all his strentghs and qualities, he lacked all the social skills that would make a good priest. He could be the most devoted sarenite of all Mendev, He could pray days and nights til his knees were bleeding and bruised, it wouldn't change his uneasiness among people. His difficulties to mingle with others. His distant, cold behavior. His naturally intimidating presence.

His rampant anger issues.

His personnal Hellfire became a bit too much to control, and he slammed his fist on the desk, standing up. His tail angrily whipped the air behind him, and the snarl he struggled to contain revealed his sharp teeth.

"You don't know me."

And just like that, the tiefling left the office in a fury, slamming the door with violence.

Shaken -albeit not surprised- by his student's behaviour, Elev didn't know what to say to Hulrun.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would escalate this quickly."

"I understand that this isn't an isolated event."

Elev's silence was enough of an answer. Hulrun frowned, pondering his thoughts for a moment. "You know we would have avoided this all if you would have been honest with me right at the beginning."

"What do you mean?"

"You never told me he was a tiefling."

Elev sighed. "I never said he wasn't one."

Hulrun stayed silent, narrowing his eyes slightly before letting out a long, heartfelt sigh.

"I would have never even consdiered accepting one of them in our ranks a few years ago."

"But time has changed."

"And the situation of this country didn't. We're still dealing with demons raiding our towns and villages, cultists hiding in plain sight, and good men and women being corrupted by the evergrowing power of the Abyss. Accepting a tiefling in our rank would just be begging for a disaster to happen."

"Then you'll be relief to learn that Raphaël isn't a product of the Worldwound. He's a Hellspawn."

"Is this supposed to make this any better? Besides, why are you defending him so much? Wasn't his literal outburst of rage enough to prove he's not fit to be a priest, let alone an inquisitor? Why do you insist on defending him so much, Elev?"

For the first time since this whole confrontation, Elev raised his voice slightly. It was somehow still lower than Hulrun's regular tone, but the difference was enough to draw a puzzled reaction from the prelate.

"Because I know him well, Hulrun. I've seen him grow up. From the little kid that swore he'd kill all the demons himself to the young man he is today. Hells, I was the one to find him first, abandonned on the stairs of our orphanage!"

Hulrun sighed. Elev was getting emotionnal, and he knew he wasn't going to change his old friend's opinion. Still, part of him… Trusted Elev. He was a man of reason despite it all.

Before the priest could narrate more or less accurately his memories, Hulrun cut him short in his rambles.

"Fine. I'll go talk to him." He grunted "I've tamed worse, anyway"

"You'll find him on the highest balcony. He always go there when… Ah- When these kind of things happen." He said, before smiling slightly at Shappok

"Good luck."

-

The next day, Raphaël would abandon his priesthood's career and enroll himself in the Inquisition.

[lukedanger]

Owlcatober - Day 19 - Duty

Prelate Hulrun misses the meaning of certain signs in this @owlcatober while focusing on duty to get through them.

[Ao3 Link]

====

When all else failed, a man at arms could trust in his duty as a reason to go on.

That was what Hulrun Shappok used as his bedrock over the long decades. It was his duty to the Mendevian people, to Golarion as a whole, to stand firm against the horrors of chaos. 

The light of his torch flickered as he made his way through the night. Light always flickered when he needed it for himself. He could remember a time when it had not, back when he was young. Before the brutality of his first crusade - the third of such campaigns. Somehow, that was when he noticed the lights flickering more and more.

Nonetheless, his misgivings were irrelevant as he assessed the streets of Kenabres. They were blessedly quiet tonight. While he was too highly ranked to be wasted on patrols, he could still contribute to that duty as he moved between responsibilities. 

The market square was still in terrible shape, but the bodies had at least been cleaned and fencing had been set up to prevent fools from falling in. A shame that he did not have time to browse them as he once had, but then again with silver coins being heavier and more tarnished in his hands as the years passed on, perhaps it was for the best he had others to do that while he focused on his duties.

