Session 39 -- Inquiring after the Inquisitor

The party had arrived at Mont Saint-Michel under unusual constraints. The tides allowed passage to and from the mainland only twice a day, at dawn and dusk, so once they crossed to the island they were essentially committed to the investigation until the next tide. The island itself was quiet and self-contained: a pilgrims’ hostel, the great church complex crowning the mount, the abbey consisting of  a monastery and neighboring convent, a small village, and a militia garrison. Somewhere within those structures lay the relic they sought—the broken tip of Saint Michael’s sword. Rumors of “living shadows” and disappearances had led the Church to dispatch an inquisitor months earlier, and the party intended to seek her out after nightfall.

Murchad spread his growing map of the mount across a refectory table while the others broke their fast on thin porridge and salt fish. Dwårfy grumbled about the lack of decent ale, but Vedica reminded him that monasteries were not taverns. Jack cleaned his arquebus with quiet precision, and Ceangal studied the narrow windows as if expecting shadows even in daylight. Tiv and Vegvisir pored over a borrowed chronicle, hunting for any mention of the Sword of St. Michael or the catacombs beneath the abbey.

As evening settled, the group chose to resume their exploration. They conferred briefly about splitting up or using their magic items for reconnaissance, and so Dwårfy, Vedica, and Jack went off in one direction to make contact with the guards in the barracks (and hopefully meet the captain of the guard).  Tiv, Ceangal, Murchad, and Vegvisir went in the other direction to attempt to find Inquisitor Voss and perhaps explore the abbey. They had already investigated the chapel and cemetery earlier; now they pressed further into unfamiliar passages.

Entering a walled garden, Murchad & Co. found several monks quietly tending herbs in the fading light. One monk rose and greeted them politely. Introducing himself as Datovir, he gently informed them that they had “wandered from the path” and were not in the public portion of the complex. When they asked about the inquisitor, he explained that she spent most of her time at the main church and only came down to the abbey occasionally. He confirmed they could reach her by continuing upward along what he called “a long and winding road,” after which he wished them safe travels.

The group debated whether to continue openly or to use invisibility to scout, especially since Ceangal’s cloak and a number of rings and spells provided options for stealth. Vegvisir was eager to continue forward, and eventually they chose to proceed without magical concealment.

They ascended into the spacious, vaulted sanctuary of the great church. There they spotted a woman robed in black, her sharp gray eyes set beneath her hood, speaking with a priest. An acolyte, dressed in distinctive garb, stood beside her. This stern-faced figure was clearly Inquisitrix Elara Voss.

Unsure how to interrupt, the party briefly lingered at the edge of the sanctuary. Their awkward presence caught the attention of the acolyte, who touched the inquisitrix’s arm and murmured to her. She turned her piercing gaze toward the party. Her scrutiny lingered for a moment on their unusual collection of races and armaments a dwarf (or one who appeared as a dwarf) with an enormous wrapped weapon, a red-bearded warrior in dragonscale, a cloaked drow, and a cleric robed in ways that suggested battle experience rather than pilgrimage.

Approaching them, she greeted them in a measured tone as “good souls” who seemed to help the weak. Almost immediately, however, she warned them not to “meddle where you shouldn't,” adding in a cool voice, “I purge this island’s sins. Remember that the light purges, the shadow binds.” As she spoke, her hand reflexively rested upon the wooden hilt of a dagger at her belt -- not a threat, but an instinctive gesture.

Tiv, attempting diplomacy, declared their holy intent and experience banishing darkness. The inquisitrix regarded her carefully. When Tiv remarked upon the value of light against shadow, the inquisitrix replied cryptically, “Sometimes the way to oppose the shadow is with a shadow,” and noted that there were “no shadows cast on the floors of dark rooms.” She insisted the party remain cautious: some things on the island seemed one way but were another.

Father Jerome, the priest she had been speaking with, added that many frightening events had plagued the island recently. Although most residents found the inquisitor’s manner severe, they appreciated her presence.

The party’s conversation with her cooled. When Tiv asked how they might assist, she simply told them to continue following their calling, helping the weak, and to observe caution. Then, declaring the hour late, she turned to Father Jerome and announced she would retire for the night.

After she departed, the group gathered outside the sanctuary for a “team meeting.” Their impressions were mixed. Tiv disliked the inquisitrix’s comfort with shadow metaphors. Ceangal and others wondered whether her presence, and her insistence on secrecy, was linked to the surge in shadow beasts. Vegvisir noted that in his experience, cults and dark powers often meant no one could be trusted. The group agreed that while she might not be the cause, she was certainly withholding something. Eventually they left the church to find food.

