Entering a town followed by a group of bound bandits draws attention, but so does the long cape and dark uniform of an Inquisitor. Turnipton is a funny little town, founded early in Hassias' career and handed over to one of his advisors, it's a center for the Duchy’s agricultural production. Really, the arable lands of Forestelm are limited compared to the forestry, but it's enough for some self-sustaining farming in the region.

  The city itself must be at most a few thousand strong, not much as compared to a major port like Whelton, or even a buffer fort like Pommel or New Glory, but the numerous overland caravans coming and going likely boost it's population at any given time to ten thousand, if one includes the garrison of three hundred Karls and 500 Pikemen meant to protect the rich crossroads.

  Count Verde, the ruler of the County of Turnipton, oversees the production in the land, to include overseeing the various small villages and towns scattered about but not on most maps, to include Hogsbottom. He should have some form of information.

  After dropping off the four bandits at the local city garrison, I enter Verde's city hall. Most people, after being en-nobled, lose pretensions of being in it for the people and build a grand 'government building' to rule from, but Count Verde's modest courthouse points to a real hope to be a servant of his people. I had yet to meet the Druid, but the many health looking, well-cared for plants points to at least a semblance of him keeping up his beliefs. Druids love to hate an Inquisitor, I don't know why, we've never persecuted plant magyk, but they despise us almost as much as they despise death Magi.

  When I enter, the Druid's back is turned to me, as he stares out his second story window onto the street. His simple circlet of ivory vines, which looks like it's still alive, shows he's not entirely unaware of his status as a ruler, but his otherwise drab clothing makes a modest and almost beggar-like image. A carefully cultivated image, I suspect, though knowing Druids, he could just be like that.

  "Count Verde, of Turnipton. The Inquisition and Sylvene Court greets you."

  "Grim Inquisitor Felix. The Court of Turnipton has been abuzz with rumors of you. I did not know Inquisitors had taken to bringing in common rabble."

  "Yes, I'm afraid the commoners ambushed me on the road. Hopefully their tales of starvation and the lack of guards on the roads to Turnipton don't continue to harm this Province. Duties so important should not go undone."

  "I suppose so, but of far more importance are your duties, I'm sure. Going to dances in the capital, drinking with the Duke, so on and so forth."

  The man turns around, his mossy beard showing he has clearly not given up his Druidic life. He must have made out my narrowed eyes, because his mocking tone lessened.

  "What can I do for you, Inquisitor?"

  "As it happens, the importance of my duties has led me to your County, Count Verde. A first hand account has brought to my attention a potentially disastrous presence in your lands."

  He guffaws. "My lands? Surely you are not accusing one of my Order of conspiring with Grim Forces, especially considering your.. state"

  A small growl escapes my lips before I manage to silence the Wolf. "You would do well to remember my State, and my status, Count. Fortunately for you, I do not suspect you of anything as yet. Rather concerning rumors of dark cults and darker gods have come to me."

  "Surely mere rumors do not move the Inquisition so."

  "Rumors of the Harvester certainly do. Particularly those brought to me by a band of Adventurers recently in the area."

  Verde's face pales. "The Drakeslayers saw a Harvester Cult?"

  "So they say" I sip from a cup of Caffeine.

  "In Hogsbottom?"

  I take a sip. "Aye. In fact, they say they killed an Acolyte, one Harry Hogsbottome."

  "Why are you so calm, Inquisitor? The Harvester could be in my backyard!"

  "We were just trading insults, now you're mad I'm not jumping to help you?" I take another sip.

  "By god, you inquisitors! What are you still doing here!"

  "You still haven't given me time to ask my questions, Count Verde." I set down the cup.

  He sits in his chair. "Ask away, Inquisitor. I will help you eagerly if you rid my lands of this cult."

  "That is what I intend to do." Sniffing his aura, he's seems clean of any influence but the moss which clearly clogged his brains for the past minute. "Let me clarify, before you die of a heart attack, that your lands are not going to become a second Sea of Calamity. At most, we're likely in danger of losing the Village itself, but even that is doubtful."

  The heart of the count stops fluttering like a butterfly as I talk. "All the same, Inquisitor, I'd be happy to answer what questions you have."

  "Excellent. My first question, when's the last time you had contact with Hogsbottom?"

  "Ah, probably months ago by this point. Their Lord, Richard, requested we find their Wagon. Some girl from their village took it and ran away."

  How intriguing. "Ran away?"

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  "That's all he told me. Girl by the name of Hamika Debroah or some such. We never found the wagon."

  Could be something. "I see. Has Lord Richard always been Lord-Mayor of the village?"

  A surge of memory magic, my senses didn’t pick it up before. "I don't... I don't remember." That is odd.

  "Have you met Richard before?"

  He nods. No memory magic here. "Yes, pleasant enough, for a Lord and a Mayor, you know how they are. Pompous though he was, he seemed fine"

  "Aye, most Grims do. What was Hogsbottome called before its name was changed?

  Another spike of the mind magic. "It was named something other than Hogsbottom?"

  "Your records show it as The Hamlet of Opal."

  A strong surge of magic. "Really? I don't recall such..."