“At ease,” he said as a pair of guards - new recruits in the city watch - snapped firm as he walked through the former market.

“Nothing to report, Prelate,” one of them said, the torch post behind her flickering.

He nodded back, continuing past. Up the hill to the temple that had been opposite of holy Iomedae’s. A temple of chaos and lacking responsibility that had so nearly cost them the whole city, cost all Mendev if the Wardstone had indeed caused a reaction in others.

Hulrun had been true to his word and let Ramien and his brats leave unmolested, much as he regretted allowing his duty to go unfinished. He even deigned to respect the temple without a priest. He had instructed it to be turned into an infirmary, one that thankfully could soon be closed down as the wounded were healed.

“Prelate,” said one of the guards at the front - a halfling inquisitor-in-training. “I’m afraid that Sir Jacob is not present - he went to investigate the graveyard.”

Unsurprising - vermleks had infested the city and purging the remnants was time-consuming. “Thank you, squire. Maintain your vigil.”

Hulrun strode past, towards the graves, warding himself against evil creatures with a short prayer to the Inheritor. He listened keenly, for that might be his first warning. And he heard what he was looking for - a sword drawn. Rushing towards the sound, he found Jacob in conflict with a zombie. Jacob’s sword found its mark, but as the creature collapsed another erupted from it - as much worm as man.

“Back, foul demon!” Hulrun snarled as he dropped his torch and charged in, drawing his longsword and bringing it down with both hands for an overhead strike. The vermlek, distracted by the other inquisitor, was unable to dodge in time and was cut through by the cold iron.

Hulrun’s blade did not go all the way through, though, becoming stuck partway through. Unusually stuck as he almost stumbled down as the monster fell. Grimacing, he did not let this setback get in the way of duty: with another tug, he managed to free his blade from material that should have yielded against it.

“Thank you, Prelate,” Jacob said as he caught his breath. He was as old as Hulrun, but the years had not been kind to him - no doubt a result of having been badly wounded several times when he was younger, and not having had as swift access to healers as Hulrun had. “I believe we tracked the source of the lingering undead.”

“Perhaps,” Hulrun admitted as he looked over his sword. Was it just him, or was the quality of his swords dropping? This one had not broken in the ferocity of battle, but he had more than a few that had broken in the last stroke of an engagement. He put it aside - he simply wore them out in his duty. “Yet we must remain vigilant. Who knows what foolishness the Desnans allowed into their hallowed ground?”

Jacob nodded, and both called upon holy light as their torches had fallen dark in the fight. Jacob’s shone brightly, while Hulrun’s flickered occasionally. Annoying, but he could compensate with constant vigilance.

That was what his duty as an inquisitor demanded. No matter how many of his brothers and sisters in faith detested him (which seemed to be more and more every year), how heavy his blade became as he carried out the sentences he passed, no matter how much the light flickered, no matter what inconveniences came his way, he had his duty. To Kenabres. To Mendev. To Golarion. To Iomedae.

He would do his duty, no matter the cost. The myriad dangers of the Abyss and its lackwit lackeys were too great for anything less. Perhaps one day, the things he did would not longer be necessary. Until then, he would do them.

[teddybaeran]

Invitation to Daeran's House

Mix is feeling like absolute SHIT for asking to go to his house. The thing is, he only gets the dialog option because he told Liotr he would help him investigate Daeran. But he doesn't intend to help at all. His goal is to learn, himself, while working to make Daeran look innocent. But what if Daeran is or appears guilty? What if Liotr either is wrong about something, or is right but wants to punish him when punishment isn't needed? Liotr does seem smarter than Hulrun but Mix still doesn't trust blind lawfulness for the sake of lawfulness. Afterall, the people who killed his family make laws.

He's very concerned and will keep an eye on both of them. Also, hopefully he can come clean to Daeran about what he did, eventually.

Bonus excerpts below and Mix's opinions from his original conversation with Liotr.

