The great city of Letalé. Home of the Grand Palace and the most Holy Temple of Tivun: God of Holy Fire. This is where he belonged. Not some small village in the outback. The peasants could grovel in the dirt all they wanted, Septus his calling was higher then that. The man turns a corner and finds himself on market square.

Farmers, fishermen and other craftsman trying to sell their stock can be seen everywhere. A smile curls on the mans face. If these people knew what kind of dangers lay in wake in the Blasted Lands... Well, that's what he and the Inquisition was for; keeping heretics and other monsters out of these civilized lands. Luckily he wasn't alone in the field. Although his partner could work him on his nerves at times, Septus wouldn't want any other by his side.

They just finished another job out of town. Some blood cult had taken hold of a village about a week ago. Septus and his partner were send to investigate. It ended up with calling in an Exterminatus squad. Septus didn't mind, calling them in. Everything was allowed to keep the belief of Tivun pure and clean. His partner saw things different though. They actually had an argument about it on the way back to Letalé. That's why he was now walking these streets alone and not with his partner. Maybe he should head back to the Inquisitor headquarters and talk things straight?

He doesn't like the city, but it's all he knows.
He doesn't like the people, and for that he feels a little guilty. They work hard at their trades, smiths and millers and sawyers alike, and they haven't done anything to earn his ire, but he dislikes them nonetheless. They are tainted, like everything in the city seems to be.
And, blasphemous, he doesn't think he likes his job. It's a crazy notion, because what else could he possibly do? Just like the city, it's all he knows, and it's all he ever will know until his death. There's a small amount of comfort in this, having this certainty, but... not much.
Not enough.

The market is winding down from peak sales, and many of the merchants will be packing up their wares within the next hour or so. They have families to tend when when dusk begins to encroach.
All Rickard Conall has to tend to is his partner. This, like the rest of his duties, is an obligation. He undertakes it with the same methodical dogged determination that he does any given task.

At his side pads a beast of questionable temperament and size. The bitch is large for a dog, her shaggy fur colored in various shades of greys and blacks, giving her coat an ugly mottled appearance. Her eyes are dark, pits of pitch lost in the sea of black fur masking her face. Her pointed ears tip and swivel, and her lips curl into a half snarl any time something catches her attention.
He is a houndsmaster, and he does like the dogs.
That's something, at least.

He is polite enough to make his patrol on the outskirts of the market, not so intrusive as to parade his animal betwixt the stalls where people still milled and bartered. Still, his companion draws a fair share of uneasy looks, and even the man claims a few. He is older than his partner by a small handful of years, and where Septus' hair is light, his is dark, beginning to grey at the temples. His appearance is almost nondescript, if not for the ruined and disfigured flesh along the right side of his face. His eyes were surely handsome before, green the shade of fresh spring grass, yet the right is clouded now, milky, like the surface of a stagnant pond that has bloomed dying algae. The flesh around the eye is stripped, scarred, where the tendrils of some immense heat had cooked the meat until it blackened and charred and split. It's another reason he enjoys commanding the hounds: the animals are groomed to be mean, to attack on command... but they are also alert, prepared, always watching. Throughout the years there has been more than one occasion where Rickard would have been caught unawares, from his blind side, if not for one of his beasts.

This one is his favorite. She is a large bitch, three years of age, and she is ugly and mean, but smart. She listens well, not only to his orders, but to her surroundings. Rickard calls her Kerr, named for one of the three black dogs who legend says guards the gates of purgatory.

He finally spies Septus lurking further down the cobbled street, or more accurately, Kerr sees him. She adopts an aggressive posture, head low, tail high, indicating she has found prey. Only Septus isn't really prey, not outside of hunting him down only for the sake of finding him, and she knows this. The dog straightens when she's made certain her master has spotted their quarry as well. She pads calmly alongside Rickard as he catches up to his partner dutifully.

"Septus." It's all he says to catch the man's attention, pausing his stride as two fishermen pass between himself and Septus, poles resting at their shoulders. Kerr turns her head to sniff after them, her attention caught momentarily by the scent of blood and raw meat wafting from their fishing baskets, but she makes no move to follow them.

The man looks over his shoulder as he hears someone calling out his name. Ah, speaking about the Gale^*. He turns to face the man just as two fishermen pass. He follows the men with cold eyes and steps forward as soon as they gone by. "Rickard. I though you would be by the temple complex by now. Or else somewhere near a park to walk your... pet." Septus looks at the bitch out of the corner of his eye, clearly not being to fond of her. "I think we've earned a fine glass of wine after the completion of that mission, don't you think? We made the world a bit safer by purging that village, even if you might not agree with it." He turns away from Rickard without waiting for an answer and walks straight to the nearest tavern, entering it.