Meanwhile, Dwårfy led the way down the narrow lane from the hostel, boots clanking on the wet stone, while Jack strolled beside him humming a sea shanty and Vedica followed a step behind, hood up against the evening mist. The three had agreed to seek out the island’s guards for answers the monks would not give. They passed shuttered houses and empty market stalls until the lane opened onto the eastern wall, against which was built the militia barracks complex. An entrace was flanked by two bored sentries in tabards. One guard straightened when he saw the dwarf’s hammers and the glint of Jack’s arquebus, but relaxed after Dwårfy gave a friendly grunt and asked, in his thick northern accent, to speak with whoever was in charge.

The guard waved them through with a tired smile. “Captain Alaric’s on the seawall tower. Mind the horses; they bite.”  The other guard, one of the pair they met earlier in the day when they fought the shadow beasts in the chapel, escorted them inside.

Inside the barracks yard the air smelled of straw, salt, and oiled steel. A small stable stood against the inner wall, home to a few sturdy coursers and one bad-tempered mule that tried to take a chunk out of Jack’s cloak as they passed. Dwårfy gave the mule a respectful nod. “Good taste,” he muttered, earning a laugh from the stable boy. Beyond the stable, a covered walkway climbed the curtain wall to the broad tower that overlooked the sea. Gulls wheeled overhead, and the sea wind carried the distant clang of a bell buoy.

At the top of the tower, Captain Alaric de Montfort leaned on the parapet, helm tucked under one arm, watching the tide creep back in. He was younger than they expected, barely thirty, with sun-bleached hair and a scar that ran from cheekbone to jaw. When he turned, his smile was genuine. “So the heroes of the chapel fight come to visit the poor soldiers,” he said, clasping forearms with each in turn. “Wine’s watered, but the view is free.”

They settled on the warm stones while gulls cried below, trying to grab a few more fish from the surf in the dying sunlight. Alaric spoke freely once he learned they had already faced the shadows. “The wraiths started last autumn, right after the Inquisitor arrived,” he said, voice low. “First it was just whispers in the fog, then men vanished from patrol. Two weeks ago one came back, eyes black as pitch, speaking in a voice that wasn’t his. We burned the body before it could spread whatever curse it carried.” He spat over the wall. “Voss claims she can bind the things, says they’re punishment for secret sins. Her acolytes in grey robes skulk about at night with silver chains and incense, but I’ve yet to see them stop a single attack.”

When Vedica asked about the history of the church and original abbey, Alaric scratched his scar thoughtfully. “There’s talk of an older order, long before my time. Velvet-robed monks who vanished centuries ago who used to perform dark rituals in the catacombs to appease some sea-god. One of my lads found something strange last winter before last, low on the rocks when the tide was out. A rusted iron nail carved with a wave and trident. Brought it to me for luck, but it made my skin crawl, so I tossed it back into the sea. Next morning the nail was sitting on my desk again, dry as bone. Still don’t know what to make of it.” He shrugged, half-embarrassed, half-wary. “Whatever those old monks were doing down below, the sea hasn’t forgotten.”

Tiv, Ceangal, Murchad, and Vegvisir made a plan for splitting up to gather information without drawing the attention of monks or guards. They wanted answers about the island’s ancient history, the recent attacks, and especially any records pointing toward the relic of Saint Michael. With the complex so sprawling and the monks tending their tasks even at night, subtlety seemed wiser than forced interaction.

Murchad and Vegvisir decided to use true invisibility, one through spell and one through an enchanted ring. Tiv and Ceangal, relying on their hooded cloaks, took on the appearance of indistinct figures meant to fade into crowds or shadows. Though not flawless disguises, the cloaks made them difficult to notice unless someone happened to look very closely. With whispered agreement, the group separated: the invisible pair slipping through the abbey’s doors, the cloaked pair taking a different corridor to listen and observe.

Moving silently under cover of invisibility, Murchad and Vegvisir skirted the edges of torchlight, slipping past monks finishing their nightly chores. In the refectory, three monks quietly ate what was clearly a late meal, their hushed voices the tired mutterings of those who had spent the earlier part of the evening cooking for others. The pair continued through the side passages until they reached the library.

Inside, two monks were reading in the adjoining room while a third, the librarian, waited for them to finish. Vegvisir began scanning the shelves for anything tied to the island’s troubled past. Many books covered scripture, theology and philosophy. But in one of the older shelving sections, he uncovered a crumbling monk’s journal damaged by water. Only a few words were legible: “Isolde’s balcony vigils,” “1120s,” “sacrificial wards.” Though fragmentary, it hinted at rituals or protections used centuries earlier.