Mix hears Liotr support Hulrun. Whether or not he believes this, he supports him publicly, which makes him not trustworthy in terms of how he behaves and his ability to think for himself. It also means he might denounce Daeran publicly even if he knows he isn't a bad person.

Well, at least this is true. He respects it. However, what he really wants is a promise to react with empathy and not just the strong arm of the law, if something is found.

[nnibarrel]

Kenabres puppet theater

Remember @murthingsblog's commander Eloa from my recent reblogs? I put her cameo here cause she fits well) According to her biography, she is the daughter of a priestess from the temple of Desna, but, at the same time, even there she was such a “naughty child,” so she's a bit sharp-tongued towards everyone 😈

[elavoria]

My two very different Sarenites and their various love interests~

Queen Mircella [half-elf celestial sorcerer with one level of cleric to properly dedicate her to Sarenrae] and her Princes Consort Kesten and Tristian and paramour Jubilost; and Knight Commander Isanna [archon-blooded aasimar inquisitor angel] and her partners Hulrun and Regill.

[rivilu]

I love this game SO MUCH

[thedragonagelesbian]

At least kyr has seelah & irabeth as. Comparatively normal & decent caring lawful good characters to look up to & model himself after

[rlainarin]

damn it I have to fight with somewhere I fucked up in gameplay and retconned in ficland for Kam's timeline :(

[spyridonya]

Ok, how about 10. cantankerous for the one word writing prompts 👀

Because Kadira would wave a sword in an emergcy, Hulrun does not die but is no longer Prelate. If Hulrun is so deeply respected because of his ability to fight demons, he'd be more well suited returning to military service.

The appearance of General Hulrun made Kadira's insides curl into black ice as she fixed her gaze upon her unwelcome visitor as he entered the War Room. Only the gods knew what she looked like right now, she had been going over files and directives with the Paralictor for several hours now. Knowing herself, the stress made her look like the bedraggled little girl running around with a shimmering sword trapped within her that likely saved someone's life upon her second introduction to Hulrun.

Relax your forehead, let it soften, ease the shoulders - he smells fear. She reminded herself, lectured herself, and told herself that she’s fought worse. 

However, as she looked at the scowl embedded in the features, the scars deepening the furrows and rags, most creatures she fought did not answer to Queen Galfrey with the adoration and fervor of a paladin to their god.

Hulrun, to his credit, waited until Kadira lifted her head from her work entire before he strode across from the entrance to her side, standing adjacent to her and towering in his superiority he wore like armor. "I have reason to believe that despite the graces that you hold with her Majesty and the Inheritor, that you are aiding and abiding a trailer in your midst."

Dear Gods and Shelyn's patience, her relays to the front were going to be derailed with this nonsense? The irritation bubbled under her skin as she lifted her chin higher, still reminding herself to relax with her posture. She had known the very moment that the former Prelate had arrived with Galfrey that something would come up.

"Prelate-" Perhaps pacifying him would-

"General," The correction is sharp, not quite a bark, and the furrow of heavy silvering brows deepens the crease of his bold battle scars. 

You fought a man made entirely of locusts. Kadira reminded herself as she fixed her gaze on the old man and allowed silence to slip between them before she began, again. "Forgive me for asking, but yet another traitor? If I recall, Nurah Dendiwhar was vouched for by the Inquisition, which was surely a mistake. I can understand during the chaos of Kenabras' siege that others might have also slipped past the organizations usually impeccable standards."

The words are not hers, and yet they are. The sharp edge that underlays the civility of her words to make them impatient, cutting, perhaps even cruel. The hypocrisy of it all had struck her on the nose, despite it always being there, and the man going back to his witch-hunting ways the moment he stepped into her city despite the honors granted to him was unpardonable.

Hulrun stares at her like the scruffy tiefling that she was, and not the beloved of angels, almost attempting to remind of her true place. But his temper is too quick and his demeanor too curmudgeon for it to simmer properly and implant doubt in Kadira's mind when he speaks, "You would very well know, you were the one to abide he and his cultists’ escape into the ruins of Kenabras."

