When a soldier falls wounded on the battlefield, or a farmer is smitten by plague, it is often necessary to bleed the injuries, lance the boils and press the glowing iron to the mortified flesh, the better that it may heal. Certes none save the mad or those addicted to the vices of the Guilds would claim that this process is pleasurable, or that, given the choice otherwise, they would seek to have such done to them. Nonetheless, there often is no choice: The patient is sick, she must be saved, and in order to do so she must endure a measure of agony. Thus is our Inquisition justified.
I myself have no stomach for it; I am but a country bishop and, though I revile heresy and loathe wickedness, still it sickens me to view the wretched witch writhing on the stake, or the warlock casting out his demons under the caress of the propane torch. I freely confess my admiration for those of sufficiently steely resolve to carry out these disagreeable tasks, though it is an admiration not unmixed with pity: Spending such a measure of their lives gazing upon the works of Shadow, Inquisitors' own souls seem often to grow chill and wan, like the spark of a magnesium flare or the radiance that glows from the drij-fungus at night. Heavy the burden to bear, so that others might bask in the Pancreator's joyous warmth.
You see, contrary to ignorant peasants' superstitions, not all clerics of the Pancreator are Inquisitors (praise be to the Pancreator!). Inquisitors are ordained by a special synod of righteous Urthlings, currently housed at Pyre; this body, upon determining the suitability of a candidate to assume the robed mantle and the need for such a role to be assumed, bestows upon the invested one a seal bearing a symbol of the Sacred Flame. By such a sign do the folk of the galaxy know that one of the Pancreator's avenging angels walks among them.
Also, contrary to what the unlettered masses whisper, seals are not bestowed randomly, or even to all of the cassock who desire one. The synod generally bestows seals only for specific aims, and for only a specified period. But, yes, there are those fanatics who seemingly harbor a greater affection for flamegun and shock prod than for Pancreator and Prophet; and, sadly, their numbers wax by the week.
The reader must understand that in older, less turbulent times, the synod comprised members of all sects, yea, even the Amaltheans, and was reined and guided by the devotees of our own Orthodox sect. Now, alas, in these chill and dismal days, the leaders of men will have nothing save extremism; and so the synod is almost entirely dominated by the zealots of Temple Avesti, and the wartorn skies reverberate yet again with the sizzle of the flamegun and the wails of the scourged.
I need not trouble the reader with twice-told tales, those countless bogey-stories of the robed prophets of doom, with their brands and their flameguns and their tortures, which are known to every peasant in the Regency, but there is more to the Inquisition than that. The Inquisition serves several functions, predominantly punitive ones, may the Pancreator have pity. In all fairness to my brethren, a myriad verifiable accounts of Inquisitors selflessly defending the faithful from very real evils are perhaps less popular in most quarters than are lurid ballads of straps and flames and wretches shrieking up their damned souls on the rack.
The first task of the Inquisition is to discover heresy or protoheresy festering among the faithful. The Inquisition, upon hearing rumors of such a crime, elects a seal-bearer, as I have already detailed. This priest then infiltrates the suspect group (and from this process no one is immune, not the electors of a village, not the Hawkwood Court, not even the upper echelons of the Church) and ascertains whether the rumors of anathema are in fact true. Occasionally the Inquisition finds naught amiss, and the seal-bearer returns to the synod; alas, in this wicked age, all too often the verdict is guilty.
Guilt in this instance can consist of a multitude of sins: consorting with demons or hostile aliens; employment of forbidden technology; corruption by any technology, anathema or otherwise (the reader may now understand why I say that any invocation of technology is problematic at best!); and practice of sorcery are but a few. Contrary to superstition, however, the Inquisition does not deign to punish secular crimes; the starving peasant who pilfers a loaf of bread from her Hazat master has naught to fear from the Church, though she may well dangle from a noble's gallows come the morrow.
Upon ascertaining the guilt of the accused, the Inquisitor decides whether the danger is sufficiently great to require reinforcements: usually several more Avestites, occasionally an entire squadron of Brothers Battle. Inquisitors in distant areas may have no recourse to such things, and in such circumstances the hunter may indeed become the hunted. I have heard more than one harrowing tale repeated amid monastic alcoves and cathedral naves, and it is perhaps understandable that Inquisitors subjected to such life- and soul-threatening combats often become prone to a zealotry bordering on the paranoiac.
Following the decision to wait or proceed with the trial, the Inquisitor confronts the guilty parties, informs them of their crimes against the Church (yes, this is a necessary step) and bids them recant. Effort is also made to induce the guilty to confess, the better that the Inquisitor might ascertain the extent of the crime, the purpose and means, and whether other sinners remain at large. In so doing the Inquisitors often extend the scope of the trial to the sinner's compatriots, fellow villagers and the like.
I confess that this policy of collective responsibility, though permitted by Church law and sanctioned by all secular authorities, causes me no small amount of distress. Just as a jug of Pandemonian eylo-oil has varying degrees of viscosity, from the near-liquid fringes to the colloid center, so the taint of sin does not always diffuse itself equally among all in proximity. Cast the warlock to the flames, yea; but for the Prophet's sake, spare the son, the niece, the dutiful wife. Teach them of their error; let them understand the folly of their beloved, for it is often love that leads them into sin along with those dear to them; and let them return to the fold cleansed and purified in the crucible of grief.
Sad it is, however, that those penitents on the verge of turning to the way of the Pancreator are so often brutally purged by the very agency that would save them. The Inquisition oft reminds me of the grenades lobbed by our Brothers Battle: absolutely effective, blindly hasty, and completely indiscriminate.
Yea, I adjure, cultivate the Inquisition as ye would a Pyrian cactus: Bred to grow small and pruned meticulously, such a plant may serve ye well; but should ye neglect to regulate its growth, allow it to sprout thorns and branches willy-nilly, and guard not thine own palms when handling, its spines may turn on the innocent, or even on the godly.
