XV. Declaration of War

Fernand of Florin shook his head in disgust as he watched another of his guardsmen stumble out of the farmhouse to disgorge his breakfast onto the grass nearby. "Pitiful," he muttered to himself.

What irritated him most was the fact that the man wasn't even that young, and had probably lived through more than thirty winters. Yet the guard still acted like a boy whose eggs had yet to drop, losing his composure over such a simple scene of blood and death.

Yet, the old guard captain couldn't help but feel a slight bit of sympathy. Fernand had been in the Gallian army during the Albion conflicts, so he was no stranger to violence. He had seen much atrocity in his fifteen years of service; hell, he had committed many such nightmares himself. But the sight inside the farmhouse caused even his hardened stomach to turn a bit.

The inhabitants of the Rasseu farm, Geoffroy Rasseu, his wife Laure, and their infant son Jules, had been all but butchered while they slept. One of Geoffroy's neighbors had found the unfortunate family's mutilated corpses when they had entered the house earlier this morning. Needless to say the neighbor had been quite upset, and almost caused a panic back at the village when he had rushed through the center of town screaming his head off. Fernand and his men arrived some hours later to find all three members of the Rasseu clan sliced to pieces. If that hadn't been enough, the walls within the house had been vandalized with blood, as the murderer or murderers painted strange unknown symbols all over the interior.

Fernand truly had no clue what to make of this madness. The Rasseus were simple farmers who got along with their neighbors. They had no enemies, and weren't wealthy enough to steal from. There was no reason for anyone to break into their home and murder them, especially not with such brutality. If it weren't for the fact that those symbols were painted all over the walls in blood, then Fernand would have believed the killings to have been the work of some wild animal.

He was wondering if perhaps he was in over his head investigating such a strange case. He was but a simple soldier, after all. Frankly, he had been quite happy spending his golden years working an easy job as a small town guard captain. The worst he thought he'd have to handle were some drunk farmers brawling or some runaway cattle. The last thing he expected to be faced with was this bizarre set of multiple murders.

Unfortunately, since he was the head of the local constabulary stationed in this tiny hamlet, the responsibility of finding the culprit or culprits ultimately fell to him. Since no nobles had been killed in the incident, this was purely a local matter and he had no choice but to handle it himself. He couldn't even call for aid from the capital guards if he needed to.

"Captain!" Fernand's thoughts were interrupted when he heard one of his men call out for him. The old soldier turned away from the farmhouse and saw a guardsman escorting a tall man in black robes up the path towards him. The man was obviously a foreigner, as evidenced by his dark skin and black hair. Trailing behind the adults was a small blond boy carrying a large knapsack over his back.

"What's goin' on?" Fernand asked as the guard as he strolled up to the group, his eyes staring at the foreigner with some suspicion. His tiny settlement hardly received any visitors, despite its proximity to the capital city. Most folk bypassed the small hamlets around Tristania as they offered visitors nothing that they could not get at the capital itself.

The tall man was garbed completely in black, except for his collar which was strangely white. Hanging from his neck was a silver pendant of some symbol Fernand had never seen before. His face was stern and hard, the eyes black as granite. Overall the tall man had the air of a soldier to him, and Fernand admitted that he would not wish to get into a fight with him, even if he was still young enough to be brawling.

Before the guardsman escorting the dark man could speak, the tall foreigner reached into his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment. He flipped it open and Fernand's eyes immediately focused onto the Papal Seal stamped officially at the bottom. The captain grew even more nervous when he saw that Pope Victor himself had signed the document.

"I am Father Renaldo Montoya, Office of the Inquisition of the Grand Holy Church of Romalia."

Fernand paled. What the hell was the Inquisition doing here, in his tiny little unimportant village? "M-my apologies, Yer Eminence," the guard captain said, pulling off his hat and bowing as a sign of respect. He wasn't exactly sure about the proper way to address a Church Inquisitor, but he hoped something grandiose would be sufficient. "If I'da known that a member o' the Church was comin' I woulda had someone meet ya."

"It's fine," the foreign priest stated, waving off his concerns. "I was merely passing through on my way to the capital when I heard about the... incident here."

"Truly?" Fernand almost chuckled. Here he was thinking that he was in over his head, and what happens? A bloody Church Inquisitor pops up out of nowhere showing interest in his case. God truly does work in mysterious ways.

"Indeed. Can you tell me the specifics of what happened here?"

The captain placed his hat back atop his head, then turned towards the farmhouse. "Well, sir, it's all quite strange. The Rasseus, er, the family who lived here, weren't really important or nothin. They was just regular folk, ya know? Their farm was small, but it did well enough. They didn't own anythin' that anybody would steal or kill for. I'm really at me wit's end here for a motive. But what really got me spooked is them symbols that the maniacs painted on the walls in blood."