Oh, Callrista's Balls.

"The worship of Desna has been documented well before the Age of Darkness and her church has existed in various forums for all but perpetuity." An irony, considering the goddess and her fleeting nature, "They are by no means a cult and within my investigation of the Wardstones, by personally speaking to the angels that agreed to be bound there, Ramien and his keep did nothing to corrupt the wardstone."

"Dear girl-" He began.

"Knight Commander."

"Knight Commander, you were not there when the Red Morning Massacre happened-"

No. But my grandmother had to scramble with her family into horse stalls and their manure out of sheer abject horror, because she saw the results of what happens when demons don't kill. She's dust and spirit now, old man.

"-when Minagho spilled blood of innocent on the Wardstone-"

"Well, obviously the Wardstone wasn't much helpful if Minagho was able to breach into Kenabras." She cut in quickly, a part of her ashamed for correcting an elder, another part reminding herself she was an elder. "I don't see how the blood could have made things worse, she was already inside."

The older man blinked hard, those white whiskers quivering with indignation and mild shock. How often did he tell this story to the Inquisitors? Was this the first time someone pointed out the inconsistency of that story to him?

"He is still guilty of breaking and entering, Knight Commander." His tone is sharp as a knife, and Kadira felt pressure behind her temples. "As such-"

"And as such, he was made Prelate when you were made a General, seeing he is the highest ranking Priest that managed to live through the siege. If you have disagreements with his placement, Queen Galfrey is in Drezen, as you well know. I am not to give up a guest, regardless if Ramien was Prelate or not. Hospitality is an ancient rite, far older than Desna or Iomeade, and I will not break it because you disagree with your Queen."

There was a twitch in his eyebrow. "I see." He didn’t see, Kadira knew that he couldn’, but Kadira also knew he was loyal to Galfrey in all things. "I will... I will speak to her majesty and return to you when time permits."

The general turned on his heel, his boots clacked sharply on the floor of the headquarters, his gaze flashing black at Regill who watched silently the entire time, and strode out of the War Room with the red of his cloak trailing after him.

At the sound of the door shutting behind him, Kadira felt her body completely relax as a sigh left her, as if strings were cut on a puppet. Her forehead hit the table and her vision was veiled by her hair for a moment.

"May I inquire with you, Commander?" The heavier tones of Regill's voice was almost like a blessing as she turned her head against the table, her eyes falling upon the Paralictor who sat not quite at her current level.

"Yes," No, not really. But she was remarkably proud that Regill hadn't slide in like a knife into the brief conversation. He tended to do so in more informal occasions, but within the war room he waited before committing verbal vivisection of someone in Galfrey's court. 

(Both he and Daeran shared that lovely hobby, but never managed to bond over it.)

"Does Hulrun truly expect you to believe he witnessed an event that occurred when I was not quite middle aged?" The gnome retains his hawklike sharpness, the disdain set more by brows and tone than truly changing his expression. "An event Queen Galfrey was not yet quite a woman for?"

Kadira shrugged, though she supposed with her almost prone position of her cheek against the table made it hard to see. Rather, she lifted her hands and mimicked the gesture. "My grandmother was still a girl and hadn't met my grandfather. It was a threat she'd give me and my cousins if we didn't behave properly. ‘If you don’t stop climbing those walls, Kadira Staradottir, Minagho is going to splash your innards on the statute of Iomedae!’" She paused for a moment to think, “I believe the former Prelate is only a few years younger than me, chronologically speaking. I'm surprised you're not questioning his sanity."

"I'm questioning his efficiency in his methods of discipline,." Regill dryly answered, turning back to his paperwork.

Somehow, Kadira thinks, that's even worse.

[sadruru]

I'm going to do something mind-blowing this weekend. It's going to be a little bit of sketching for the week. But unusual in content.

