Bel stood stiffly, waiting for the call to enter the room. He felt his heavy breathing, as the thick bronze mask made it wash over his face. He needed to chew more Teeth leaves. But now wasn’t the time for thinking about things like that. Now was the time to fret over the assignment of his first ever mission. He felt almost proud at the mere thought of it. Fifteen years had passed since he first joined The Order Putrelis. He had trained. He had struggled. And now, he would finally see the fruits of his labour come to fruition. Feeling nervous, he looked down once again. Though the small eye slits in the mask made it hard to see, he could easily pick out his long blue and red tabard, depicting a diamond pattern in the centre of it. He could feel the weight of his pauldrons weighing down his shoulders, the large frills hanging from his chainmail, protecting his hips from the sides. He also felt the weight of his sword, carefully placed in the sheath on his back. He felt the pressure of the white shawl, that covered his entire head and loosely hung down to his chest.

Suddenly, a commanding yet sly voice emanated from the room: “Come in!”

Opening the doors wide, Bel stepped into a huge room. The walls were covered in shelves of scrolls and huge, leather-bound books, tied with chains to the bookshelves. Two rows of desks, each on different sides of the room, went on until a small step. Men and women, dressed in raggedy blue robes each sat in front of the tables. With quills in hand, they carefully and beautifully copied down existing works, which they had placed on pedestals. Some murmured at the sight of Bel, but most just kept their head down, entranced in their work. Making his way down the red carpet, which was placed between the two rows, leading to the steps. There, the room ended in a rounded wall. Large windows let in the day’s sunlight, shining through the large frescoes, which depicted the tale of Saint Thomus. The sun shone on a large writing-table, made out of lacquered black wood. Beautiful carvings depicting leaves and bark decorated its edges and frame.

Standing at attention, Bel saluted, holding his Faith pendant and lifting it forward, towards the man who sat behind the writing-table, calmly writing what looked like a letter. Grandfather Maximien was a rising star in the Faith, attaining one of the highest ranks in less than eleven years. He felt honoured standing in front of such a holy man. With the sun rising through the windows behind him, it almost seemed as if he had a halo, circling just above his head. ‘Truly, an angel among men’ Bel thought, as Maximien raised his hand to stop his saluting. Looking up with those beautiful golden eyes, he smiled to Bel, urging him to sit down in the beautifully lacquered chair in front of the desk. Finishing what he was writing, Maximien twisted the sheet of parchment into a tube. Carefully tying it with an embroidered ribbon, he heated a stick of wax. Dripping a large drop onto the ribbon, he quickly pressed one of the rings, which stood carefully arrayed in a red case, into the wax, holding it. Happy with his work, the man blew on the wax a little bit, before handing it to a small boy, dressed in torn and ragged white clothes. Without saying anything, the boy bowed, pressed his lips to Maximiens hand and took the letter, disappearing behind a door.

Dressed in the fashion of the Julio order, long, thick, blue woollen robes, embroidered with gold and white tassels, the man had a childish grin on his clean-shaven face. Unwashed curly black hair peeked out of his small-cap, which covered most of his head in a dome. To Bel, he seemed the very meaning of great – a man who could show that grin to anyone, even in the most trying of times. Standing from his large chair, Maximien approached him, still smiling that beautiful smile.

“So, you’re the new Brother. This will be your first mission, correct?” he asked in a calm, endearing tone.

“Y-Yes, your H-Ho-Holiness.” Bel managed to stammer out. He felt himself slowly shrink back into his chair. He did that when he got nervous. He also got mad when he noticed it. Maximien looked at him with a slight shock, before chuckling softly.

“No need to be nervous, my Son. I will not bite. Make the legacy of Henri proud.”

Bel nodded in thanks. As Maximien, walked away from the end of his table, instead of standing in front of the frescoed window. Carefully opening the latch, he opened it. The buzz of a city could be loudly heard even from Bel's seat. Looking into the street of Baye, Maximien furrowed his brow, scratching his pointy chin. He was considering, thinking. While he did that, Bel carefully unlatched the bandolier which held his sword, taking it off and putting it up against the table. It was uncomfortable, sitting with that thing on his back. As he did that, Maximien turned, his hands behind his back.

“You’ve no doubt heard what transpired here yesterday night, yes?”

Bel nodded grimly. How couldn’t he know? By now, the story was probably spreading to the four corners of Bollardia. The story of a group of heretics, who, being funded by the Nocamius family, captured a slave of God, and how the eldest son of their family, Kosian Nocamius, fled with a band of mercenaries late in the night, while the rest of his family was rounded up and taken prisoner. Bel grew angry at the thought of such atrocious behaviour. A man who was willing to steal from the Faith was a great heretic indeed. And heretics needed to be rooted out. The sooner the better.

Maximien waited for Bel to finally nod before continuing:

“Then I imagine you understand your mission. You must find these heretics and return the Faiths property by any means necessary.”

“O-Of course, your Holiness. A… Am I-I given any re-restrictions in th-this-s pursuit?” Bel asked. It was a good question. The Faith was very specific when it came to rules.

