Name: Gafar al-Jodin ibn-Aghazi aziri Mendassa
Known ailases: Doctor Mendassa; the Healer of Azir; Commandant of the Pure Legion
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 137 lbs
Date of Birth: 11th day of Remebrance Moon, 4682 AR
Wanted for crimes against the Kingdom of Man, including but not limited to: heresy, possession of contraband, defection from the Pure Legion, murder in the First and Fourth Degrees.
From the private journals of Commandant Gafar aziri Mendassa of the Pure Legion
13th Day of the Lover's Moon, 4713
Gafar's private residence, Azir
Subject is a male human, medium build. Minor physical abrasions sustained in subdual. Weeping red sores on R hand, likely linked to subject's activities; fluid samples reek of divine taint. Chakra system intact and functional at outset. Subject is in perfect condition for experimental procedure 17.
Drug, alchemical intervention has no effect on sores.
Disabling hand chakras has no effect on sores. Perfunctory therapy on hand chakras reduces swelling, weeping of sores. Effect is temporary - one hour.
Physical injury to hand has no effect on sores.
Removal of hand causes sores to appear on arm, beginning approx. 3 inches above stump.
Further efforts to affect activity of sores prove ineffective.
Novel procedure enacted. Incision made on R leg, fluid from sores applied. No effect. Root chakra disabled, sores begin to form on leg. Root chakra activated, reduction in swelling, weeping. Again, effect is temporary - one hour. Root chakra again disabled. Sores swell, weep substantially more than at first.
Further efforts to cure sores prove ineffective.
Subject terminated - sores induced directly onto lungs.
For me, this case is bittersweet. Along with the previous cases, it is impossible to deny the interaction between the mortal chakras and divine energy. I have had the rare opportunity to observe the effects of the taint of evil divinity, much more likely to yield results pertinent to my own condition. However, my methods have proven less effective than I am accustomed. My one consolation from this failure was the sweet cacophony of the subject's final moments. From the look of pained confusion as I injected the last of the fluid sample to the final gurgling screams as the lungs blistered and filled with pus, the subject's experience was exquisite, nearly transcendental! He did not seem to enjoy it as much as I did. This does not bode well for him; eternal servitude at the hands of his infernal master is hardly likely to be more pleasant. Such are his just rewards for his irresponsibility. A soul is rightfully entrusted to no one; to do so is a betrayal of one’s own humanity.
Gafar sat upright in his chair as the ink dried on the page. The flickering light from his lamp gave the wet words a red tinge reminiscent of drying blood. He had finished the procedure earlier in the day, but he enjoyed recording his surgical notes and observations into his personal diary in the evening. The ritual enforced a degree of order into his schedule. Some time alone with his thoughts in the evenings settled him down and getting his thoughts on paper reduced time wasted tossing and turning in bed.
With a quick puff, Gafar blew out the lamp, stretching methodically as he stood. His stretches kept him limber; while his colleagues complained of aching backs and joints, Gafar would likely age painlessly in the decades to come. He had the monks' lessons to thank for that, only a small part of the wisdom he brought back from Jalmeray. Gafar did not envy those other men. Azir's finest doctors could do nothing for such pains, which they said were a natural part of the process of maturing. With age came wisdom and back pain; it was just the natural order of things. Even servants of the gods could not escape this fate! Gafar smiled to himself, grateful that his open mind had allowed him to benefit from the wisdom of Vudra, even as the rest of the world around him suffered from the inadequacies of modern medicine. In many ways it had turned out to be a very good thing that his former associates at the College of the Body had turned him out. He mulled this over in his mind as he stepped out onto the balcony outside his bedchamber. A breeze wafted in, warm air mingling with the fragrance of sandalwood from the garden below. The moon hung low overhead, a thick red crescent casting the world in unearthly light.