Murchad, focusing on monastery records, located two volumes: a ledger and an older chronicle. Both appeared to contain records of monastic life across many decades. When Vegvisir flipped to the section he hoped would cover the 1120s, he found nothing related to the cult rumors. Instead, the ledger referenced: “AD 1103: Tithe from Tidal Veil Monks – wave relics noted.” None of the monks they had spoken with had mentioned a group called the Tidal Veil, nor had anything called a “Wave Relic” been referenced elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the chronicle Murchad skimmed contained a still more striking entry: “1179: Inquisitors razed the Velvet Sect.” The transcript had first recorded Vegvisir joking about searching for “velvet sex,” but the actual script made clear: Velvet Sect, an organized group put down by Inquisitors centuries earlier. It tracked with the Inquisitrix’s hint that a dark cult once operated on the island and that not all its power had been expunged.

These discoveries were quietly pocketed, though only in memory. Any attempt to carry books out of the library would have been obvious, since newly lifted objects did not vanish with them. They left the volumes where they were.

While the invisible pair navigated the stacks, Tiv and Ceangal moved softly through parallel corridors. Their cloaks made them harder to detect, though not perfect, and they took care to act as if they belonged in the shadows. Passing into a quiet garden walkway, they neared an office with raised voices and paused to hear more.

Inside, two monks stood with the abbot, Abbott Rowland, and an inquisition acolyte. The abbot sounded distressed. Tiv and Ceangal made out his worried words clearly: “Shadows corrupt my brethren. Aid us. Voss claims to fight this. I fear her methods.”

The acolyte answered with practiced assurance, insisting the Inquisitrix was doing all she could, that the darkness on the island ran deep, and that if the abbot could have solved this alone, he already would have. The implication was both reassuring and unsettling. Whatever haunted the monks seemed beyond the abbey’s own ability to address.  After the brief exchange, Tiv and Ceangal retreated before their luck with the cloaks ran out.

The two pairs rejoined at the refectory near the edge of the abbey grounds. As they slipped back into the town streets, they continued their investigation of the village below. Vegvisir headed back to the hostel to see if he could connect with Dwårfy, Jack, and Vedica.  Murchad, Tiv, and Ceangal wanted to take a more roundabout route to explore a bit before returning. They wanted to see if they could find the tavern they had heard about.

As they turned a corner the party heard shouting coming from the southeast. Rushing toward the noise, they found a narrow street scene already grim: three wraiths had descended on a townsperson while a guard tried to interpose himself. The guard’s attacks only served to hasten his collapse as the wraiths touched him and his life withered away. The three undead then focused on the defenseless man.

The party moved instantly into action. Tiv stepped forward and invoked Turn Undead in a bright, sudden surge. Her invocation shattered the nearest wraith outright. The creature simply flared and was gone, its form unraveling under the cleric’s holy force. The sudden absence left two wraiths remaining, both more wary now.

Ceangal moved next. He called up an arc of arcane missiles which slammed into one of the remaining wraiths. The magic struck true and the second wraith reeled, its form shredded by the barrage that pinned it between magic and momentum.

Murchad then rushed in with brutal economy. He swept his weapon in a single clean strike and cut the battered wraith down. The creature dissolved in the street where it fell. For a moment the confrontation seemed finished: one corpse of the guard lay slack, one townsperson staggered and terrified, and two of the wraiths had been extinguished by a coordinated burst of faith, precision magic, and blunt force.

But the last wraith was not done. It pivoted toward the combatants and attacked. It struck outward with unnatural force and targeted the most exposed of the defenders. The party responded in tandem. Tiv flashed forward to contest it while Ceangal and Murchad interposed where they could. The wraith lashed and drifted through defenses, striking at Murchad and at others as it tried to drain the life from flesh.

The interchange that followed was frantic. The remaining wraith circled and attacked, its motions unnervingly smooth and hungry. Tiv maintained a steady presence, keeping the clerical wards and commands focused on pushing the creature back. Ceangal and the melee fighters kept up the pressure, forcing the wraith onto the defensive. The undead creature lashed again and again, but the party’s coordinated blows and divine pressure finally overwhelmed it. With a final, violent ebb, the wraith collapsed into nothing and the street fell eerily silent.

When the dust settled the party checked the survivors. The guard had been utterly sapped by the wraiths and lay dead. The townsperson who had been attacked was still breathing and shaken but alive. The immediate threat had been destroyed, but the loss of the guard and the vicious efficiency of the wraiths left the group with grim questions about how much deeper the corruption on the island ran.  The man they saved was very grateful and told them about the ongoing attacks, resulting in disappearances and dead bodies – sometimes whole families.

