Ursion Gallonica's page

Ursion looked across the table at the Hellknight Armiger. The dim torch light flickered slightly in the drafty common room of whatever s$$+ hole they were in. He was unfamiliar with the Rego Scripta and couldn’t be bothered to remember its name. One cheap tavern was much the same as any other in Westcrown. The other patrons gave their table in the corner a wide berth, affording them some small amount of privacy. The young aspirant to the Order of the Rack was a half-elf. Hard to say how old he is actually. That elf blood keeps ‘em smooth for years. Ursion’s rough hands thumped down on to the table. ”That’s all you got for me?” he asked.

The dark-haired Armiger nodded, his armor clanking. ”Yes, I will have the pamphlets sent to your cell in the Qatada Nessudidia immediately.”

”Well enough. First it’s the damned Iomedeans and now we have trouble with the slips too. Why can’t they see that resisting the government only leads to chaos and pain?” Ursion sighed and picked up his glass, gulping down a mouthful of Andoran whiskey. It’s because they are weak. They fear being strong. They fear it will change them, so they give in to the fear, let it rule them. They let it turn them into lawless, wild beasts. Well, Lord, that’s what I’m here for isn’t it?

”If I knew the answer to that don’t you think I’d be more than an Armiger by now?” The half-elf laughed, taking a drink from his own cup. ”Just wait until you read the heresy this ‘Bellflower Network’ is printing. We’re going to have to come down hard this time, I can feel it. A lot of blood will flow before there is order in the Empire again.”

Ursion closed his eyes for a moment. Flashes of memory washed over him. He could feel hot, slick fluid splashing onto his face, and dripping slowly down under his armor. He could hear the screams of the weak, begging for mercy as he cut away bits of them while seeking the truth. He could feel the power of the Lord of Darkness, the Dark Prince, the Master of Law, blazing through his hand as he clenched down on the windpipe of a traitor. He smiled as he opened his eyes once again. ”Is that such a bad thing? Without weakness to stamp out we’d be out of a job, eh?”

”I’ll toast to that, Brother.” The Armiger raises the remains of his cup. ”To the glory of our Lord, the Prince of Devils, Ruler of Hell, and his loyal servants the glorious House of Thrune! Long live Infernal Majestrix Abrogail II! Long live Cheliax!” Ursion smiles and knocks his cup against the half-elf’s.

”Long live Infernal Majestrix Abrogail II! Long live Cheliax!” he replies. Both men drain their drinks. "I'll make sure that them worthlesss slips are reminded of the penalty for helpin' the escape of a slave. With the 'Glorious Reclamation' going on we can't tolerate any law breakin', no matter how small. The fall of Thrune would be the same as the fall of the greatest nation in the history of Golarion."

"I couldn't agree more, Brother Gallonica. Well, thank you for the drink, but I have other pressing business to attend to for my Maralictor." The half-elf slides back in his chair and stands up, bowing his head and offering a hand.

Ursion stands as well, gripping the smaller man's hand in his crushing grip. "Of course, Armiger. Thanks for your tip. Hopefully it will lead to the capture of some o' them slave thievin' slip bastards." The Armiger nods and leaves the tavern. Ursion grabs his pack and sword, flipping a coin onto the table to cover their tab. He leaves the tavern with a smile on his face, whistling a cheerful tune, thoughts of torturing halflings on his mind.