Hidden Intro

         "I am still amazed at how people can carry on with their lives in these times."

         Tired eyes glanced up at the man as he sat on a desk on the far side of the room, looking out the window. A chill winter breeze picked up, playing at the brim of the hood that covered his face. The old man had long ago grown accustomed to the figures preference of keeping his face as obscured with that black hooded cloak that covered most of his body. However, he did not hold it against him. It was worn to make his figure more imposing, as an Inquisitor should be. And it served it's purpose well. The cloak added an air of mystery, seemingly alive as it shifts and folds behind him as he walked. The only visible parts of his body were the very bottom of his face, just below his lower lip, and the gloves of dark leather on his hands.

         The old man glanced back at the small script in his has as he finished writing, rolling it up and placing it within a drawer in the desk at which he sat. As he stood, he adjusted his own cloak of a modest brown leather to better block the cold air that streamed through the window. He slowly approached the hooded man, stopping in front of him and looked outside the window into the city below.

         "Indeed?" drawled the old man, "You are amazed they feel nothing is wrong or because they do not know there is something wrong?"

         The hooded man quietly shook his head.

         "Perhaps I worded that poorly. I am amazed that they cannot feel what is happening around them. I cannot even remember a time when I could not feel the shifting of the world."

         The old man nodded at the low, smooth voice of the hooded man that sat next to him. He too felt it, the shifting of the air. The heavier air blows in and settles upon the city like a fog that no one can see, but the observant can still feel. It never used to be often that the air became like this, only in times of war. Recently, however, the dense air was sweeping through, and lingering. Unlike the air of war, which came only when there was a nearby battle and to a lesser extent, a passing army on the war march, this air lingered. Lingered too long for a nearby battle and the breeze that followed an army was gone as swiftly as the soldiers. No, this was something more dire. Perhaps not dire though. The feel of the air was daunting, but it was not, as far as the old man could tell, nothing necessarily sinister. There was a change coming. A great change. But for better or worse, that was beyond the old man's ability to predict.

         "I'm surprised that you haven't commented on it sooner." said the old man, now looking at his companion.

         The hooded man turned to meet the old man's gaze, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes that almost glowed in the light from the window.

         "You've been moving me around quite a bit recently. I haven't had time to dwell on it." He paused at that. "Perhaps that should have been a sign in and of itself."

         "Perhaps. And I've kept you busy because I need as many of the ecclesiarchy here as possible. And I know you can handle yourself without support."

         The old man turned away from the window, approaching the full length mirror on the opposite wall. Coming face to face with himself for the first time in quite awhile, took in his own likeness. The fair skin of his youth had turned dark and leathery. A multitude of wrinkles and creases, some from old age while others from the stresses of his position, adorned every inch of visible flesh. Likewise, the light red hair he proudly wore had long ago turned gray and now stretched to his shoulder. It was a matter of personal pride that, despite his age, he was not balding. The rest of his body, was covered by the traditional plain brown robe that he wore, the most visible sign of his vow of poverty.

         He glanced up into the reflection and idly noted that the hooded man had not turned, he just continued staring through the window.

         "How long has it been since you've been home, Inquisitor?"

         The hooded man turned slightly.

         "I have no idea. I stopped keeping track a long time ago."

         The old man sighed. The inquisitor had a mind like a finely honed blade, it was a necessity of his duties. He knew exactly how long it had been, right down to the day. He was stubborn, though. Refusing to complain, show remorse or regret.

         "When do you plan on going back?"

         "When the time comes."

         "You do not worry that the winds of change blow there as well?"

         "You know very well what it's like where I come from. We have weathered changes that would destroy many civilizations." Again, he paused. "No, I do not worry about changes there. It was standing when I left, it will be standing when I return. No matter how long I will be away."

         The Inquisitor spoke with clear confidence. There was no modicum of doubt, it was as if it was prophecy set in stone.

         For a time, neither spoke, the old man gazing into the mirror and the Inquisitor through the window. The old man ventured one last glance through the mirror at the Inquisitor before purposefully striding to his desk and began to organize the papers there, finally sighting the most relevant ones and setting them on top.

         "Well, no use wasting any time worrying, then. I have the details of your next action ready."

         For the first time in what seemed like hours, the Inquisitor stood, breaking his gaze from the window and approaching the desk where the old man was seated. With every step he took, the sound of what seemed to be hanging chains and the faint clattering of metal plates could be heard. The old man recognized these sounds as the armor the Inquisitor wore underneath his inquisitorial robes, though the amount of that armor was unknown to him. Coming to a stop directly across the desk from the old man, the Inquisitor stood silently and stared down, waiting for the details of his next destination.

         The old man briefly reviewed the papers in front of him, before standing and making direct eye contact with the Inquisitor.

         "It seems that the province of Willowshire just past the mountains to the west have run across what they seem to think is a band possessed brigands. It is said that they possess a strength that no mere human could possess and it seems that the local authorities are unable to deal with these thieves and have sent for aid.

         As you know, Willowshire is one of the primary sources of lumber we possess, and it will not do to lose it, or any more shipments to this group. So, as high priest of the Imperial Church, I anoint you, High Inquisitor, to see to the safety of the people, land and resources there. Should you find the men there possessed, under the authority of the Church, you have permission to exorcise the taint there.

         You have as much time as you need, though I would like to see you back here in three months time, should your duty be complete. I will have matters that may require your attention at that time."

         The old man opened a drawer, retrieving a large sealed envelope.

         "These are your written orders, and the papers necessary for you to draw what equipment you need."

         The Inquisitor took the envelope, running his thumb over the sealing, leveling a stare at the old man before stepping around the desk and strode out of the room, the sound of chains slowly dying.

         Once he could no longer hear the Inquisitor, the old man sighed and sat down. He took out another small scroll and quickly scribbled some writing on it before rolling it up and sealing it. Calling for one of the Churches servants to bring a messenger pigeon, he walked over to the window the Inquisitor had been looking out, and tried to find what it was the inquisitor had been looking at. It seemed that he had been watching one of the city's more popular taverns. The establishment was always busy and the patrons were always cheerful. And they were cheerful, almost infuriatingly so. But there was envy as well. Perhaps they both were jealous that neither could be that jovial, knowing what they both knew.

         The priest was roused from his thoughts when a servant entered with the requested bird. The old priest deftly attached the small note the the pigeon's leg and sent it off to it's destination and dismissing the servant.

         He sighed once more before looking to the streets below. He easily picked out the shape of the Inquisitor striding through the middle of the street, the various pedestrians giving him ample room to move on the otherwise cramped thoroughfare.  He followed the Inquisitor's path as he stopped briefly at an outfitter before making a direct line for the city gates. As he passed behind the walls and out of view, the old priest mused the fact that he never knew why the Inquisitor never took a mount unless absolutely necessary. It would be much more efficient to have his own horse, like most of the other clergy. He quickly dismissed the sentiment as irrelevant, though. He knew full well that the Inquisitor would be back in three months. Just in time for the winds of change to converge completely. Then, thought the old priest, we'll see just what changes are approaching.

         "God help us if the changes are adverse." he muttered to himself.

         At that, he returned to his desk and resumed his paperwork. There was much to do in the next three months, and he'd be damned if he was going to be caught unprepared.