The tavern he entered was called 'The Hearthfire' and a regular off-duty spot for members of the Order of Holy Fire. Drinking was not forbidden by the religion, but abusing the alcohol to forget your sorrows or to excuse yourself for doing stupid things was. Luckily Septus didn't need to worry about both. He just liked the taste of the wine, would drink a glass or two and begone again. He had no interest in chatting up with other Inquisitors and exchange stories. He had Rickard for that after all.

---

^* = The devil basically. The opposite of Tivun

Kerr bares her teeth briefly up at Septus as the man looks at her. She is only a dog, but it's as though she can scent his contempt, and feels mutual. Rickard glances to his dog, then back to Septus. He opens his mouth to respond, but his partner is already moving away, and so he doesn't bother. Shaking his head, he exchanges a look with Kerr. He likes to think that in some way she understands these minor irritations, and sympathizes. She looks back at him, but only to await a command, or to continue the walk. So he walks.

Purging the heretics in the village was necessary. He knows this, and has little qualms about their deaths. They brought it on themselves, and he had a suspicion that if they had been allowed to live, even if forced to vow allegiances and disregard their current beliefs, they would return to their blood cult within two moons. What was that old saying? A tiger cannot change his stripes?
It was the rest of them Rickard disagreed with. Not all within the village walls had been part of the cult. Some knew of the cult's existence and said and did nothing, neither participating nor trying to stop it. This made them guilty by withholding information, and they would have been sentenced as heretics too. But many others were completely oblivious, and in the end he wonders how many had died unknowing of why they were being slaughtered.
Disgusting.

Rickard follows his partner into the tavern even though it's one of the last places he wants to be. Alcohol is not forsaken by the members of the Inquisition, but he still does not drink. He's afraid that if he starts, he may never stop. Kerr slinks alongside her master. Her nails are in dire need of trimming, and they click loudly against the scuffed hardwood floors. She isn't paid so much attention in here, as those of the Order are accustom to the sight of her or another one of Rickard's beasts. The barmaids, also used to the sight of the ugly black dog, make sure to give Kerr a wide berth, however; the dog had taken a young woman's fingers when she had extended her hand too quickly to take coin from the table only a fortnight past.

He makes his way to the far end of the large common room, opposite of the smoldering firepit against the northern wall. He doesn't like the heat or the noise, and it's always quieter on the south side. The tavern caters towards members of the Order, and there are no rooms for rent. The living quarters above the tavern are for the owner of the establishment and his family, all of which are busy working the floor. This means that blissfully, there is no sounds of stomping or drunken bellowing from the second floor.

Kerr squeezes her way beneath the table Rickard has chosen and lays contentedly in the shadows. She stares out from her new hideaway, eyes gleaming in the soft firelight of a nearby lit candelabra. She doesn't rest her muzzle on her paws, or adopt any sort of posture indicating rest. When she is out of her kennel she is working.

Rickard sits in the chair nearest his animal, and though the toes of his soft leather boots dig gently into Kerr's side as he situates himself, she doesn't give any indication that she notices or cares. Finally Rickard does speak, and it's the words he had been about to offer earlier, on the street, before Septus had turned away so dismissively. "We made nothing safer for those dead who did no wrong."

Septus' his voice comes from behind. "Not this again Rickard... We've talked about this. There was no way of knowing for sure who was guilty or innocent, so an Exterminatus squad was necessary. That are the procedures. That's how it's written in the Lectitio Divinitatus." The man in black comes into view with a glass of wine in his hand. He sits down in a chair opposite of Rickard and looks at him with disappointed eyes before taking a sip from his glass. "I thought you of all should know this by now. We've made Letalé safe and that is what counts in my eyes. Anything else is just a byproduct."

He takes another sip from his wine as he looks around the room. It was a busy day. It seems many Inquisitors had returned to the capital and all had come for a quick drink or chat to the Hearthfire. He saw many people laughing and smiling as they toasted to whatever grand story was told. Septus simply rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his own partner. "Look at those fools. Almost losing themselves in the pleasure of alcohol. Hmpf... At least drink a sophisticated drink like wine for example. But no... it has to be beer of all things." He takes a last sip and sets the glass down on a small side table. "No Rickard. I stand by my point. Exterminatus was the only solution."