“No,” Maximien answered immediately. “No restrictions. You may pursue this mission in any way you see fit.”

“Understood.” Bel was shocked by how calm his voice had suddenly become. Maybe his glee about finally getting a mission had beaten out his nervousness. As he stood, Maximien turned back to the window.

“Oh, I must add. The Sister who was training the slave has insisted she comes with you. I hope that won’t cause trouble?”

“None at all,” Bel answered, already walking out.

As he exited the scriptorium, Bel noticed a young girl standing in the hall, leaning on one of the pillars. She was around maybe 14 years, perhaps a bit older. Dressed in a long blue robe, she wore a long white linen shawl, which covered everything but her lightly freckled face. A similar pendant to Bels hung on her chest. The young woman turned to him, her eyes like emerald crystals, peering at him quizzically. Smiling a soft and kind smile, she stood properly and, holding out her long dress, she made a deep curtsey.

“I am Sister Almona. By the grace of the Lord, His Holiness Grandfather Maximien has permitted me to help you, Brother Bel, in your quest to reclaim the Faiths property.”

Bel blushed slightly. He wasn’t used to being addressed in such a way. Answering the curtsey with a deep nod, he held his hand out to her.

“It is my honour to accept you, Sister Almona. Please, address me simply as Bel.”

The girl gave a shock, before calming herself, taking a deep breath, and smiling at him.

“Thank you, Bel.” She said, taking his hand.

The two of them slowly walked through the hall.

“Where might you be heading, Bro… Excuse me, Bel.” Almona asked. She had to lift her skirts to keep up with him.

“I wish to question the family of the main perpetrator of this robbery. I believe they are currently held in the dungeons.” Bel answered simply. “Tell me, did you perhaps know the Sister responsible for the slave of God who was stolen? I wished to talk with her as well.”

He could hear Almona chuckle behind him.

“I was the Sister responsible for slave Pietre, B-Bel. You may ask any questions you want.” She said, with an amused tone.

“Then I will not dally or tire you too much. I just need to know a few things. Firstly: when and how was it stolen? Secondly: were there any prior cases of attempts to take it? And, lastly, was it perhaps acting suspiciously when on the day of the theft? Things like not following orders, losing himself in thought, not obeying instantly?”

Almona grew quiet for a moment and stayed that way as they crossed a small courtyard, entering the part of the cathedral abbey, which was connected to the barracks for the various Faith Orders and their dungeons.

“Well, to answer your first question, I noticed it missing sometime before noon. As it was trained during the night, I had asked it to go wash up before preparing breakfast. When it didn’t return, I went to check on it… only to find its collar and holy clothes were thrown on the ground.”

Bel noticed that pause.

“You don’t have to speak if it makes you feel uncomfortable.” He said in an assuring manner. He had studied cases of slave theft before. Many of the Sisters whose slaves were stolen usually went through a sort of shock. After all, the slaves were like sons or daughters to them.

“…No, it’s alright,” Almona answered, her tone thankful. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “The answer to your next question is a bit complicated. There were some cases of someone sneaking into the training grounds and convent for the first year of its taking, but after that, it wasn’t targeted at all. It is also hard to say if it was the specific target, as the trespasser was never caught.”

Bel hummed in thought, as he showed the prison guard the writ written by Maximien this very morning. Looking it over, the guard nodded and quickly opened the heavy wooden doors, which then led down into the dungeons. He nodded for the two of them to follow. Bel showed for him to wait a bit.

“If it’s okay with you, I would ask you to stay here. The visage of the dungeons may be… too much for a holy woman such as yourself.” He said, giving her a worried look, which barely showed behind that bronze mask of his. Almona smiled at him, placing her hands on her chest, playing with the holy pendant.

“Thank you. Finally, I must say that it didn’t act in any peculiar way on the day of its taking. Pietre was always a good slave, quick to follow orders.”

Bel nodded grimly.

“I thank you for your answers. I suggest you go get ready. I plan to head out before lunch is readied.”

Almona nodded and, picking up her skirts, hurried away.

Bel descended into a small main chamber, lit up by torches. Encased in completely black stones, the dungeon truly did bring about a sense of dread and unease. The faint light of the torches didn’t even reach the corners of the room, leaving them completely in shadow. Taking a sharp turn, the guard led Bel down a set of circular stairs, before turning another corner. They passed empty cells, bloodied cells. In some, Bel heard faint scratching or mumbling. In others – nothing at all. They even passed some oubliettes. Bel felt uncomfortable just thinking of the people caged in those pits of darkness.

Finally, he was led to a well-lit chamber. Each wall was made of long, black bars, with heavy framed doors as entrances into the cells. The guard nodded to one of them, which received the most light from the hung torches. Looking, he saw a man dressed in wealthy merchant’s clothes, which seemed worse for wear. Besides him, a woman of considerable age sat on the opposite wall, her face the image of stern calmness. It almost seemed like they were arguing just minutes ago. Waving for the guard to wait at the entrance of the chamber, Bel crouched down.