[lukedanger]

During my second playthrough of WotR, I found something that adds a particularly fascinating bit of context to a romance with Arueshalae and how that looks to anyone outside of your inner circle. One that I think further explains both Hulrun's reaction to it and why Galfrey considers Arueshalae a strike against the KC at the end of Act III.

What I found was the in-game book "Unsung Feats behind the Crusades", which can be found in the Ivory Labyrinth. The text is shown below in a screenshot and transcribed into the alt-text if the image is not loading.*

For further context, the Third Mendevian Crusade is the one that Hulrun spearheaded and is widely considered to be a complete failure because it devolved into witch hunts and infighting. While Hulrun is not explicitly mentioned here, this is entirely in line with his behavior. Furthermore, the brave maiden reads remarkably like the Knight-Commander (particularly an Angel or Azata path one): an inspiring leader from seemingly nowhere who likely would have been a major figure in if not the leader of the nascent Third Crusade... tempted into folly and sin, much like a Demon or Lich path commander that doesn't go Legend or Gold Dragon.

Heck, this sounds eerily familiar to what happens in the cRPG version of Staunton Vhane, especially him turning to the demons and Minagho only to be felled when you take Drezen back from the demons. And now you are Knight-Commander, de facto Warden of Drezen, and have the Sword of Valor which has transformed in your hands... then you accept Arueshalae into your personal lance or even start romancing her?

How do you imagine that must look to those outside of your inner circle, particularly those who have lived through the above two incidents? Hulrun may well have lit the aforementioned brave maiden's pyre, and Galfrey would have been left to sort out the fallout of that incident on top of Staunton Vhane's entire saga.

Unlike us, they have not travelled with and gotten to know Arueshale or witnessed how she resonated with the Song of Elysium or been saved by Desna's aegis. They have been busy governing Kenabres and Mendev as a whole, and only hear about this through rumors or a game of telephone.

All things considered, both of them are remarkably calm about it when they come to Drezen and see that the rumors about a succubus were accurate.

*For the sake of due diligence, we should also assess the source, particularly as this is the only time the incident is mentioned to the best of my knowledge. The in-game book is explicitly a pep piece written for Baphomet's neophytes to read and be inspired by, so it is most certainly embellished. However, while details may have been exaggerated or embellished other known quantities such as Hulrun's witch hunts and the Third Crusade being infamous for infighting like this leads me to conclude that the basic facts are most likely true. Especially as lying to neophytes at this stage is a good way to set yourself up for feelings of betrayal later.

[teddybaeran]

Hulrun is a lost cause

As explained in Mix's intro post, he kills Hulrun because he sees him as a danger due to his inability to act correctly when not being overseen.

HERE. HERE WE SEE LIOTR ALREADY TRIED. This guy truly thinks he had Hulrun handled. And yet? Hulrun was out here killing people he shouldn't. He doesn't learn. If you're not ON HIM nothing you do actually sticks or lasts. So, yea, Mix is so much more vindicated in killing him after hearing this. And disappointed in Liotr thinking this was enough.

Bonus rewind to Mix killing him....

This scene, looking into Daeran's eyes, especially after seeing how much Hulrun absolutely refuses to think for himself, well, it makes Mix need to kill the guy. Sorry. He is a dramatic boy, and anybody causing this reaction in Daeran needs to die - he trusts Daeran's judgement too much not to pay attention.

Bonus BONUS rewind to what happens if you don't kill him. Originally this is what Mix did before Daeran was ever in his party, but I decided to undo it and when I came back to it, Daeran was in the party, and his reaction changed how Mix handled the situation.

"You don't know? I just told you. Just like last time. You thick headed dunce."

bonus bonus bonus from when Mix said he wouldn't kill Ramien. Fucking hells, no, do not hunt him down, hhhh. And what the fuck man. Hulrun is not a good man. An obedient one, sure, but obedience as the only reason to trust somebody is worthless in someone who is rotten at their core.

The fact that revealing the light is the only thing that dude will listen to. And he demands to know how Mix got it? Bud. Know your fucking place.