"A beautiful night. Wouldn't you agree, Commandant?" Starting violently, Gafar whipped his head around. There, on the roof just over his door, sat the source of the voice. A man, dressed in red and black leathers, looking down at Gafar with a threateningly friendly smile. The blood turned to ice in Gafar's veins. Though he had never met this unexpected visitor before, he knew the man in an instant - a Red Mantis Assassin. The man let one leg dangle down and the breeze fluttered back his cape. Red moonlight glinted off the hilt of the weapon at the man's hip, its message clear. "This meeting has been a long time coming," he said casually, ignoring Gafar's silence. "How many years has it been?"
"Seven," Gafar said, even as he fought the rest of himself for control. He had been caught by surprise, but already his body was responding, dumping chemicals into his bloodstream to make him faster, stronger - and stupider. He began a simple breathing exercise, struggling to counteract the effects of sudden terror. Gafar had practically built his career on tracking this man; this single ongoing investigation had been linked to dozens of other cases in the past and present. When he was still a junior inspector, Gafar found a connection in a number of seemingly-unrelated murders, including some unsolved cases going back decades. Each of the murders bore certain subtle similarities that indicated the use of an ancient technique known as the Gods' Touch. This mysterious technique had piqued Gafar’s professional interest nearly a decade ago, when he was still a young doctor at Azir's College of the Body. His pursuit of the Gods' Touch led him to the Isle of Jalmeray on the other side of Garund, and what he discovered there would cost him his position when he finally returned.
"And what fun it's been! Wouldn't you agree?" The man was chattier than Gafar would have predicted. That was good. If he could keep the man talking, he could buy himself some time to come up with a plan. He had been expecting an encounter with this man in the very near future, of course. For almost a year, he had been closing in on the assassin's base of operations and had been dangerously close for months. But receiving a visit at his own home was not would Gafar had had in mind. Suddenly, it became clear why he had been making such progress - the assassin had been letting him. He was being lured, hunted by the very man he was supposed to have been hunting. "You almost had me in Pashow, you know. Truly." For some reason, Gafar doubted that. The overarching theme of the case, the strand that connected each of the murders together, was the Sun Orchid Elixir. It was no secret that competition for the famous potion started well in advance of the yearly auction, nor was it surprising that foul play would occur in the process. The Sun Orchid Elixir had the power to bestow youth upon whomever imbibed it, magically reversing the aging process and reverting the body to its prime. This was a lasting change , not merely wearing off in a matter of minutes; effectively, it granted a second life. Six vials were sold every year in Thuvia, and the profits generated were enough to sustatin the entire country for a full year. The auction was held in a different city in Thuvia each year. Three years ago, it had been held in Pashow. Thanks to a break in the case, Gafar had a lead on potential victims and had gone to Thuvia in anticipation of the auction. The lead had been good; he successfully prevented the assassination, but failed to apprehend the mantis-masked killer. He chased the assassin through the city, but to no avail. Still, his superiors were quick to call this a success, promoting then-Inspector Mendassa to full-fledged Commandant. However, this victory was short-lived; just days later, the would-be target was found dead. On top of this, the shipment of elixir to Pashow had been the subject of a teleportation accident for the second time in a row, foiling the auction. Seeing his opening, Gafar asks, "I have been wondering, were you behind the missing elixir as well?"
Something shifted in the man's expression, and his eyes glinted playfully. With menacing mirth, he said, "Now Commandant, you know how we operate. No funny business, just corpses."
"I didn't ask if you stole it, merely if you were responsible. Accepted as payment, perhaps?"
"Say, there's an idea!" The assassin laughed heartily, as if they were old friends joking over drinks in a tavern instead of adversaries discussing high-profile crime. Then, without warning, the man jumped down from his place on the roof, landing with supernatural grace. Gafar quickly backpedaled, his fight-or-flight response flaring up again, but rather than attacking, the man merely chuckled. "Really, Commandant, you should learn to relax. I didn't come here to kill you." Taking a place near the railing, the man leaned over it, admiring the view. "Lovely garden, I must say. It could use more color though. Some blood orchids, perhaps?"