“I am Brother Bel of the Order Putrelis. I have been tasked to bring your son to justice and return the Faiths stolen property.” He said in a calm tone. He knew from training that it was better to use talking and calming tactics before opting for torture.

The man scoffed at his words, while the woman flinched.

“I need to know if you were part of this grievous crime. It might help me to convince the Grandfather to let you out, only exiling you from the city…”

The man scoffed louder, turning to him. His blue eyes seemed as if they burrowed deep into Bel's mind, picking apart every hidden meaning, every smidgen of a lie from his words. Of course, what he said was a lie. Their execution was already scheduled for the next month. Bel was happy for the mask. It hid his flinched eyes and drawn mouth from the man.

Finally, the man scoffed again.

“To think he was the one to pull this stunt. I’m honestly shocked by the balls my son has grown.”

“Geofroi!” the woman suddenly said, her voice filled with anger. “How can you say such a thing?!”

“What is there to say?” he replied wryly, before turning to Bel. “You go tell your grandfather that he can keep his laurels! If need be, I’ll publically commit suicide!”

Bel gave him a tone-deaf stare, which was hard to notice behind those eye slits of his.

“And what of your wife, mister Nocamius?” he noticed the man flinch at the mention of his wife. ‘A soft spot, eh?’ Bel thought as he continued: “She is currently held in the asylum ward of the nunnery. From what I hear, she is in poor health and even poorer mental state.”

The man turned to him, his face flushed with anger. He started chuckling wryly.

“My wife is dead! She died on the day our second son was born! That thing is nothing more than her grief and anger given form!”

The woman stayed strangely silent, even nodding in dreadful agreement. Bel sighed as he scratched his chin under the mask. This was more difficult than the training.

“We did not know about his plans, my good Brother.” the woman suddenly said. “The only hint we got was last night. The young master ran out of the house in a rush after reading a letter. His very last words were ‘Leave the city as fast as you can!’. That was all. Please, believe us.”

The man seemingly wanted to shout at the woman, but only opened his mouth, before quickly closing it again. Bel nodded. He knew when someone had said everything they knew. There was no more reason for this. Standing, he turned to go.

“Si tebi aster sanguine urer!”

Bel stopped dead in his tracks. Looking at the man, he tried to glare. It didn’t work, as the man merely chuckled.

“I once found my son practising knuckle boxing. From what I saw, he was pretty good. I hope he can make that beautiful face which you hide behind your mask even more beautiful!”

Bel barely held himself back from drawing his sword. So his face was pretty, was it?! He doubted the merchant had ever felt even a tenth of the pain he had to endure every day! Taking a deep breath, he let his hand fall and walked away.

A group of riders, some fifty men strong, slowly trotted past the St. Thomus gates, three carts following behind them. Bel carefully watched, as the column passed. He felt uncomfortable with so many inquisitors among his battle brothers. It was a peculiar sight, seeing broad-shouldered and heavily armoured Order knights, with their bronze masks, long tabards and heavy armour, ride along with a collection of men, each wearing a pure white cloak which covered his entire body and that iconic wide-brimmed hat. Bel felt a bit nervous around those inquisitors. Everybody but the inquisitors themselves did. After all, these sworn men to the Faith were able to disappear and reappear as if they were ghosts. Trying to calm himself, Bel patted the neck of his large bloodhound. Thomus, as he was named, stuck out his tongue, moving his head so that Bel could scratch behind those stout ears, always standing, listening to pick up any peculiar sounds. Turning, Bel noticed two riders approach him. One was an inquisitor, though his white cloak was more embroidered with gold lace than the others’. Bel guessed he was the High inquisitor Spar, which Maximien had mentioned to him. Next to him, riding a lanky huszarian runner, was Almona. She wore a long embroidered riding skirt and the tight linen shawl that had framed her face was now replaced by a snug looking padded cap and looser looking woollen shawl, which she had thrown over the cap. As the two rode up to him, Bel nodded curtly to the inquisitor, who answered with the same and a gentler nod to Almona. He guessed the Sister wouldn’t make this journey as dull as he thought it might be at the start. Waving for them to follow, he rode to the front of the column. Besides the three of them, an inquisitor and Order bannermen joined them, each holding aloft a beautifully stitched and crafter banner. The Order banner depicted St. Belmis, one hand holding the signature bronze mask close to his face, hiding its deformity, while in the other he held a Leper greatsword. The motto of the Order was written on a small banner under his visage. The inquisitions banner was just a simple white field with a Golden diamond in its centre, blue and red embroideries in the outline of the diamond, depicting The Lord at the top, A phoenix and a hand at the sides and a red Star at the bottom. A small golden cross was embroidered into the middle of the diamond pattern, signifying the inquisition.

With the two bannermen in place, Bel felt a sense of pride wash over him. here he was, finally leading his party. He felt the weight of responsibility slowly fall onto his shoulders. Now he had to make sure to take care of all of these men, and woman, and make sure to succeed in his mission. No matter the cost.