One might think it is beneath the Church of Asmodeus to bother stopping romance-novel smuggling. The Church of Asmodeus itself thought that for a while, during the distracting later years of Infrexus's reign. But it turns out that while romance novels do not really matter in their own right, they inspire lawlessness, because people want them. And they create demand for smugglers, who then also smuggle other things. 

And they're hard to stop. One small book, and then you make copies. 

Rezaron's job is to figure out who's bringing them in, and send them to Hell, and inspire all their buyers and all their probably-Shelynite friends to never set foot in Cheliax again. He has lots of operational flexibility. It's considered healthy for young inquisitors to get to do things on their own, pick up their own style. They can always get punished if they come up with something stupid. 

It takes a great deal of willpower not to laugh when he hears the assignment. Romance novels? The things that peasants read for amusement and titillation? A whole smuggling ring built on cheap erotic fiction? But he keeps a straight face to save himself a lashing, tongue or otherwise. And the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes.

It isn't just the content, though that's obviously of concern as well. It's easy to slip anti-Asmodean or anti-Cheliax propaganda in between the portrayals of love and lust. Even the nature of those portrayals are deleterious. So many of them focus on romantic love, on mutual kindness and compassion and acts of selflessness and giving. Things that corrupt the mind, turn it away from the road to Hell. No, even beyond that, there is the inherent lawlessness of smuggling, of breaking the law to bring in and spread these novels far and wide. And he's well aware that the same system for bringing in these novels can be used to bring in even more insidious materials.

Having received his assignment, he returns to his room and packs his few belongings, reviewing the information he's received and contemplating his next move. He was given several of the novels taken from citizens when arrested, as well as the names and locations of some of those citizens. He also has the name of a small town where quite a few copies have turned up.

"So," he thinks to himself. "Where to start?"

The books were seized in Entebar, a barely-a-village which the great and prosperous nation of Cheliax could nonetheless afford to send a priest, who immediately discovered heresy and troublemakers, including a wizard who'd been copying prohibited materials. He promptly cleared matters up for the villages with two dozen arrests and nearly as many executions, though the wizard's still alive in case the Inquisitor wants to speak to him. The books themselves he mostly burned, though the inquisition can have copies. He's been told to await further instructions. It's a six-day trip.

Rezaron wastes no time setting out of Entebar. He spends the journey reading up on on the reports from the local priest and the follow ups by law enforcement. So far, it's just been locals dealing with the problem. As far as anyone knows, that's the end of it—no one in the village knows the Inquisition is getting involved. He also takes the time to read through the captured materials. Lots of tenderness, sweet words, gentle touches, and moaning. Everyone's always writing about how much moaning there is. It's eye-rolling and snort-inducing, or would be if it wasn't so insidious.

There is very little to Entebar. A church, four houses, and a riverboat stop. Farmers from the surrounding area come up for services, or often fail to. A cobbler comes by once every few months, and a blacksmith not more often. The priest isn't expecting him - the inquisition does not prefer to be expected - and is out, when he arrives; the church is being maintained by a single halfling slave.

He watches the halfling for some time, simply... waiting. He's very good at waiting. He's found that people get nervous and make mistakes if you let them.

Making the halfling absolutely terrified hardly takes any time at all. Making him make a mistake - well, depends how strict the Inquisitor is being. Technically it is illegal for the halfling to make noise in the Inquisitor's presence, which he is not perfectly avoiding, or to pass by the symbol of Asmodeus without appropriate respects, and while he is stopping to bow before it on each pass with the mop, he doesn't look very reverent because he's busy looking terrified. 

He's actually waiting for the local priest to show up and not really paying all that much attention to the halfling, but given that it's taking some time, he decides to take advantage of the obvious terror he's causing. "You," he says in a clear, calm tone, his voice free of emotion. "Put that down and come here."

As the halfling approaches, Rezaron takes an apple from his bag, takes a bite, and then holds it out, as if offering it to the slave before asking him about the priest he serves. "Tell me, what is the man like? Is he an especially cruel master? What are his greatest faults as a man and as a servant of Asmodeus?"

This is a spectacular act of cruelty. He has no idea if he's supposed to take the apple. (He doesn't.) He knows there is no safe answer to that question. 

"This slave has observed no faults in his master," he says eventually, miserably. "His master is a great and cruel servant of Asmodeus."

