Sin Of The Father

[Swarbie]

I hurried through the narrow streets, my pulse racing in fear. The three moons shined down, barely able to penetrate the mist that blanketed the city.

Where were the others? I couldn't have lost them. A shadow raced down a side street and I flinched. A mad cackle greeted my reaction.

"Baby's a rocker, lost on the shore. Daemon's the mocker, Baby's a whore!"

The insane verse came out of nowhere. I ran down into a small court where six streets met. Moonlight glinted off the cobbled path. The shadow flashed past a door. I twirled, eyes searching in vain for that dread figure.

More laughter. The insane, rough, drunken voice spewed another verse into the night air.

"When the bough bends, the apple will fall. Baby knows nothing but Daemon knows all!"

Too late I heard the soft footfall behind me. I tried to turn, but a heavy hand clapping down on my shoulder stopped me moving. I felt hot, rancid breath on the back of my neck.

"Hello Baby," said Daemon. 

[Swarbie]

Earlier.


I was in the market when I heard the news. Another inquisitor had entered the city. This no doubt explained the cheery, festival mood clogging the soot-blackened market stalls. This was the third inquisitor to pay a visit to our city in as many days.

Here, in the city of Pallas, on the semi-modern world of Jorgun II, the Inquisition was a much-loved organization. My home-world's inhabitants have an incredibly strong belief in the God-Emperor, and see the Inquisition as a group of those who bring His liberation from the sinful taint of Chaos. They are very naïve, in a way. 

Inquisitors who visit this world are welcomed heartily into every home, shop and temple. I feel that those who visit refrain from showing how they would normally act simply because it gives them a much-needed change from the fear and hate which usually surrounds such great men and women. Not to mention that Jorgun II is a safe haven.

It is situated in one of those odd areas of real-space where the Empyrean is calmed, almost unmoving. In the century before the events I now write of, only two cults dedicated to Chaos had risen, and those were found to have their roots in tainted off-worlders.

Having gotten my bread and vegetables from the market, I turned down a cobbled street, heading for the small butcher's shop my brother and I called home. It was getting late. The factories, which I could see in the distance, had stopped belching their black smog.

It was time to get off the street. Soon the muggers and pickpockets, the thugs and – I shuddered at this last thought- the mutants would be out soon.

I had to get home. Marcas was waiting.