The Unlikely Inquisitor

Old Friends
The Ties that Bind
Disturbing Occurrence

1010-AB. 10-07
0930 hours.
Action: Crushing Blow I follow-up investigations.

The room is filled with darkness. Thick veils of shadow swirl through the room, stalking around a circle of light where a chair is bolted to the floor. Sat in the chair is a woman, dressed in shabby, filthy prison garb rather than the rich blue velvet robes she'd been arrested in. The woman's formerly warm and welcoming face is haunted and her eyes are wide as they dance around the room like roulette balls in a wheel. The thick cloying stench of fear hangs in the air as Roseluck tries to summon the strength of her Goddess, draws breath to recite the canticle of Absolution.
"Oh Bringer of Darkness, watch over me in-"

The door crashes open, a blaze of light spilling over Roseluck. She squints against the blaze of light, seeing two sillhouettes in the doorway. One of them is tall, bald and powerfully built, the light flashing off his pate and a chill of absolute terror sinks its claws into her guts. At his shoulder is a woman, judging by her frame. The woman is shorter than the man, with long flowing locks, and the sight of her makes Roseluck gulp.

"Cease your mewling, Heretic, it will not help you here." The man's voice booms like thunder crashing down upon the mountainside and Roseluck's heart almost stops as the man strikes the lightswitch and the darkness is stripped away to figure the stuff of her nightmares. Lord Inquisitor Hard-Truth stands in the doorway, his massive frame dwarfing the woman standing next to him. One of the most feared inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus, Hard Truth is known for his fanatical zeal and his dedication to the protection of Equestria from all threats, foreign and domestic. Whilst the victims of the inquisition are never subjected to such things as a court of law, Hard Truth is known to be a hanging judge as it were. The figure next to him however inspires even more terror than such a spectre as Hard Truth.

The woman walking into the room has pale skin and cold blue eyes that gaze down at Roseluck like the eyes of eternity. Her long flowing deep purple hair flows down her back in a series of elaborately styled curls, which frame her face and neatly accentuate the coldness in her expression. She is dressed in a simple black cloak, beneath which is a flowing maroon robe, though she has forgone the wide-brimmed hat that is traditionally associated with the Inquisition.
"Rarity!" Roseluck gasps "You have to help me, tell them I'm not like the others, please!"

"We have a series of questions for you, Heretic." Rarity says calmly, striding toward Roseluck. "How you answer these questions will determine how you are treated here. Cooperate and your stay will be long and pleasant. If you fail to provide us with the answers that we need then your stay will be long but noticeably less pleasant." Her mouth quirks downward into a faint frown.
"Please, do not put me to the test on that last point, Roseluck. Though I would hate to put you to the rack, I will if I must."

"What have they done to you?" Roseluck asks, her eyes wide as she remembers the happy, capering little girl who would knock on her door for treats come nightmare night, and the equally focused young woman who was so driven by her love for fashion and elegance that she became one of Equestria's youngest buisinesswomen. Now Roseluck can see that focus has been given a new target, a grim edge as sharp as any knife.

"That is really none of your concern, you have other things to worry about, namely, what I shall do to you should you fail to assist with my inquiries." Rarity's voice is firm and Roseluck draws a deep breath, her eyes flickering to the stormtroopers at the door, and to Hard-Truth, who clears his throat with a noise like a mountain drawing breath.

"I strongly suggest you cooperate, Heretic. Inquisitor Stern-duty is the best option you have right now." He growls, and Roseluck bites her lip.

"Stern-duty is it? That's what they call you now, Rarity?"

"You are one of the founding members of Ponyville's former Nightmare Cult, at whose direction did you form this group?"

"Are you sure you want to do this? Live your life as a pawn of murderers like him?" Roseluck gasps, and then recoils as a flare of pain slices across her face, the slap ringing through the room. Shock is etched upon her face as she looks up at Rarity's masklike countenance.

"Answer the question, Heretic," Rarity says dispassionately. "I can do this all day if I have to."

"No one's direction. I founded it myself, p-p-please."

"Lies will get you nowhere," Rarity's indictment is as cold as ice "Those banners last night were beyond the ability of a second level Seeker to create, likewise the sigils needed to be taught by someone, I wish to know who. I will give you one last chance." Rarity's tone is conversational as she gestures, beckoning the three stormtroopers foward. The clatter of their boots rings through the cell as they advance to flank Rarity, looming over Roseluck like silent pillars of ceramite as they fold their arms, and in that moment Roseluck feels as though a veil has fallen between her and Rarity. One moment, she is seeing the little girl that she gave Nightmare Night candies to, the next moment she sees the cold smugness of the Inquisitor, the enemy.

"Go to hell." Roseluck hisses, and spits in Rarity's face. Rarity blinks, surprise etched in her face, and then she nods.

"You are familiar with the fast-food chain Hayburger, yes?" She asks, and Roseluck blinks at the non-sequitur and her mouth goes dry.
"Y-yes." She says, and Rarity nods as she wipes her face clean.