He knows the procedures, could recite them word for word if pressed to do so at any given time. He has known nothing but the Order for as long as he can remember, raised among it, practically born into it. The disappointment in his partner's gaze brings an uncharacteristic spark of anger, that the man across the table from him should be so brazen as to act disappointed in him, but the only sign of his indignation is a brief clenching of his jaw. It passes, and he waits a few moments to be sure he for certain has full reign on his temper before speaking.

"No way of knowing." Rickard repeats, and the words taste foul in his mouth. He doesn't believe this, refuses to put blinders on himself for the sake of being righteous. He shouldn't say what comes to mind next because he really doesn't want to engage Septus in another argument, but he can't stop himself.
Sometimes even his his own self-discipline breaks down.

"Was it truly a lack of knowledge, Septus, or a lack of patience?" Had they taken more time, would they have saved a couple dozen lives? Could they have? Rickard thinks so. He wonders if Septus genuinely believes they put as much time as necessary into the investigation. He hopes so; the alternative, that his partner simply cares so little for human life, is disturbing.

Setpus notices his partner tensing up and changes his pose to a more welcoming one. While he and his partner argued a lot, even for Inquisitor standards, he didn't like angering him. Though Rickards question came as a surprise to Septus, he wasn't entirely caught off-guard. He himself had also thought of his brash action after all. "Both." He answered with certainty. "Had we taken too long, some might... would have escaped and spread their filthy lies elsewhere. That was a risk we couldn't take. You heard what the prisoner said. They hide in plain sight. Normal peasant by day, blood drinking cultist by night." He places the tops of his fingers together and shakes his head. "Are the lives of some peasants really worth endangering Letalé and the rest of the Kingdom to you?"

As Septus awaits Rickards answer they get approached by some knights in black armor. On their shoulders is clearly the sigil of the Inquisition shown. Black Knights. The Inquisitions muscle. Raised from children to be the best fighting force in the Kingdom, they could overcome any obstacle. But that was really all they were good for. Investigation and subtlety was an Inquisitors job while these guys could only kick a door down or cleave someones head off in one go.
Septus looks at the knight. He can clearly sees his rank. Sergeant. "To what do we owe the pleasure, sergeant? I doubt you came here for a chat and some wine like most of us."

He knows Septus is right to some degree, but the way the man phrases it ruffles his feathers. The lives of some peasants. As if their lives had less meaning than the lives of others, but that was a foolish way to think, because their lives did have less meaning than those of noble birth, or knights, or inquisitors like themselves. It was an acceptable and normal opinion to have, that those of lesser standing were worth less. Yet they were still human lives, extinguished with but a letter on the wings of a raven to call in the Exterminatus. Gentle and noble as he tries to be, even he can see why this is the case. A common smith is easily replaced; a highly-trained knight, much less so.
Yet he can't let it go so easily.

"I believe their lives were worth more than the fleeting consideration they were given," Is all he has time to answer before his good eye catches movement coming towards them. Kerr lowers her head, but not to rest; her eyes are pinned on the approaching dark knights. A low, guttural growl drifts up from her throat, but she doesn't move. Just as she would never lash out at Septus, she knows better than to make a move on these men. She recognizes them as allied in whatever way a dog can make such connections.

Rickard has little interest in participating in the conversation, a common enough occurrence. He keeps his only good eye on the sergeant as Septus speaks to the man, but allows his partner to do the talking.

The knight looks from Rickard to Septus. At least... that is what Septus presumes. It's hard to tell with their helmets on. A deep voice, probably amplified by the heavy metal, comes from the knight. "Master Septus and master Rickard. You are hereby summoned by the Supreme Master Inquisitor. A task awaits you and I am send to escort you to the headquarters." Septus, who was clearly rather bored by the knight suddenly paid attention. "The Supreme Master Inquisitor you said? Interesting. Hear that Rickard? We're moving up in importance. Well, best not keep the Master waiting!" He get's up and fiddles around with his Inquisitorial Seal that is pinned on his chest. The knight waits for Rickard to get up as well and walks off as soon as he does.

The small group walks around the streets of Letalé for some time before the head through a giant white golden gate. They now entered the Holy district and this was clearly noticeable in the architecture as the brown and red suddenly made way for white and gold. The knight continues to walk until they stand in front of a large building build in Greece temple style. The knight turns to Rickard and looks at his dog. "The dog stays here."

