You meet a number of people already up and about. In the temple, there is always something going on, whether it is the day-to-day toil and grind, or an alleged incursion from up north. Not that you can get that much further north without crossing the fine line between order and Chaos, anyway.
This structure is one of the few that the Temple of Khaine—the Temple, for short—prides itself on having. It is self-contained in many aspects, built with versatility in mind: it functions as a temple in times of peace and as a citadel in times of war. Then again, it has been a long time since there has been war here. You don't blame would-be invaders for passing. The land here is not exactly choice location, and even though there are impressive structures, they do not make for terribly valuable real estate.
On your way to your duties, you are approached by some of your trusted guards. They inform you that there is a visitor here to see you, waiting in the audience chamber. You can only wonder what this visitor would want from you, and what station he must be to warrant your attention. Not to brag, but you're not exactly a peasant you ask directions. Your time is more valuable than to act as a signpost.
Perhaps your hunch has proven to be right? You pass on the thought for the moment, accepting each second as it comes, and taking each step to the audience chamber. The audience chamber is really just a glorified meeting room that serves as a more formal ensemble than the temple lounge or garden can summon on short notice. This would make the guest some sort of official, probably even from out of town.
You meet some of your fellows along the way. Though not exactly your peers, you all have one thing in common: you are each, in some way, pivotal to the functioning of the Temple here. Whether you be the administrative leader, the head messenger, or the witch's hag, you help make the Temple what it is and can be every day. Each of you has some pillar of responsibility, and while some pillars are admittedly supporting more ceiling than others, and probable some more than needed, you have come to depend on eachother. You have to: none of you can be everywhere at the same time.
You remember your previous line of thought, the structure that is the temple, that exemplifies the Temple. In a moment's notice, it can be turned into a veritable fortress of maze-like complexity by shutting down several utility corridors, opening pit traps and, when forced, collapsing fake ceilings.
Within the temple basement, and also spread at a few carefully chosen locations, are all the supplies necessary to hold off an all-out siege on the temple: at least enough to hold off an invasion until reinforcements arrive. Luckily, the temple has only been tested twice before, and there has been minimal damage to the structure.
You walk through a covered garden with strange plants. You've never really understood why there would be such exotic plants in the temple, but you suppose they can make for able poisons or, barring that, a pleasant smell. As long as one can resist the urge to eat the fungus, which hasn't proven to be much of a temptation, the inner garden can be quite pleasant. For those who aren't easily convinced, there is a sign indicating eating plants that grow in the garden is disapproved, and also very much not adviced.
Finally, the audience chamber. This is one of the less safe rooms, due to the large—albethey seriously fortified—windows giving out on the city outside. The double doors can be barricaded easily, and there are always at least two guards present. It's not a very entertaining task to be guarding this room, especially with the occasionally exceedingly dull meetings going on inside. The slang “pole duty,” while a bit out-of-context here, is often used, ever since a guard is reputed to have fallen asleep on his halberd.
When you and your colleagues enter the audience chamber, you already hear voices gently touching, as if perusing, your ears. A couple of people of import are present, of which only a few are unknown to you. Luckily, that means that you know, in an indirect sense, most of those present.
The first is the city's sorceress, Mioralynthia, also called the court sorceress, who usually resides in the gouvernment district. She doesn't meddle with politics, so she is occasionally called for duties not involving her sorcery, basically attending a meeting for impartial advice. You chuckle when you recall your previous thoughts concerning these meetings. Mioralynthia, Miora for short and Mi Amor for the tactless, rarely showed great gratitude for these quote-unquote honours.
The second person you recognise is the notably shorter Anleth, recently appointed captain of the guard at the temple. She is responsible for security and serves as a kind of internal police chief. She is very young for the job, lacking experience, but since the temple hasn't been in need for enhanced security in a long time, and the previous captain left no replacement upon his retirement, there were no objections to letting Anleth, who showed remarkable devotion and talent, take up the sceptre.
Of course, there are rumours that Anleth was only given the job because she would be related to Mioralynthia, but nobody has been so tactless or scrutinous to verify that. After all, Anleth isn't exactly a political heavyweight capable of toppling you on a whim, so few bother and even less care.
A third person would be Tarbo. You've met and seen him once or twice, and he leaves a vague imprint in your memory: you wouldn't have recalled him off-hand, but seeing him brings about a fuzzy feeling of recollection, as if comtemplating modest nostalgia. His title is something of a mystery, although unofficially, he's what you could call a Mr. Fixit. Why he would be here right now defeats immediate reasoning. You reckon you will find out soon enough; obviously, a problem needs fixing.
A fourth person remains unknown to you before long. He looks slightly older than your average elf, although you're not sure whether this is actually true; in a sense, his apparent age seems to stem from a frail figure, an uneasy gaze, and a slightly uneven grin. “These would be them, yes?” his first words are.
Anleth hesitates before answering, looking everyone over briefly, in particular this strange figure, before answering: “Yes, these are the majesties you requested to see.”
“Now, now, my dear, majesties they're not. There are a few rotten apples amongst them, don't you agree?”
“Actually,” Tarbo interrupts, “apples are apples, whether they're rotten or not.”
“Yes, well...” He takes a deep breath and foregoes on pleasantries—or what he would consider pleasantries—in favour of shock effect, if any. “Naggarond grows concerned with the increasing laxity that seems to fester here. Rumours go that people are becoming creative in their interpretation of the religion and indulge themselves overly. I am here to put a stop to that.”
A grin grows on his face, showing a wrinkle in his lips. “This temple is now under inquisition. I am taking command of this structure until I've ferretted out each and every one of your dirty little secrets. And in case any of you get funny ideas, Tarbo is assigned to watch over my safety. Consider that a warning.” He nods once, not awaiting any sense of confirmation, then leaves. “Come, Tarbo.”
Tarbo sucks his cheeks briefly and follows the man with a bored stare. “Oui, mon capitaine,” he mutters under a sigh.
There is an understandable amount of trepidation abound in the vacuum left by the two visitors. Confused stares and phrases are thrown about, mostly asking what on earth is going on, what people are to do, and where in the blazes that guy got the nerve to stand you up!
“Please,” Anleth attempts to calm the uprising-to-be. “I have seen the documents he carries, and they appear legitimate. The temple is under martial law until the investigation is finished.” Martial law... there's a fine line between Druchii rule and martial law, or so you were told in classes, but exactly defining that fine line hasn't proven to be all that easy.
“I have asked for milady Mioralynthia's presence to take over administrative duties, so the temple can run at least partly in your absence. As for us...” Anleth takes a deep breath; she doesn't seem to have an easy way to say it, so she is glad Mioralynthia steps in.
“We should be doing this so-called ferretting ourselves,” Miora claims. “I'm sure you'll follow my statement when I say that we should not tolerate outside involvement into private affairs. We should be able to take care of this ourselves. Now, we can't just start bashing doors and turning over bookshelves at will. As long as you are relieved of your duties, we will be residing here. If more than half of you agrees on investigating someone, I will give the order and Anleth will carry it out with your blessing.”
You press your lips at the proceedings. An inquisition in an inquisition? Still, considering the obvious kicks your 'legal' inquisitor seems to get out of this, you assume that it will be slightly more discreet to do the job yourselves. If you have something to hide, it will also be easier to do so.
And so, the first day begins...
_____________________________________
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