Tycondrius descended the ramp with a sense of purpose, a burlap sack heaved over his shoulder.
He had contacted the authorities in Cersei's Rest using the ship's communication device... and he'd declared his rank as Decanus. It was technically true, as he had been granted a battlefield promotion while he worked for the now-defunct Rhodok adventuring guild.
For authenticity, he wore a set of Tyrion Decanus armor he'd looted from their forward team's remains. The sword on his side once belonged to a young, bright-eyed Avenger-- one he killed personally. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill any more Tyrions, this sun.
Tycon approached his two companions and the group of Church enforcers, with whom they were conversing.
He quickly identified the gentleman with the largest hat, rendering a salute, "Good morning, Inquisitor. Decanus Tycon reporting as ordered."
"Good morning, Decanus," The cloth-masked Inquisitor returned his own sharpened salute. "My name is Inquisitor Sagonis... And my first inquiry is: where... is... your helmet?"
"Forgive me. It was lost in honorable battle, fighting against heretics in Ezyria."
"Mm. Granted," Sagonis nodded. "I trust you'll amend that before reporting to your... Centurion?"
"Of course," Tycon sighed... "It seems I'm never more than a single mistake away from crucifixion."
"Decanus... Tychon... admittedly, I am unfamiliar with your name," The Inquisitor took a few steps to the side... keeping vigilant, "I'd think I'd have remembered such... peculiar eyes."
"*I'd* like to think I've been promoted for my skill, rather than my handsome appearance."
"Hm. I hope the same of me," Sagonis adjusted his cloth mask, briefly revealing a wicked scar... "And who exactly, may I ask... is your superior?
Tycon took care not to roll his eyes.
It was an unspoken rule amongst current and former military members to informally 'test' their peers. It was a social game... They would compare their time in service, their achievements, the prestige of their Legion... and sometimes, even their legitimacy.
As Sagonis' Munifices were not-so-subtly dispersing, positioning better to block off any avenue of escape, Tycon judged it was the latter.
"I work for Archbishop Natalya Crucis," Tycon sneered defiantly, "You might have heard of her."
The Inquisitor subconsciously straightened his own back upon hearing the name... "I see."
"Is that a look of pity, Brother-Inquisitor?"
"Something like that," Sagonis shook his head, "She is... difficult to work with, from what I'm told."
With that, Tycon was fairly certain he'd passed the Inquisitor's test.
...However, he wasn't entirely certain that was something to be pleased about.
From there, they exchanged some mundane pleasantries. Tycon was introduced to Sagonis' three subordinates and informed of a popular local eatery called the Black-Tailed Gull (it had had opened up in the last half-year.) Most importantly, he was given a recommendation on where to purchase regulation equipment for a reasonable price.
Inquisitor Sagonis, despite his villainous voice and rough exterior, proved to be a very conversational, if hard-working gentleman. Tycon respected that.
The young elf, Coraline, led the Inquisitor's men back onto the Golden Eagle to recover Elladan and Olesya. Both were charged with murder.
The Church enforcers were well equipped to deal with resistance. They admitted to hoping for it.
"Decanus," Sagonis addressed him. "Your elf has informed me that you have the Elven artifacts."
"Indeed. Though, with all due respect," Tycon grimaced, "she's not *my* elf."
The Inquisitor sighed, "If you're going to reprimand me, Tychon..."
"--Oh, no. Don't misunderstand," Tycon chuckled. "She is the romantic partner of my mercenary companion."
"Hmph. The scarred boy?" Sagonis narrowed his eyes... "He's a fine young man. Guide him well."
"I try," Tycon shrugged.
"The artifacts?"
He lifted up his burlap sack and reached in, firmly gripping a cat by the loose skin on the back of its neck. The black, white, and brown calico hissed, violently scratching at his hand.
"This... is a Druid from Alizeau," Tycon presented it forward. "Are you familiar with the Class?"
"I am, Decanus. Vile transformation magic, for certain," The Inquisitor groaned as he unstrapped a metal collar from his belt, "Reveal thyself, Witch... and perhaps I may be merciful."
Tycon rolled his eyes and groaned, "Brother-Inquisitor, come now. Mercy is not in the Church's doctrine."
"The Witch doesn't know that."
"If she does not, she will," Tycon smirked. "Release your transformation, Miss Felicity, or I will break your legs on the Inquisitor's behalf."
"Oh, please, Decanus," Sagonis chuckled, "There is no greater joy amongst our faithful, than the *breaking* of Witches."
"Hm," Tycon pursed his lips as he grabbed hold of the cat's hind paw, "Sound logic. I'll begin, then--"
Before Tycon could be granted such 'joy', he felt the Druid begin to transform. In a flash of magic and a puff of smoke, Miss Felicity returned to her human form.
An adult woman, she wore proper adventuring gear, padded armor, a sword on her side... and two familiar blades on her back.
Tycon tossed her to the ground, kicking her hard in the abdomen. Quickly mounting her back, he locked her arm in a painful hold.
Arm control. Neck control. Those were most important in subduing a difficult individual.
"AUGH! L-let go of me!!" She screamed, struggling desperately.
Tycon dislocated her shoulder, prompting an ear-splitting shriek. Arm control.
"Impressive," The Inquisitor nodded as he latched the null-magic collar tight around her neck. "That isn't the first time you've done that."
"Indeed," Tycon chuckled, releasing his grip and rolling off of the Druid. "There is a magical tool on the ship to verify the swords' authenticity."
"Very good," The Inquisitor grabbed the human woman by the hair and dragged her to the standing, "That will be all then."
Felicity seemed to have some choice words to say on the matter... "HAhhhhhHH! Harrghhckkk!"
Thankfully, it seemed her magical collar also prevented her from speaking.
Tycon gestured to the woman, "I'd like a receipt for this."
ραпdα Йᴏνê|(сòm) The taller man glared in response, "You can trust my word, Decanus. I am an Inquisitor who answers only to the High Oracle."
Tycon bared his teeth in chagrin, "Forgive my rudeness, Inquisitor Sagonis, but... you know my superior."
He removed a rolled-up parchment from a pouch, offering it forward.
The Inquisitor stared for a moment... but relented with a sigh.
"I do not envy you, Brother-Decanus," He retrieved his pen and inkpot, "Very well. Let us ensure one of our finest avoids crucifixion, this sun."
"I appreciate it," Tycon chuckled derisively, "I hear and obey... for the glory of the Eternal Flame."
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