And to when Ember "first" meets with him, and Mix is so fucking ready to throw hands already. This guy just kept going and going and going until Mix finally snapped and threw him down the hole.

Ember, sweetie, no.

[nnibarrel]

Slaying the Dreamer

~Dumb kid, living a dream.

I take out a napkin and wipe away my tears(

I've found... Just heartbreaking things in the game's dialog file. If Ramien will be dead. Crying Ilkes... Or cursing Ramien, if commander first will be taking out his apprentices. Horrible, horrible. Of course I've should (literally) drawn conclusion to this devastating conflict. In an au, yeah. Metaphors of the animals emphasize the idea better.

Couple closeups under the cut.

[elavoria]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @boethiahspillowbook, thank you m’dear! I tag @nostalgic-breton-girl, @sheirukitriesfandom, and @dirty-bosmer, with no pressure as always. <3

To set the scene: The command room in Drezen, Anevia and Irabeth have just stepped out, and Isanna thinks she’s going to have some time relatively alone with Regill when a certain someone shows up—

“Hulrun!” Her wings flared outward in excitement—excitement so pronounced that she hardly noticed she had run one of them directly into Regill—and she couldn’t stand up fast enough. She hurried toward him with a grin, wings spread wide and halo burning bright, and stopped short just in front of him, gazing at him with breathless wonder. “Isanna,” he said with equal wonder, unable to take his eyes off her. “You look like you’ve just descended from Heaven itself.” She laughed softly and said, “You said you wanted to fight alongside the angels, didn’t you?” They gazed at each other lovingly, and she added, “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” Then indignantly, recalling Anevia and Irabeth’s timely exit, “No one told me you were coming. Ah, no matter.” Not caring that there were guards present, she took him in her arms and held him close, and as his arms found their way around her lower back, she folded her wings behind her and relaxed into the embrace, only for him to tense and gently push her aside. “What’s this devil worshiper doing here?” he demanded as he brushed past her. She realized he must have spotted Regill over her shoulder, and when she saw that his hand had moved to his sword, she quickly threw herself in front of him and spread her wings again to stop his advance. “Hulrun, no,” she said, her voice a low warning. “Paralictor Regill Derenge is here at my invitation as a trusted ally. You will show him the same respect you show me.” “You invited a devil worshiper to sit at your command table?” he asked. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his hand was still resting on his sword, so she summoned all the authority she could even as she felt a flash of irritation. “His expertise has proven invaluable to the crusade,” she said. “It was his strategy that allowed us to take Drezen with minimal losses. Please, he worships Iomedae just as you do.” “What he worships is a heretical caricature of the Inheritor,” he said icily, eyes boring into Regill’s behind her. Seeing that her own piercing stare hadn’t wavered, he added more as a statement than a question, “You trust him.” “I do,” she said, and she felt her heart start to pound. “I trust him implicitly. With my life, and the lives of my soldiers.” His lip curled in disdain, and Regill finally spoke. “Not going to take the word of an angel from your precious Heaven, Prelate?”

[another-heroine]

Witch Toll

Maybe I got carried away about the mission of seducing the local priest and it ended like this!

Thanks @jean-dieu for lending me your awkward Sarenite, I studied him like he was a bug and I'm pretty satisfied. And Ekaterina had some fun bullying another Inquisitor >:)

CW: slighlty dubious intentions, teasing, power dynamics, flustered tiefling, better than a simple kiss (though 'better' is not the right word for this *evil laugh*)

Another day, another opportunity for Hulrun to get on everybody’s nerves. And it was worse when Liotr was away from Kenabres like that time.

Raphaël took a deep breath. It was a matter of time. May Saranrae give him wisdom and resilience to endure that nonsensical chase by nighttime into the woods.

“By the instructions we have, they must be not far,” the Inquisitor warned his squad. “Keep your eyes open.”

Perched owls watched over them with their piercing yellow eyes. Some of the witch hunters babbled prayers while following their leader.