The reassurance did little to calm Gafar; the casual tone only served to unnerve him. That's exactly what he wants, Gafar realized. "Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Keep him busy, keep him talking. Gafar's eyes flicked around the area, appraising his situation. There were three obvious routes - over the garden fence, across the neighboring rooftops, or out the front door. The other man was faster, but Gafar knew the surrounding area; the rooftop was the least appealing option. And if he could make it through the house, there was one better option-
"The Mantis Moon," the man said, breaking Gafar’s train of though. He gestured with one hand to the floating red crescent. "Glorious, isn't it? The way it hangs low in the sky, like a sword hanging over the head of the world. Do you know what gives it that wonderful color, Commandant?"
Gafar responded mechanically, rattling off the answer from memory as the rest of his brainpower was occupied trying to get him out alive. "Alignment of the celestial bodies. The moon is passing through Golarion's shadow, light from the sun casting the red glow as other colors are filtered out by the planet's atmosphere." Modern alchemy had shown that light passing through different invisible gases, such as those making up the atmoshpere, cast different colors. It was quite simple, really.
The man, bemused, ignored this. "It is a portent, a sign sent from He Who Walks In Blood. You see, Commandant, tonight a Mantis is born. That is why I have come."
Hearing this stopped Gafar in his tracks. Narrowing his eyes, he said slowly, "I am afraid I do not quite take your meaning. Would you care to explain?" If he could get inside, he could escape through the lab. It was hidden, offering a much better chance at escape.
Smiling ruefully, the man turned to face Gafar. Now up close, Gafar could see the man's irises were as red as the moon. Albinisim? Unlikely, the skin is too dark. Perhaps an illusion, or some fouling of the blood... "Come now, Commandant, it should be obvious. Why should I go to all this effort if I'm not going to kill you? I've enjoyed our game of cat-and-mouse, but you're far too troublesome to string along just for fun."
Again, the man's response instantly refocused Gafar. A sequence of emotions quickly crossed his face, from confusion through understanding, and finally disbelief. He scoffed, "Surely you don't mean me!"
The man laughed in delight, seeing the realization dawn. "But of course! And why not? Your qualifications are terribly impressive. I've seen your handiwork; you're an excellent killer, very methodical. The mantis claws would suit you well, I should think." The man's tone was business-like yet friendly, as if he were a merchant approving a favorable contract instead of an assassin-cultist trying to convert an atheistic law-enforcement officer to his insane religion. He rested one elbow on the stone railing, seeming very at ease.
"What are you on about?" Gafar narrowed his eyes again, glaring at the man as though trying to light him on fire through sheer force of will.
"Oh, I think you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. The cultists? Like the one still on your operating table under this very building?" The man swept his hand out at the floor in the general direction of the underground operating room. Blast! No element of surprise meant no advantage in escaping through the lab. It would have to be the garden. "There's no use in denying it," he said, as Gafar was preparing to do just that. “We’re not so different, really.”
Gafar balked at the accusation. "I am nothing like you! I enforce justice!"
It was the man's turn to scoff. "Is that what you've been telling yourself?" A short, barking laugh erupted from the man's throat. "You don't need to lie to me, Commandant. We both know why you do what you do. It's the same reason you went looking for the Gods' Touch in the first place - causing pain." The man said this all very matter-of-factly, an attitude that was becoming infuriating. Pushing himself up, he takes three slow steps toward Gafar, punctuating his words. "That's why you went to Jalmeray. That's why you joined the Pure Legion. And that's why you've been murdering religious criminals when you think the courts let them off too easily!"
As the assassin closed the distance, it all became too much for Gafar to handle. He lashed out with a quick strike at the man’s solar plexus, aiming to disable his chakra system. The blow struck true, and the man fumbled backward a step, doubling over. Judging by the pain on his face, Gafar expected that the man would be incapacitated for a few minutes, giving him the head start he needed. But the man’s brow knitted together in concentration, and he slowly stood up, chuckling. “You’ll have to do better than that, Commandant.” His technique had failed in the face of a superior opponent. “My turn.”