  "Yes, it would appear Lord Richard managed to put a memory spell on you. I wonder what for."

  "What! Can you help?"

  "No, unfortunately, I haven't the resources to help"

  A last surge. "Help with what?"

  "Ah... I'll talk to your Court Mage about it."

  "Uhm, okay.. anything else?"

  "Do you know what shop they sold too?"

  “Yes.” He says, "I'll have my Guard lead you there."

  It was on the edge of town leading to Hogsbottom. The place is a fine enough establishment. Certainly not something a Noble would buy from, but the peasants likely did. An old sign with a rusty meat cleaver hangs, squeaking, from the front porch. Must be a home and a shop. It is closed, however, with the front door having a bar over the door. The town guard waits behind me. I can smell their nervousness behind me, thick in the air. The Count doesn’t hold memories of the Harvester cult, but his Guard knows my purposes here.

  Three loud knocks announce my presence to whatever butcher calls this place home. “By Order of the Inquisition Grim, open your door!”

  Some people don’t respond well to Inquisitors… well, pretty much no one does. Some respond more aggressively than others. Most act meekly, like deer ready to flee into trees, and some few cower, worse than worms. These are the worst, because they are normally snakes and Grims ready to strike you as you turn around.

  And very, very few treat Inquisitors like equals. These are annoying to deal with, not because there’s any harm meant, but because they don’t cooperate easily, even more so than the aggressive ones.

  A grumbling can be heard and someone yells. “I’ll be a minute!”

  This might be one of those few times

  “Open the Door, sir!”

  “I said hold on!” Hmm. A lack of respect, but not undue aggression.

  “Mr. Vandhalt, open the door!” The thump of boots can be heard, before a mountain man appears before me. As tall as a short Cinncail, with shoulders broader than a dwarfs, the man towers in the doorway.

  “What can I do for ya?”

  “Well, you can let me into your home, Mr Vandhalt.”

  The massive butcher blinks at me “We’re closed, Inquisitor.”

  “I’m not here to bargain for meat, I’m here to inquire with you”

  “Inquire?”

  “Yes, Mr. Vandhalt, I have to come to question you. Now let us into your home or you’ll be coming back to the keep for questioning instead”

  “Alright alright, Inquisitor” The mountain of a man opens the door, standing aside. “Come in”

  This might not be easy.

  Entering the butcher shop reminds one of entering the Inquisitions interrogation rooms, meat hook hang empty but clean, sharp cleavers and butcher knives are organized behind the counter. No meat is in the butcher shop, and the candles and laterns appear unused recently. The big man leads me into the back, through a swinging door, into his home. The man sits on a simple but sturdy chair. A coffee table sits between us.

  “Take a seat, Inquisitor”

  I look at him. “I don’t think I’ll be long”

  “Uh, okay.”

  I walk over and inspect some of his decorations, a mounted deer head in the wall “Where do you get your product, Mr. Vandhalt.” He watches me from his chair “Ah- Hogsbottom sir, a small protectorate north of Turnipton. They, ha- they produce hogs”

  “Yes. I imagine so. How long have you been buying from Hogsbottom?”

  “Oh, awhile now. I came over here with the Duke himself, you know. Helped to beat back the savage Gurhg and the wild Fae to establish this Duchy. I was granted this land and a seller permit for my service.”

  “So long enough you knew the previous Mayor of the town?”

  The man plays with a butcher's knife, not looking me in the eyes. "What, uh, what is this about, Inquisitor?"

  I raise an eyebrow at the man, leaning forward. "I think you know, Mr. Vandhalt. Who was the previous mayor of Hogsbottom?"

  He shrugs, "It was Mayor Eithan Finly."

  No mind magic, no hesitation, but still, he seems apprehensive. "It is interesting that you remember that. You knew the mayor?"

  "Aye, I knew the man. Foolish, sometimes, he was a good man but a terrible administrator, a head for books, not for coins. He could keep people in line, eve'body liked the man, but the hamlet was barely afloat for awhile, not till he got richard to do the books for him"

  "And what happened to Finly?"

  "Well, they say he tripped... fell of a bridge, broke his back"

  More hesitation. "And what do you say?"

  He tenses his shoulders, slamming his cleaver into the table. "Finly was my friend, Inquisitor, and he never set foot on that bridge, and he certainly wasn't a drunk to go stumbling over the side. Day after he fell, that damned Richard took over. Rebranded the whole place. They used to raise all kinds of things, you know that? Opal mead was some of the damned finest mead I ever drank. Now it's just pigs. I still buy from them, but I hate every second of it. I just hope some of my money goes to feeding the folk over there. They were good folk. Ms. Rainhall and her son used to bring me pork, but then it was just her son, 'cept he got duller by the day, his eyes no longer had that brightness to him. I thought he had a chance of becoming an engineer for the duke, but now he can barely string a sentence together. I don't know what's happening over there, but it aint nothing good, inquisitor."

  I lean back as he rants, honestly shocked he opened up so freely. He looks just as shocked, glaring at me, regaining his breath from his speech. "What did you do to me, inquisitor?"

  "I can honestly tell you, Vanderhilt, i didn't do anything to you, you just needed someone to talk to"