“Damn wenches,” one of them cussed. “Like it isn’t enough to put their worthless lives in demons’ grasp, they put innocent folk in danger as well.  Who in their right mind would stroll around here to ask for help?”

“Charmed folk,” another one replied. “The poor fellows fall for their words like flies on an open honey jar.”

“And then get slapped to death.”

Raphaël stopped suddenly and gave a stern look at them. “Are you done with chit-chatting?”

The witch hunters looked at each other and nodded, slightly embarrassed.

“Let me refresh your mind one more time,” the Inquisitor recalled. “When we find the suspect’s house, you stay right behind me and let me lead the investigation. No vandalism, no unrequired words, nothing without my approval. By Everlight, you are men, not rabid dogs!”

One witch hunter called quietly, “Inquisitor”.

Raphaël looked at him and noticed the lad was pointing to somewhere ahead. And indeed there was something: warm lights following in a line. The squad got in position without second thoughts and followed the Sarenite.

A few commoners were at the door of a humble cabin. The Inquisitor waved for his men to not approach too much yet. They had to observe them first.

The door opened and a subtly glowing figure appeared. It was kind of hard to see her face since she was surrounded by the small group. She talked in a hushed voice, giving satchels and apparently elixir vials to the visitors.

“... It should help. Come back if you need anything else,” she guaranteed to an old woman.

“Erastil blesses you, girl.”

One by one, the people dismissed through the woods, and Raphaël held the line, ignoring the antsy feeling among his squad. They were not under Hulrun’s orders, but his. They should know how to behave for good or else.

Finally it was possible to give a good look at her, though from afar. The suspect was a copper-haired aasimar. Raphaël had heard about her before, but for a long time he thought the stories were exaggerated — a child of celestial living alone in the woods, asking for nothing but for people to leave her alone and let her help them the best she could. Why was she not in the Iomedae’s ranks as many of her kind have been?

A thought sparkled in the Inquisitor’s mind — Maybe because she is not like the others of her kind.

“Inquisitor, what now?” one of his men asked.

Raphaël swallowed hard. He was not nervous, but somehow his throat got constricted and he felt thirsty.

The woman got back inside the cabin and closed the door.

“Inquisitor?”

“I'll go ahead.” Raphaël left the shadows. “If I need you, I’ll send a signal.”

“Yes, sir,” the group agreed.

Walking to the cabin was strange. It was like his legs weighed much more than they used to. But before the tiefling could raise his hand and knock on the door, a soft voice asked, “Come in”.

And so he did. The inside of the house was scarcely lit by oiled lamps. Raphaël stiffed for a second; he felt the same piercing yellow eyes from earlier over his head, right from the ceiling, but as he looked up, there was nothing there.

“May I help you?”

The aasimar was sitting on a straw stool, sorting some herbs. She didn’t seem bothered by the strange visitor.

Raphaël got to his composure again and asked, “How… How did you know I…”

“I saw you and your men outside. Not mean to be rude, but being discreet isn’t one of their greatest skills.”

The Inquisitor kept his mouth shut, with a bitter feeling lingering in the back of his head.

She looked at him for the first time, and a soft smile appeared on her face, though not touching her eyes. “And it’s very rare to see someone like you on their side.”

“What do you mean? Because I’m a tiefling?” Raphaël scoffed, defensive.

The woman shrugged. “Let’s be honest, you should have made a great impression over Hulrun and your comrade-in-arms for they don’t cut off your tail or horns. At least.”

Raphaël frowned. “Who are you?”

The aasimar kept organizing the herbs before her. “Just someone minding her own business. But if it’s a name you want, it’s Ekaterina.”

“By your accent you are not from here.”

The woman sighed and got up. Raphaël’s tail twitched; she was shorter than him for a few centimeters. “You are right. I’m from Irrisen. But don’t mistake me for a Winter Witch, yes? I’m a druid.”

“Why are you so far from your homeland?”

“Personal matters. And now, my turn; what’s your name?”

Her body language was quite relaxed, but yet her words made the tiefling hesitate a little. She smelled of thyme and smoke.