As the party proceeded through town after leaving the rescued man and guard’s corpse, they explored the streets heading toward the taverns the guard indicated. Murchad open one small door to a walled garden, discovering a child inside. A boy sees them and calls out excitedly, “Mommy daddy look adventurers!” Murchad quickly shut the door, and they continued further down the street until they heard the ambient noise of what sounds like a restaurant nearby.

They entered a small, dim tavern next to a larger one. Flickering candles cast long shadows across the walls, and a family of four huddled tensely over bowls of stew. They could overhear the wife scolding the husband for not getting the family home before sunset while they ordered their own stew.  Once they got their food, they joined the family and made conversation.  Tiv offered to escort them home once they finished eating. The husband was relieved by the offer despite trying not to show it.

The family reluctantly shares what they knew.  The family next door to them disappeared one day. The teenage son added that multiple families have disappeared, including “one of my school friends… about four months ago.” He said that the boy vanished while playing outside at sunset and never made it home.  Incidents like that have been numerous and varied. All agreed  is not safe outside at night.

The party finished their stew and escorted the family to their home at the last house down the end of the street.  As they left the tavern, they passed an older woman who gave the them an odd, appraising glance. They weren’t sure if it was because they are outsiders or something else. When Ceangal stareed longer, she simply looked away and continued on.

The family offered the party a place to sleep for safety’s sake, but the adventurers declined, explaining they are staying at the hostel.  The family suggested that if the party wants to help, they might seek out the Inquisitrix, who is trying to deal with the problem.

They decided to return and speak with the older woman. When they did, she gave them a look suggesting she expected them to return.  She introduced herself as Lisette, telling them that she is one of the town elders. Tiv began to express sadness at the terrifying situation the island was encountering, and Lisette nodded. It was personal for her. “My son vanished last night… nowhere… I don’t know where he was, but he was nowhere in the morning.”  She lowered her voice and glanced at a nearby guard: “That stern Inquisitor Voss patrols the streets at night. Says she’s purging evil. But the wraiths started after she arrived. Odd, isn’t it?” 

Lisette brought them to her house nearby, so they could speak more freely. Once they were settled around her table, Tiv asked, “What else can you  tell us about the Inquisitor’s arrival? We spoke to her earlier today and we have more questions than answers.”

Murchad added, “And definitely more suspicions than not.” 

Lisette just nodded, knowingly. She said, “I can't prove anything.  I don't know that she's doing anything untoward or improper,” she said, “but you know there are those who question whether the shadows might have actually started appearing before she arrived and it's just gotten worse since then or if they started afterward, but I don't remember any disappearances happening before she arrived.”

Tiv added, “She has a nebulous appreciation-at-best for shadows that are supposedly not evil, but…”

Lisette broke in, “I'm surprised you got to talk to her at all because her acolytes, tend to keep people from getting too close.  She came last October because of some improprieties at the abbey. That was initially why she said she was here,  but then odd things started happening after that, and I don't know if they're connected or if it's coincidental. You know, this island has enough dark history that these nasty goings on don't necessarily have to be connected to her. There can be plenty of things for them to be rooted in.”

After a pause, she said, “My grandfather used to mention stories of hooded figures guarding the depths almost two centuries ago.”

Not wanting to intrude on the woman’s time any more, the three bid her good night and thanks for speaking with them. As they approached her door, she called them back. The old woman rose from the table and walked to the mantle. Opening a small box, she rooted through the coins in it. She removed one bronze coin, and, after turning it over in her palm a few times, she handed it to Tiv.

            My grandfather used to show us this coin when he told those stories. He said it was proof that they were true. Tiv looked at the coin. The inscription read: “Tidal Veil Brotherhood AD 1050.” The image depicted waves over a trident.

Lisette told them that the brotherhood was wiped out in an inquisition in the late 1100s: “You won’t find many things like that nowadays. After the inquisition, their symbols were chiseled off, and their relics destroyed or effaced. Any symbols or artifacts related to them were banned, although you may still find some bits and pieces of things laying around the island, people mistaking them for simple junk.”

Tiv asked if they could keep the coin. Lisette replied, “Go ahead… it’s not doing anybody any good in that box.” Tiv promised to return the coin before they left, if the solving of the mystery would allow it. Lisette said, with misty eyes, “I’d much rather you managed to return my son.”

Tiv gave a silent nod and turned toward the door. There was not much one could say in response to that.

They left Lisette’s home and headed directly back to the hostel to rejoin their friends and share what they'd learned.

Their discoveries in the abbey, combined with the night’s violence, sharpened an undeniable conclusion: this island’s troubles were not confined to rumor or old history. Something active, hungry and growing was at work. The abbot’s fears, the inquisitrix’s cryptic warnings, the ancient references to the Velvet Sect and Wave Relics and the testimony of frightened villagers all pointed to a deeper corruption.

…and the shadows were not waiting.