Once he'd entered the city he wondered if he really needed to bother with worrying about whether or not his actions led others to sin, for he saw vice all around. The richer citizens were dressed in clothing of many beautiful colors, and wearing jewelry that showed off their wealth just as much as their hubris and vanity. He saw flocks of people flooding the many taverns near the gates, all pouring in to partake of drink, satisfying unsavory addictions. He saw women wearing corsets and bustiers that accentuated their breasts, which were, in some cases, almost exposed. Men stared at their breasts, some quite unabashedly. He saw the city's homeless fighting over food or picking the pockets of the more wealthy members of the society while the same wealthy citizens ignored the crippled and sick beggars, and in this he saw greed from both the rich and the poor. He saw buildings made of fine stone, some painted in tones of red, blue, and green, as if the very city itself was vain.

As Grigori moved further down the streets toward the castle, walking his black horse and keeping a hand on his short sword in case someone were to attack him, he could smell the aromas coming from the nearby bakeries, the cruelly sweet aromas of cakes and pastries, which made him both salivate and gag at the same time. His stomach growled loudly, his body reacting naturally to the aromas, and Grigori made a silent note that he needed to fast and take the whip to his back to purge himself of the sin of hunger later.

Finally he arrived at the castle, something a little more familiar, for it was the first thing in the city he'd seen since he'd entered the gates that was built more for practicality than for vanity. Everything about the castle looked strategic, it had a purpose, and Grigori felt a little better. He showed the royal seal again to the guards at those gates and they allowed him in, but only after they removed his short sword. When they took it he wasn't worried, though, he knew it wouldn't be long before he'd get it back. It wasn't that they had said any such thing, but rather that he knew he'd soon be able to convince the King that he needed to have it.

The King, followed by his bodyguard, met Grigori soon after he entered the keep, and Grigori's stomach took another turn just looking at him. The King's clothes were, for lack of a better word, fancy. Grigori noticed the intricate stitching, the gold-colored threads, and the ornate patterns throughout. The crown on his head was made of platinum, a truly expensive metal, unnecessary, especially since the crown had little purpose except to show off his authority, which could have been done just as easily with a cloth band. The King's hair was not cut short enough to be practical. Certainly it wasn't long and unruly, but it was long enough to where it would need maintenance every day, and it was clear that he maintained it daily to keep it soft and beautiful. His expression was a large, warm smile, which told Grigori that this King often allowed his emotions to rule over him. This was a dangerous thing indeed, for often sin was born from emotions that had gotten out of control. Normally Grigori would have to struggle to not let his disgust at such a sinner turn to rage, but even as his stomach sickeningly crept upwards at the sight of this young king he felt no true hate for him. This was most unusual.

“Only two days' time? You must have ridden as fast as you could!” The King said, clearly impressed.

“I can imagine no reason not to,” Grigori responded, his tone even and unnervingly calm.

“True, this is a matter of the utmost importance,” the king turned to his bodyguard, whose long, black hair and bushy sideburns were even more vain than the King's blonde hair. “Milo, I believe Queen Sarahi is in the library, I'd like it if you could watch over her while I talk with our inquisitor.”

“Are you certain?” Milo asked.

“Yes. He's unarmed, so I think I'll be safe.”

“From him, but what about the warlock?”

“I doubt a warlock would be so bold as to attack me while I'm in the presence of an inquisitor.”

This was a fallacious argument, considering that the warlock had already unleashed a demon in a castle where there were three paladins present, yet Milo did not argue any further. Arguing with Hadar as a friend, in private, was one thing, but arguing with him as his bodyguard, in public, was another thing entirely. Milo simply bowed and walked away toward the library.

“Follow me,” King Hadar said and gestured with his hand for Grigori to follow. As the King led Grigori to the office, where they would discuss the matter of the infiltrator in the castle, Grigori soon found the outside of the castle to be misleading. Inside there were tapestries, paintings, and all forms of art that made the inside of the castle as beautiful as it could be. The furniture was all expensive, the chairs and couches soft and comfortable, discouraging any who sat in them from standing up again, as if the chairs and couches themselves were trying to devour weary, foolish guests. The table in the dining hall, which they passed by along the way, was large enough to seat many. Though it was not meal time there were bowls of fruit upon the table; apples, oranges, grapes, pears, and all sorts of sweet, juicy things. On plates were cinnamon rolls, covered in a sugary frosting, and bottles of honey, and this was NOT during mealtime. Grigori began to wonder if his own soul was in danger merely being in such a den of sin and worldliness. He half expected harlots to come out of the doors on his way to the office, running around in the nude and attempting to seduce him.