“Raphaël,” he exhaled noisily. “I’m a servant of Sarenrae.”

Ekaterina looked at him up and down. “I see.”

He flushed. Of course he was, otherwise he would not be wearing Sarenite motifs.

“So…” Ekaterina put her hands behind her back. “You came to my home, asking questions and giving judgemental eyes. But as you can see, there is no trap, no luring or even a hungry beast lurking to eat you alive around here. Have I satiated your curiosity already?”

Raphaël cleaned his voice. “There are rumors saying that you were involved in… hedonist rituals.”

Ekaterina’s brows raised. “Really? When?”

She did not look offended. In fact, the words of the Inquisitor made her giggle.

“Not like a host or a guest, but… Someone came here and ordered a love potion. Is that true?”

Ekaterina smiled warmly. “That’s not my kind of business. But it would be… interesting, I daresay. People say a lot of things about everyone and everything, don’t you think so?”

Raphaël nodded, feeling weird, and getting nervous for being weird. Maybe he should send the signal for the other witch hunter right the way. Or just walk through the door and put a stone over that investigation.

Ekaterina noticed his hooves bringing him back to the entrance. She shook her head and added, “You witch hunters are so childish sometimes, putting it mildly.”

Her words itched Raphaël. “What do you mean?”

“Same old stories, every day. Hedonism, eating children, demonic pacts. It doesn’t matter if someone like me is just trying to survive and help good people, for many of you, my kinship and I should be at the stake whatever it takes.”

Raphaël protested, “Not every Inquisitor is like it!”

“You mean ‘like Hulrun’, am I right? Gladly I never ever met him,” she snorted. “Everybody is afraid of you because you're always scared of anything. If you were more flesh than divine weapon, maybe things would be easier and fairest for everyone.”

He was angry, but she was right. Every word was like a scorching ray against his skin, ignoring his Hellish heritage. Like the purifying Everlight herself.

Raphaël gave up. He walked back to the druid with his fists clenched, but his voice sounded quiet, almost like a begging, “Let me prove I’m not like them”.

Why was he doing that? He had no idea. Maybe because he was unfairly suspicious towards a child of Heaven, a lonely heather. Maybe because her presence had a powerful influence over him…

Or maybe because his mortified flesh was asking for that.

Ekaterina gave him a strange glance. She did not expect her words would bring that kind of outcome. She just wanted to shoo him away, but the effects were opposite.

“Let me prove myself,” he repeated, his heart beating fast against his ribcage.

Ekaterina pondered. “Do you have any idea how strong this request is?”

“Yes,” he replied without a blink.

That was a serious matter. Then it would be. The woman suggested, “Back in my homeland, when the house owner is disrespected somehow, the offender should bring an apology token. It could be a sacrifice, a terrible secret, or even sex.”

The last word made the Inquisitor’s guts freeze.

“Whatever that makes the offender vulnerable. So, lay down on the floor.”

“What?”

“Now.”

He asked for it. Dear Sarenrae, where was his head when he agreed with that? His tail rattled on the cold stone like an eager serpent, and involuntarily it wrapped softly on one of the druid’s ankles.

“Calm down, Inquisitor,” she stated, removing her limb from the desperate grasp like it was but a withered vine.

Dozens of ghostly-yellow eyes were watching them. Raphaël’s throat got dry again, as the woman put one foot on his chest, right over the Everlight insignia. She kept the other on the floor, next to his head, letting the worned hem of her tunic flutter on his chin and neck.

“I’m sorry,” he begged, either to her or his goddess.

“You are fine,” the druid hummed, looking deep into his eyes.

He wanted to move, to brush at least one thumb against her warm skin, from the ankle to the calf and up the way. To… kiss her. But he couldn’t do that; he made an unbreakable oath on his own.

“Don’t come back here again, unless you have a good, good reason,” she said. “Am I being clear?”Raphaël just nodded, and when she took off her feet over him, he felt… empty. And naked.