As the sun rose over Pilta’s busy central market; her inhabitants were greeted by a sight few would ever be able to forget. Women and men stared up at the tall, ancient clocktower that had once housed their seat of government to find that its ancient, red bricks had been stained with deep scarlet. Pinned to the clock’s face; they saw the form of a swollen, naked man. He had been turned upside-down and fastened beyond the clock’s arms with heavy bolts through his wrists and legs, but the most noticeable feature by far were the two wings of flesh that had been cut and stapled to either side- forming what appeared to be an angelic shape. From the wings; streams of long-congealed blood had stained the clock’s face, but the cuts in his arms and chest were dry. The wounds on his arms read “Run” and “Hide”, whereas the ones covering his stomach and chest red “Die” and “Traitors”.

It hadn’t taken long before the Inquisition had been called to divert traffic from the markets and, in effect, seal the area off from the rest of the city in preparation for Titus’ and Petrus’ arrival. The two stepped from their carriage and immediately saw what had shook the city through its morning hours and given life to numerous rumors and unfavorable talks of the Inquisition across the taverns already.

“Has anyone claimed responsibility for this heinous act?” Titus asked his steward as Petrus helped him down from the carriage with a gentle hand. The Purged shook his head and said; “No, Sire. None have spoken up. We are yet to identify the man, but I received word that someone has assaulted Gerathar’s mansion. The men are scrambling to make a report, but I am told that he is missing.” Titus stepped up towards the fountain decorating the central plaza and looked up at his men’s best efforts to loosen the bolts pinning the angelic form in place. He narrowed his eyes and raised his hand to shield himself from the bright morning rays with a solemn frown. He knew, as well as Petrus, that this could be none other than Gerathar, though neither could openly admit to it. They recognized his musculature- his wide shoulder, his hair and his magnificent member, as both had been privy to thoroughly exploring the man’s flesh on the evenings of their many orgies.

Petrus bit on his lower lip- shamed of feeling a measure of relief over the man’s dead, abused body, as he had undoubtedly taken with him the many sins the trio- and the rest of the Council- were all guilty of. Titus, however, seemed far less relieved to see the bloodshed and clenched his grip on the golden hilt of his blade.

Petrus eventually spoke; “Sire... As much as I wish to find whoever is responsible for this crime, I believe it prudent we act sooner, rather than later. I suggest we find some unwanted elements in the surrounding area- people capable of this feat of strength- and trial them immediately. A prompt execution shall imprint upon the masses that we are ever-vigilant and that this will not be tolerated.”

Titus scratched his chin ponderously before nodding his agreement. “Do it. But find the man truly responsible for this. Whoever he is, he knows that which cannot be known. Have you succeeded in finding the girl?”

Petrus looked down on his pristine, white boots and shook his head. “No, Sire. The men report that they could follow the trail of blood down into the cellar, but no further...” Petrus’ hesitation was already irking the displeased Titus as he sensed something was coming- something not to his liking. He threw his manservant a glare- urging him to voice his thoughts.

Petrus hesitantly spoke; “Sire Bartholomew was nowhere to be seen following the girl’s disappearance... if I could find him; I could ask whether he had seen something-”

Titus’ hand clenched the hilt of his blade tightly as he turned to face his petite servant. Petrus swallowed the contents of his dry mouth and awaited Titus’ scolding; “If you speak another suspicious word of my brother again, I will have your tongue sliced off. Remember your place, purged.”

As always; it made Petrus’ chest sting as he heard his beloved Titus’ anger, but he understood, better than any, that Titus needed him to bear it. He always had- gladly and without question, fore he knew that the love between the two spoke more than their designations of Purged and Duke. But in this regard, he knew better than to let his suspicions go- Bartholomew was as guilty as could be. Even now, he was likely back in the Garrison- pounding his psychomancer associate... he shuddered at the thought of such impurity and took a measure of solace in the knowing that by long, Titus’ moods would improve and they- Gods willing- could make up for Bartholomew’s sins.

“Yes, my Lord Duke. I-I apologize... Y-you know how I worry for you...” Titus removed his hand from the hilt and nodded his glorious, red, curled mane. “Do not speak to me of my brother again- not unless you have naught but venom on your tongue.” Petrus shirked away beneath his hood and nodded once more with a “Yes, my Lord Duke.”

Titus looked across the crowd with narrowed eyes and imagined the criminal element out there; the magus filth who had taken it upon themselves to kill one of his closest associates... he would have them pay for it. He turned over his shoulder to command his manservant; “Get to it. Find those worthy of punishment- then find the criminal. Have the men raise stakes here.” He motioned for either side of the fountain- inspiring his men and Petrus alike with the prospect of justice. In unison, the men all raised their fists to slap their chest-armors and shout; “Yes, my Lord Duke!”