King Hadar entered his office and brought Grigori in with him, gesturing for him to take a seat. Grigori merely stood by the chair at first as Hadar took his seat. Hadar gave Grigori a confused look. “Please, sit.”

“Such a thing encourages sloth. I'm afraid I cannot.”

“Your body may be relaxed, but your mind will be working hard enough to make up the difference,” Hadar said. “Besides, it will be awkward with me sitting and you standing. Please, sit.”

Grigori hesitated a moment more, repeating in his head, Do not become idle, do not become idle, do not become idle... before sitting down. The chair was soft and comfortable, Grigori's legs felt so relieved after having been walking for so long, and he hated and loved it.

“Alright then, you should know that Caelum is sending five paladins soon to aid in your investigation and in the protection of me and my queen.”

“Are you and the Queen having trouble in your marriage?” Grigori asked.

Hadar gasped. “What do you mean?”

“You used the words 'my queen,' instead of 'my wife.' It makes sense that you wouldn't call her by name because I may not know her name, but still, your choice of words...”

“We...had a fight last night,” Hadar said. “Something silly. Probably my fault, really. Anyway, I'm afraid I didn't call you here for relationship advice.”

Grigori could tell Hadar was lying and otherwise being evasive, but he didn't want to push any harder. Not yet, anyway. Eventually whatever he was hiding could provide leverage for the inquisitor. “So tell me about the attack, the demon summoned inside the castle.”

“It was done using a Blackstar Talisman,” Hadar pulled the talisman out of his pocket and handed it to Grigori. “I've already used holy spells to purify it, so it should be safe.”

“If you find any more please do not purify them,” Grigori said as he looked it over. “If the black magic is still in it I can sometimes use a few spells of my own to find a few things out about its maker. Just looking at it I can deduce very little. The wood here is cheap, likely not found in the castle. The one who made this talisman either bought the materials in town or smuggled the talisman in from Nihilus. The iron core appears to be taken from a horse-shoe. Broken off, perhaps with a chisel, so whomever it is has fairly strong hands. Horse-shoes are easy enough to get, so that doesn't really help us narrow it down.”

“Well, glad to know we have some clues already,” Hadar said with a smile. “I have confidence that in time we'll capture this witch or warlock, with your help, of course.”

“When did the attack happen?”

“About five days ago, early in the morning. My bodyguard, Milo, heard screaming and came running to find a demon attacking some servants and guards. It was a seeker, the kind of demon that spreads its essence like the cholera.”

“And this bodyguard of yours, Milo, was he the one who slew it?”

“Yes, he's trained as a paladin, like me.”

“The Queen is also trained as a paladin?”

“Yes, that's how the three of us met.”

Grigori nodded for a moment. “Who is in charge of the castle's servants?”

“That would be Naomi, she oversees the hiring process and directs the servants.”

“And who is in charge of the guards?”

“Captain Dom is in charge of the guards in the castle, he arranges the patrols around the castle and handles training and recruiting. Captain Gedon is in charge of the city guards.”

“I'll need to speak to both Naomi and Captain Dom,” Grigori said. “Perhaps they might be able to help me narrow the field a bit. Also I'll need to speak to each of the advisers living in the castle, no one who frequents here is above suspicion right now.”

“Of course,” Hadar said. “But there is one thing I must ask of you, a certain...restriction.”

“Which is?”

“Don't torture anyone,” Hadar said, pointing a finger at Grigori. “I've heard the stories, I know that often in inquisitors have employed torture in their investigations, sometimes even torturing people who were innocent just to make sure. I will not have you torturing anyone in my castle...or my city...or anywhere where I have authority.”

“Sire, are you certain?” Grigori asked. “A big part of the Inquisition's success in rooting out blasphemers is our methods. We torture only when truly necessary, often because it is the only way to get those close to the blasphemers to tell us what they know. No one is going to give up a brother or a daughter just because it is the right thing to do, not in these lands, anyway. The truth is something you must sometimes...coerce out of people.”

“Then do as this castle's interrogators do, scare them into THINKING they're going to be tortured. Use psychological tricks to get them to talk. Since I took over as King I've been trying to stand up for the rights of the accused, not all who are accused are guilty, and thus until they are proven guilty they should still be treated civilly.”

“I wonder, your majesty, how many warlocks your castle's interrogators have found since you started standing up for the rights of the accused,” Grigori said, flatly. “Well, if you wish me to restrict my methods then I shall do so. I am in your home and under your employ, so I will obey your rules.”

“I do not expect you to understand, inquisitor.”