"And do you know the slogan of that chain?" Rarity continues, as though it's the most natural question in the world, and Roseluck nods nervously as the Inquisitor rises to her feet.

"Have it your-" The air suddenly explodes out of Roseluck's lungs as Rarity delivers a savage blow to the other woman's midsection, leaving Roseluck doubled over and gasping for air as Rarity examines her knuckles.

"Have it your way." The Inquisitor says calmly, turning on her heel as the stormtroopers yank Roseluck up to the sitting upright position. The woman is sobbing and gasping for air as snot dribbles from her nose.
"Please, you don't have to throw your life away like this!" Roseluck shrieks as Rarity walks back to the doorway and the waiting Hard-Truth, who opens the door calmly for Rarity to step outside.

As Rarity steps into the corridor, she can hear the sound of ceramite plates rubbing against each other, followed by the sound of ceramite hitting flesh and a yelp of pain from Roseluck, a yelp that makes Rarity's heart clench and her stomach twist, the sounds rapidly muffled as the armoured door slams shut, leaving her standing outside with her mentor, Hard Truth.

"One of the unfortunate parts of being in the Ordo Hereticus, the threat from within is just as potent as the threat from without." Hard Truth says grimly, gazing at the door. "Are you alright, Inquisitor?" He asks, and Rarity shakes her head, biting her lip.

"The first one is always hard, particularly when you know the person concerned." He says as he places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "If it is any consolation, I've sat in on her kind before, she will not take long to break. You can go home now if you wish, take the rest of the day off."

Rarity shakes her head, straightening her spine as memories of Roseluck and Nightmare Night are replaced by other, more recent memories.
"No, Lord Inquisitor, this is my charge and I will see it through to the end. I know these people... I will be able to question them more effectively."

"If you're sure." Hard Truth looks doubtful and Rarity offers the hard-bitten Lord Inquisitor a weak smile.

"I am, sir, I acted precipitously last night and lost the Honour-Guard. This is the problem, whilst the rest may have useable intelligence, ultimately all we really gained last night was a handful of knuckledraggers and a mid-level who may not actually know all that much."

"You're certainly right about your precipitous actions." Hard Truth agrees, his voice level "I thought I had trained you better than this. Last night's operation was a limited success, but we could have gained considerably more intelligence if ser Honour-Guardian had taken you into his confidence, if you'd been willing to-."

"Forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but one of the most important things about our work is retaining our humanity." Rarity says softly, and Hard Truth shakes his head.

"This is a lesson I have tried to teach you again and again, Inquisitor," He sighs "You need to understand that sometimes our work requires us to do things that other people wouldn't even dream of doing... you've already had your first lesson in that today, but sometimes we need to look at the value of that one life and weigh it up against the cumulative value of all the lives in Canterlot, or even in all the Imperium."

Rarity tilts her head.
"Is this the part where you tell me the ends justify the means, or is this the part about omelettes and eggs?" She asks, and Hard Truth snorts.

"You know me too well, Inquisitor. Still, what is done is done, and we will be able to gain some useful information from the number of Heretics you pulled in last night... twenty Heretics in one arrest is nothing to sneeze at, I'm sure one of them is bound to know something useful." Hard Truth glances down the corridor, and then he gestures to the next door.

"Do you wish to take a run at the next one? He's young and foolish, maybe he'll do something foolish when confronted with a woman rather than what he's expecting." Hard Truth looks a little doubtful, and it is as much to dispel that doubtful look as to drive out the last ghosts from her confrontation with Roseluck that Rarity nods sharply.

"Of course. I'd be more than happy to get my teeth into another heretic, it'll give us something to do whilst this one's simmering." She gestures at the door behind which Roseluck is held, before turning her back and walks down the corridor, finding it easier than she'd thought to walk on to the next cell. She reaches the cell, and with a deep breath, she yanks the cell's door open to be confronted with the sight of a round teenage boy with bright copper coloured hair and greasy skin.

Rarity steps across the perimeter, gazing at the young man. He's almost as old as Sweetie Belle should be... maybe he knew her... Rarity shakes that thought away as she steps into the cell, the door closing behind her to leave her alone with the heretic. She can feel her heart accelerating faintly as the heretic looks up at her and scowls.
"I know you." He says softly, his voice faintly whiny and Rarity tilts her head as the door slams shut behind her. Hard-Truth has not followed her in on this occasion.

"And I know you, heretic." She says shortly, walking towards him. Already she can feel like this might be a mistake. There's no way this cultist is old enough or senior enough to know anything of value or import. She takes a deep breath.

"You were Sweetie Belle's sister, right?" He asks and Rarity's eyes narrow faintly, not dignifying the fat cultist with a reply and he scoffs.
"Of course you were... you know, I still miss your sister, she wasn't much of a looker but she could sing, particularly when you hit the spot just right there and you put it nice and deep in-" He suddenly cuts off, his eyes locking upon the fist sized muzzle of the bolt pistol about an inch from his nose.