The priest raised an eyebrow. "Symbols?"

"Yes, sir, Yer Eminence. Some weird rune or lettering or somethin. I ain't really an expert on that magical stuff, so you might have better luck figurin' it out."

The foreigner nodded, his eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze over towards the house. "May I see the scene?"

"O' course. Come this way, please," Fernand began to walk towards the farmhouse.

"Stay here, Sergio," the priest told the young boy as he followed the old guardsman.

"Si, Father."

Fernand led the tall man over towards the front porch of the house. He was about to warn him about the grisly nature of the murder scene when the priest suddenly stopped in his tracks. The captain glanced back at the man, wondering why he had stopped, when he saw the priest's eyes widened in shock. Fernand looked towards the house to see what had caused the Inquisitor to become so spooked when he saw the large red symbol painted in blood upon the door.

"Oh, yes," the guard said. "That's the sigil I was talkin' about before. The crazy freaks painted the same thing all over the walls inside. Quite bizarre iffen ya ask me." He turned back to the priest who had managed to regain his composure. The dark man's eyes had narrowed and a grim frown etched its way onto his face. "Something wrong, Yer Eminence?" Fernand asked. "Tha' symbol... do you know what it means?"

"Yes." The priest nodded dourly. "It is a declaration of war."

The old guardsman blinked in confusion. "War, sir?"

"Yes." Father Montoya turned his dark eyes towards the captain. "The bodies. Are they still intact?"

"What? Oh, uh, no, sir,Yer Eminence. The murder... he chopped 'em to pieces. All of 'em. It's quite 'orrifyin. They even hacked apart the baby, those damn animals."

To Fernand's bewilderment, the priest had a look of relief on his face. "I see," the foreigner stated simply. "Have your men collect the bodies. Make sure to retrieve all the pieces. Then burn them."

"B-burn them, sir?" Fernand was quite shocked.

"Yes. Afterwards, I will bless their bones and give the poor souls a proper burial."

"Uh, yes, sir." Burn the bodies? What the hell for? Fernand had never heard of any Church practice like that before. "Um, what about the house?"

Father Montoya was silent for a moment as he contemplated the question. Finally after a few moments of thought, he shook his head. "Burn it as well. The barn, too. And any animals they may have. Burn it all to the ground."

"Burn it all, sir?" The captain asked again, still dumbstruck by the order. This was all quite out of the ordinary. What if the Rasseu's relatives wanted to take custody of the farm and the family's belongings? Burning an entire farm just seemed... excessive.

And yet regardless of his reservations, Fernand would still follow the priest's orders. He had been a soldier all his life, and knew to defer to the wisdom of his betters. And frankly, in his eyes, there were no superiors above those of God's servants in the Church, except perhaps Brimir and the Almighty Himself.

"Yes, all of it. This place has been tainted with evil, captain. Only the fire's embrace will purify the darkness." Father Montoya turned his black eyes back to the front door and the scarlet symbol splattered upon it. "Rest assured, though. The one who committed this heinous act will taste the heat of the flames as well. This... beast will not escape justice. He or she can run to the edges of this world, but they can not run forever. No one escapes God's wrath for long."

Fernand swallowed, suddenly nervous at being so close to the foreign priest. The words the man spoke were grim, but what spooked him most was that he spoke with such conviction. The guard knew that the priest truly believed every word he said would come to fruition. That he would track down and punish the murderers, and that it was a simple matter of time until they were dead at his feet.

Frankly, that suited Fernand fine. If the Church wanted to take jurisdiction of this case away from him, he sure as hell didn't mind. He knew that he was out of his element when it came to this strange murder investigation, and the captain was quite relieved to have someone else dealing with it. Besides, the priest, though a foreigner, was a member of the Romalian Inquisition. Fernand knew that they always got the job done. They had God's will by their side, after all.

The old captain saluted the priest, then rushed off to perform his instructions. He began hollering at his men to get out some torches, and assembled a few of the ones with the stronger stomachs to collect the bodies and arrange them in a neat pile.

While the preparations went underway, Father Montoya remained standing where he was. He continued to glare at the hateful symbol upon the farmhouse door, one that was a universal symbol for humanity's evil where he came from. A feeling of both fury and exhilaration pumped through his veins. It had been such a long time since he had last performed his original duty, and though he had been quite content working for this world's Pope and fulfilling God's work on this world, he felt joy at the prospect of committing one last undertaking for his old order. This would prove to be his swansong mission, one last job he would do for Vatican Special Section XIII before finally allowing that chapter of his life to close.

Soon, vampire. The Black Priest mused to himself. Soon you shall face Divine Punishment.