He says nothing for a moment, instead taking another bite of the apple before holding it out again. "Come now," he says, forcing his voice to refrain from betraying even the barest hint of laughter. "I'm not interested in platitudes. I've come from the Inquisition." He looks the halfling directly in the eyes, his lips curling upward ever so slightly. "And I am here to learn the truth of things. So. Let's try again. What is the man like? What are his shortcomings? How has he failed?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.

"Master has not had this assignment long," he says. He can't think how he can be punished for thinking that, though he certainly will be. "Master spends much time travelling, because the farms in this area are far from each other, and hard to find." A bit pleadingly - "Master kills those who disrespect him, or disrespect Asmodeus, or disrespect their betters."

He takes another bite of the apple while nodding, as if thinking deeply about what he has just heard. "And you've been here long, then? You've served priests before this one, I take it?" He gives the halfling an almost disappointed look. "Is that it? I've come all the way from the capital and there's really nothing of interest you can tell me about him?"

"No, great master, this slave has not been long in his service. This slave has never served a priest before. This slave -" Probably his ordinary master is in fact more dangerous to disappoint. That's his current best guess. "This slave only keeps the temple clean and supplied and does not travel with his master."

He doesn't hide his disappointment. If anything, he exaggerates it. "Very well. I can tell you're loyal to the end. I suppose there's something to be admired in that. An unwillingness to save your own skin if it means betrayal should be commended." Rezaron reaches into his bag and pulls out another apple, holding it out to the slave. "Take this," he says, his voice making it clear it's an order. "Fetch me the moment your master returns."

He's so baffled but he's not this exact moment being tortured. He will obey and accept the apple and...return to his cleaning work, if he isn't punished for that?

There is no punishment. Not here, not now. He does not delight in cruelty for cruelty's sake. The church is well maintained, if a bit shabby. And he's not here to play cruel and stupid tricks on cowering slaves. But the halfling's acceptance of the fruit can always be used against him if necessary.

He spends the rest of the wait in silence, considering what course of action to take. The first thing will be to talk with the priest when he arrives.

The priest, when he arrives, takes off his coat, bows deeply to the inquisitor, and then calls the halfling over and slits his throat, not even particularly cleanly, leaving him to bleed out on the floor. 

"May we prove worthy in the sight of Asmodeus," he says. "Can I help you?"

He hides his disgust at the senseless murder of the slave. It isn't pity for the dead—the halfling meant nothing, was nothing, to him. It's the inherent chaos of the act that bothers him. Like pouring a glass of wine on the floor. It serves no purpose, and yet it upsets the order of things. But his face betrays no sign of his displeasure, and he ignores the blood pooling on the ground.

"I hope so," he says with no apparent urgency. "I've come to question the wizard you arrested recently. The one caught smuggling material into the country. And anyone else you haven't already sent to Hell who might have any connection with him."

"Wizard's in the dungeons. I sent the rest to Hell; I don't think they knew anything useful, and peasants have the attention of a goldfish so you have to show them the law quickly if you want them to learn."

He nods, his face free of the contempt he feels for the man in front of him. "Lead on then." He's eager to begin his business, and to get away from the priest.

The dungeons are honestly pretty pathetic; the ground here is soft, and digging very deep was difficult, and they smell vaguely moldy and have a low ceiling and only one cell, where the wizard is bound and gagged, that being the standard for keeping wizards prisoner.

"He had a familiar; I killed it," says the priest, and then leaves them to it.

He feels some measure of relief as the priest scuttles away. His kind is not unfamiliar to the Inquisitor—they are, unfortunately, all too necessary, especially in these small outlying towns. It's no surprise such a man was sent far away from whoever his superior might be.

He stoops low, looking the Wizard over in his cell, observing him for a few moments. He can't be too powerful if this rabble caught him, but Rezaron is nevertheless cautious.

He doesn't look powerful like this. He looks exhausted - another useful thing you can do to stop wizards is ensure they don't get enough sleep - and terrified and miserable and not entirely lucid. He's an adult, but a young one, with no hair yet greying. He's missing his front teeth, perhaps from the fight or the initial interrogation. The notes said they were pretty sure he was first circle, which isn't a very threatening wizard.

The Inquisitor pulls out a canteen full of water. He splashes some on the Wizard's face to wake him up. He removes the gag enough for him to drink.

"Don't try anything. Just take a drink. In a moment were going to have a little talk." His voice is calm but firm.

He is not an idiot. He is aware that this is not a good thing that is happening, that no good things will ever happen again. He drinks the water.