"You were saying?" Rarity asks daintily, her finger applying one pound of pressure to the firing stud. All she has to do is squeeze a little tighter and she'll trigger the weapon, firing a rocket-propelled projectile into the cultist's insolent face. Right now, that option seems to be very attractive, and the anger screaming in her guts is begging for her to do just that.

The cultist's mouth buttons up and he shakes his head rapidly.
"Good, now we were discussing information about the Heretical cult, such as how you came to be a member, did you have any knowledge of their plans, that kind of thing. Would you be willing to help a lady in distress? If not... then I have no further use for you." She shifts her grip on the bolt pistol, making her meaning abundantly plain, and the cultist formerly known as Snips pales.

"You don't understand!" The cultist snaps, seeming to shrink in upon himself as his gaze shifts to the bolt pistol in Rarity's hand and his mouth drops open. "The horrors you can inflict can only damage my body... She can... You don't understand what She can do to those who fail her."

"I understand," Rarity's voice suddenly becomes a little warm and understanding "You're afraid. I can see that you're scared, it's written all over your face. You're worried about what Nightmare Moon would do to you if you talked, about what your friends would do if you betrayed them. I understand completely" Rarity's voice is warm, and a flicker of doubt passes across the culist's face, but then his expression hardens and Rarity's own visage hardens in turn.

"That being said, I'm not entirely sure you understand the the situation. Your Nightmare Moon is gone, cast out from this world by the grace of Princess Celestia, and again by the Elements of Harmony," Rarity's tone is calm and confident. "She is gone, and her rage is not something you need to worry about. All your friends are locked up in this cell-block and I shall be visiting them in turn, they cannot hurt you now. On the other hand, I am here, in front of you right now, with the capability to make my rage felt in the most unpleasant fashion." Rarity's eyes narrow coldly as she lowers the bolt pistol.

"I won't talk, you're wasting your time." The pudgy cultist says and Rarity sighs.
"Fine, have it your way. You have an hour to make your peace with the Princess before we commit you to her judgement." Rarity says, turning on her heel and giving every impression of a woman who has given up on a lost cause as she stalks towards the door. The quick in-drawn breath behind her makes Rarity pause.
"You know," Rarity adds, as final salt on the wound "I wonder how they're going to kill you... the Inquisition has many methods of death... whatever it is, it will be less than you deserve. They can draw it out for an eternity, drawing you back at the brink and then plunging you down again, can you imagine that, being tortured to death for an eternity, never to see the touch of your beloved moon ever again?" She asks and the cultist whimpers. A dark nugget of satisfaction forming in her heart, Rarity walks toward the exit.

"Wait!" the voice stops her and Rarity turns.

"So you're going to be cooperative?" Rarity asks, and Snips nods, sniffling weakly.

"Good... Now tell us what you can... tell me enough and I might be able to put in a good word for your life." She says, and the cultist nods weakly, drawing a shuddering breath.
"I wasn't told much, but I heard enough, Operation Tam-Zarkaz-" He suddenly cuts off, his eyes widening. Rarity feels a sudden chill fill the room. An unnatural chill that speaks eloquently of the cold between the stars whispers through the air, fogging the room up. At the same moment, magic starts to crackle through the air, punching through the thick warding that should be shielding the room. Rarity thumbs the Inquisitorial rosette at her neck, drawing on her own magical shielding, but whatever has infiltrated the cell is not aiming at her.

The shadows at the corners of the dank cell coalesce into thick tendrils of smoke, bright flickers of actinic lightning dancing up and down their length as they snake out, reaching for the restrained cultist. Rarity's eyes widen in sudden shocked horror and she reaches for the power-sword hanging at her side, but she's too slow. The tendrils reach out and grab the cultist's arms and head, and a booming voice fills the cell, an ageless female voice that pounds its way directly into Rarity's soul.
Traitor! Forsaker! Let this be a lesson to all who would forsake the lessons of the True Power!

The tendrils grasp the cultist, and before Rarity can do anything, they wrench his arms from his sockets with a sharp wet squelching sound. Blood fountains from the wounds and the cultist shrieks in agony, a shriek that is rapidly cut off as the tendrils of smoke wrench his head from his shoulders, a spray of arterial blood fountaining up to soak the roof in gore and splashing Rarity with flecks of crimson. The corpse sags as the foul energies dissipate and Rarity releases an angry sigh as alarms in the cell kick in and start to warble.

Rarity sighs and turns around after a moment, biting back an urge to throw up as the coppery stench of blood washes over her, before the door suddenly bangs open and three Inquisitorial stormtroopers come in, las-rifles up and at the ready. Rarity starts walking to the leader of the stormtroopers, who lowers his rifle.
"We're going to need a cleaning crew... not much that this one could tell us," Rarity says grimly, "Pass the word on, we need to check the seals on the tower... and don't question any more captives, I'm almost positive they won't be allowed to answer any questions." Rarity wipes flecks of blood away from her face, and then stalks for the exit.