“Just to obey,” Grigori said.

“How rude of me! I just realized I never asked your name!”

“Is my name so important?”

“It is to me. Tell me, inquisitor, what is your name?”

“I am Brother Grigori, Sire.”

“It is good to meet you,” Hadar offered his hand for a handshake. “I am Hadar.”

“I know your name,” Grigori said as he hesitantly shook the King's hand.

“Yes, but...introductions were still in order, yes?”

“I do not understand, but if you wish.”

“I'll have servants show you to your quarters,” Hadar said.

For one moment Grigori hesitated to stand, but when he realized that he was becoming idle in that chair he forced himself to his feet to follow Hadar. On the way out he felt almost like kicking the chair, as if it were some sort of animal that had trapped him in its powerful jaws for a moment, but he reminded himself that it was an inanimate object, that the temptation to sin had come from within.

“Sire, I will require the use of my short sword.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, since I am here to investigate the possibility of a warlock in your midst I am likely to become said warlock's target. If they see that I am unarmed they may attempt to take my life, but if I have my sword with me they may not be so bold. It's a deterrent, really. And I know you don't trust the inquisitors, but think about it logically, with a single short sword against an entire castle full of well-armed and armored guards how much damage could I really do?”

Hadar shrugged. “You make a good point. Very well, I'll have the guards return your sword to you.”

Soon Grigori was in his guest room, and found himself utterly horrified at the sight of it. The bed was big, soft, and had more blankets than necessary. The dresser was nice, with pictures carved into the wood and a vanity mirror resting on top of it, which he turned around almost immediately so that he could not easily see his reflection. He'd have to turn it around again to even take so much as a glance at it. Furthermore the room was far larger than was really necessary for one person. Truly this castle was a bastion of temptation.

Once he was sure the servants were no longer right outside of his door Grigori locked the door and began to put away his few things. Once all of his spare changes of clothes and other supplies were put away Grigori took out his whip. He had been tempted by the sins of the city. He had felt hunger, experienced sloth, and even been afflicted by vanity. Worst of all was his experience with King Hadar, which he couldn't get out of his mind. If his soul was to survive his time with the King of Arx at all he would need regular contrition and purification. Grigori stripped out of his cassock. It was important to be nude for such a ritual, all the more reason it was always done in private, because being nude meant being vulnerable. Any kind of clothing was like armor, on some level, because even cloth can protect one from the elements. Grigori dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor and took the whip in his hand.

“Oh, Sandalphon, help me to purify my soul!” The whip in Grigori's hands had several little spikes, sharp, but very small. They were designed to inflict pain and cut into the flesh, but not to tear it too badly or make it hard for the wounds to heal. Grigori took a deep breath and then cracked the whip against his own back. The sound echoed throughout the room, and even down the halls. A normal man would have cried out, but Grigori was almost numb to the effects of the whip at this point, and his back was so calloused that it would take many strikes before the spikes would even break the skin. Grigori exhaled, took another deep breath, and brought the whip against his back again, trying to hit almost exactly the same place. Again there was a loud crack.

Grigori heard a knock on his door. “Mr. Inquisitor? Are you alright?” came the voice of one of the servants.

“Away!” Grigori shouted. “I am in the middle of something.” They couldn't understand, heathens that they were. Grigori brought the whip against his back again, this time harder and faster. He couldn't tell if it had cut his skin at all or not, but he could tell that the pain was a little stronger this time.

“Are you sure?” the guard outside of the door asked.

“I SAID AWAY!” Grigori was not truly angry with the servant, he had more control over his rage than that, but he knew that the guard was more likely to leave him alone if he shouted. Again and again he brought the whip against his back. Each strike hurt more and more. He started to alternate sides now, until small streams of blood poured down his bare back, and he could feel the cool air against his own blood's moisture. “Thank you, Sandalphon,” he said as he fought to calm his breathing and cleaned the small spikes on his whip. Once he was satisfied that the whip was clean he put it away to be used another time.

Sin was usually one giving in to the desires of the flesh, so to weaken the flesh, through pain or starvation, the inquisitors believed, steered one away from sin. Self-flagellation was a means of bringing one's flesh and body into submission to one's higher will, a way of showing that the desires of your soul were greater than the desires of your flesh. Grigori had performed this ritual, this show of will, more times than he could count by now, and yet he still feared it would never truly be enough, not enough for his soul to survive in Aius, the capital of Arx. It was easy to resist temptation in the Inquisition's lands, in Kolob, where there was no temptation except what you made for yourself, but here there was temptation everywhere.