Lords of RPG

“Your assignment is to observe and report only,” Director Ballentine said, emphasizing the qualifier.  “As a Sentinel, you are the eyes and ears of the Society.  You are not prepared or able to defend yourself against a cleric, mage, or warlock. Should you discover an actual magic user, report it to us immediately.  We will then send in a squad of Cleansers with the skills necessary to take down the evil one.”

Merden nodded solemnly.  The young human was eager and excited to take on his first assignment for the Societas de Magicae Mortem (Ancient Imperial for the Society for the Death of Magic). But he did not want to appear overeager.  Merden knew the members of the Societas took their sacred duty seriously and wanted serious members.

Ballentine hid a smile.  He could see the eagerness in the young man’s posture, could read it in his face.  He also saw how hard, and how badly, he was trying to tamp it down.   He took a moment to consider the young man in front of him, once again.  Merden was tall and thin, with a shock of unruly blonde hair.  He was barely out of his teens, with a light rind of peach fuzz covering his chin.  No one would call it a beard.  He had a slight overbite, but was otherwise a good-looking fellow.

The Society had been born out of the cataclysm that unleashed Hell upon the earth, over 15 years ago now.  The event had many names:  The Day of the Dead, The Fall of Man, The End of Days, and the Apocalypse were just a few ways mankind had tried to classify that horrific event.  To Erasmus Ballentine, it was simply the end of all he had ever known and loved.

The undead had killed his wife and children, his parents, his friends and neighbors, as well as his city.  Balelntine glanced down at the stump of his left leg, and considered that a small price to pay for his life.  The collapsed remains of his tailor shop had crushed his leg, but also hidden him from the rampaging hordes of the undead.  As he lay there for two days, trapped, starving, and dehydrated, he had an epiphany.  Magic.  The use of magic by the living had caused this end.  Wizards, warlocks and clerics, fools all, had played with forces beyond their understanding, beyond their ken.  They thought that they could bend the universe to their whims.  They played with the laws of nature like a child plays with blocks.  And they imagined that they could do that without cost.  Without price.  In their hubris and arrogance, they created the conditions which killed the gods themselves, and ushered the Carrion King into our reality.

Ballentine was eventually rescued and found others who thought as he did.  Together, they founded the Societas de Magicae Mortem, dedicated to preventing such a cataclysm again, by stopping those who would use magic, in any form.

The Society recruited orphans to increase its ranks, of which there were plenty after the Day of the Dead.  They raised them and trained them to combat the scourge of magic.  The Society was the only family most could remember, which made them very loyal.  The mantra “Society is Mother, Society is Father,” was drilled into them daily.

The Society had found Merden in the ruins of the Free State of Garmon.  The remaining gangs had been waging a bloody battle for control of the remnants of the city.  Merden had been 4 years old at the time, living in the streets, starving and near feral.  He didn’t even speak for a year after the Society rescued him.

It was music that had finally healed the boy’s shattered psyche, and drawn him back amongst the living.  He began to sing and play the squeeze box.  He was a constant source of entertainment for his friends as he sang, danced and juggled.  Which made him the perfect candidate for this assignment.

“We’ve gotten reports that this so-called Carnival of Wonders may be harboring magic users,” the Director explained.  “We’ve heard tell of fortune tellers and faith healers in their Company.”  He snorted.  “They’re most likely frauds and grifters, as most carnival workers are.”  Ballentine turned and gave Merden a basilisk stare.

“But we must be certain,” he said gravely.  “We must not suffer a wizard to live.  They almost destroyed this world once.  We must not give them the opportunity to do so again.”

“You will infiltrate this Carnival and determine the truth of the matter,” Ballentine commanded.  “Your skills should make that a simple affair.  But be wary.  The foul beings who use magic can trick even the most vigilant.  They can call forth demons to defeat their enemies.  You must use stealth and guile to accomplish this mission.”

“I understand, Director,” Merden replied.  “I am proud to serve as Sentinel de Societas.  I will make a faithful account of all I observe and report my findings.”

Ballentine nodded in appreciation.  “Good lad.  Good lad.  It occurs to me that having you posted there may be a continuing mission.  They travel all over this fallen world.  You would be well-placed to watch for other magical creatures throughout the land.”

“I live to serve,” he said, his head bowed.  “The Society is Mother, the Society is Father.”

Ballentine ushered him out of his office with well wishes and limped back on to his crutches to his desk.  He had no more sat down when an old man opened the side door and came in without invitation.

“You heard?” he asked his guest.

The old man nodded, leaning heavily on a cane as he favored his right side.  “I noticed that you did not tell the young man that we already have an agent in the Carnival of Wonders.”

“By choice,” Ballentine said.  “Since neither knows about the other, we can use this as an opportunity to test the trustworthiness of both.  If both send us similar accounts, we know that they are likely telling us the truth.  If the accounts differ greatly, we can assume that one of them is lying, or has been turned by magical means.”

The old man nodded.  “A wise precaution.  It is unfortunate that we must use such tactics amongst our own people, but it is necessary.  Magic can turn even the most righteous man into a traitor.”