The man lunged at Gafar, who dodged sideways, throwing another punch into the man’s side. Gafar darted out of the corner he’d almost been trapped in, slipping a syringe from a pocket and emptying it into his bloodstream as he turns to face his opponent. His heart began beating faster as adrenaline surged through his body, engorging his muscles. The assassin, rebounding off the stone railing, ducked under Gafar’s wild punch, landing two sharp strikes into his hardened abdomen. Grunting in pain, Gafar wrapped his arms around the man, crushing him. The assassin, constricted, brought his knee up between Gafar’s legs. Tears welled in Gafar’s eyes, the pain causing him to lose his grip on the man. He dropped to his knees, but not before slamming his skull into the other man’s face. The man backpedaled, holding his head as Gafar collapsed.
But rather than draw his sword and dispatch his foe, the man instead began to laugh. He pulled his arm away from his face, blood dripping from a broken nose. “See? Now that was much better!” He stepped forward, placing a hand on Gafar, who felt the pain in his body quickly subside. As Gafar pushed himself to his feet, the man just stood there watching. When it appeared Gafar had recovered, he said “Again!”
Gafar, growling, threw another punch at the man, who dodged so swiftly it appeared he hadn’t even moved. He followed up with another punch, and another, but each time his fists touched nothing but air. Through the flurry, it dawned on Gafar that the assassin had only been toying with him thus far. A low kick to sweep the legs earned him nothing but a boot to the head. Reeling backward, his eyes flashed to the railing. Escape was his only option.
Sensing his quarry’s intention, the man darts between Gafar and the railing. “Not so fast, Commandant,” he said, his smile replaced by a fierce scowl. He tapped Gafar’s navel with an open palm, and suddenly Gafar couldn’t feel anything. He was paralyzed, unable to move anything below his head. "Th-the Gods' Touch," he managed weakly.
"Indeed," said the man. "You could learn it, you know. Don't you see? You've studied our ways for so long, sacrificed so much for them already!" It was true, of course. One of the biggest advantages of his station was unlimited access to materials kept in the Vault of Lies, the storehouse of confiscated religious writings kept secure in the Pure Legion's headquarters in Azir. Naturally, Gafar had availed himself of the scrolls and books found within, and not just Red Mantis writings. The collection had proved useful in many an investigation, and in more than a few unauthorized experiments as well. "What would your superiors say if they knew what you'd been up to these past years, hmm?"
"To...hell...with...you..." Gafar snarled through clenched teeth, each word a struggle.
Suddenly, there came a booming knock from below. Somebody was at the door. "It sounds like we have company," the man said, as though he were a dinner host whose guests had finally arrived. Gafar could hear their voices from below. "Commandant! Open up at once! We have a warrant for your arrest!"
"Oh dear," the man said with mock surprise. "How could that have happened? Do you think someone could have tipped them off to your little experiments?" He laughed darkly. "Oh yes, I think it was me!"
Gafar fought against the man's hold, but it was no use. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move a muscle. His chakra system had been severed.
"I could just leave you like this," the man said, even as the sound of splintering wood filled the air. "Justice will be swift, I’m sure. The tribune will undoubtedly be sympathetic. Would you prefer a swift beheading or is hanging more to your preference? Oh! Do they do crucifixion here in Rahadoum? That has an element of poetic justice, I think, wouldn’t you say?” The man was clearly enjoying this. “But if that’s how you want it, better I just kill you now.” Boom! Another crack from the battering ram.
The looming prospect of death was more upsetting than Gafar had imagined it would be. Having disavowed all religion, his soul would be banished to wander the Graveyard of Souls forever. As that eternity approached with frightening speed, Gafar realized he didn’t much care for the thought of it.
“Or I could mercilessly slaughter each and every one of those men and we could retreat to an island paradise where you’ll be indoctrinated into the holy arts of assassination and be free to perform all manner of gruesome and painful experiments to your black little heart’s content.”
Well, when you put it that way…
A final crash came from down below as the door exploded inward. “I suppose it is time for another career change,” Gafar said solemnly. The assassin grinned, his teeth flashing red in the bloody moonlight. He said nothing as he pulled the mantis mask over his face, and the doomed Legionnaires swarmed into the house.