Rickard pauses and stares at the knight. He doesn't like to leave his dogs behind. Not because he doesn't trust them; they are well-trained, and he never fears that one might wander in his absence, or go rogue and begin to attack people without due cause. It's a security thing for Rickard. He's trained the hounds for over a decade, close to fifteen years. In all that time he has lacked the sight of one eye, and his dogs are almost an extension of himself. He feels vulnerable without their senses at his disposal.

Yet he knows he cannot argue. Explaining as much would do him no good: the knight would not care, and Rickard has no desire to appear dependent. He says nothing to their guide and turns to the beast.

"Kerr," He speaks firmly, and then the command: "Belach." He trains the dogs in a dead tongue. This way they do not become confused if they hear one of their key words spoken in casual conversation by their handlers. It also makes it harder for outsiders to influence them or confuse them. Anyone can yell at a dog to stay or heel; not anyone could do so if the words the animal responds to are of a language no longer practiced. These are the only words Rickard has spoken since the knights had approached their table.

Kerr sits obediently by the side of the building. She continues to stare at the group, but doesn't move. Satisfied, Rickard turns back to the others, but spares them no words. He has nothing to say to them, though he hopes his partner's excitement isn't for naught. Moving up in importance, Septus had said.
He fails to feel elated.

The knight seems satisfied and walks up the stairs, entering the building. They walk through a long hall and their steps echo throughout the building. It doesn't appear to be very crowded. Just the occasional clerk running around. They continue walking for a couple of minutes and pass several rooms, all closed with thick doors. At the end of the hall is a massive double door. The knight turns around as he stands in front of it and steps aside, making way for the two Inquisitors. Septus looks at the knight and then at the door. He shrugs and pushes the door open, entering the next room.

The two man are now standing in an oval room. The only things in it are several banners with the Inquisitions sigil, some cases with artifacts in them and a desk with an old man behind it. The men is dressed in a long black robe and has a spiked iron tiara on his head. He looks up from his work as he sees the two man entering. The old man puts down his work and speaks with an old but stern voice. "Ah... Septus and Rickard I take it? I've heard a lot about your work. Shame that that village had to go, but that's how it goes in our line of work." Septus makes a small bow with his head and walks forwards. "It's an honor to speak to you in person Supreme Master Inquisitor. The sergeant told us you had a task for us? I must admit that I am surprised. Usually we get our assignments from lower administrators. Not from the highest in command himself." The old man simply smiles at Septus and takes out a map from under his desk. He lays it open in front of them. "How well are you acquainted with the Blasted Lands?" Septus shakes his head and looks at Rickard.

Rickard only shakes his head. He's been to parts of the Blasted Lands, but the distances the region covers is immense. To claim he is well-acquainted would be arrogant and best. He assumes the question is more rhetorical than anything; not many of the order spent a lot of time in the forsaken lands. Those who ventured beyond usually had a very stringent plan to follow, where the slightest deviation could lead to trouble.
At least that held true in his own past experiences.

His interest was piqued, at least. Thank the heavens they weren't being ushered off to some other far-flung village where the end results were liable to be the same as their last job. The end results were often the same as their last job. Dangerous as the Blasted Lands are alleged to be, it's a change of pace.

He clasps his hands behind his back and peers down at the map the Master was withdrawn, its edges curling with age. Septus has done a fair enough job speaking so far, and he allows this to continue for as long as possible. If he's lucky, he can leave the entirety of the conversation to Septus, though he doubts he'll make it out that lucky. He tends to become curious in the planning stages, always one with a question or two.
There is nothing to ask as of yet, and so he remains silent, his eyes roving over the paper, only one of them registering the images.

The old man doesn't look surprised. "I thought as much. Only false gods and foul magic out there. Yet it is exactly the place I'm sending you. We've had a rather... unfortunate incident." He opens a drawer in his desk and takes out a picture of a scruffy looking man. "This is Aryan Crowe. He is a fugitive that escaped our prison on 'Redemption Isle' and fled into the Blasted Lands. He holds too much information that can be hold against us and thus we cannot allow him to walk free, even if it is in a place of madness."

Septus holds up his hand to pause the man. He points on the map where Redemption Isle is located. "Escaped our prison? I thought that was supposed to be impossible? How can a man simply 'escape'?" The old man looks up at Septus and sits back. "We... do not know. Other teams are currently investigating how he managed it. That is none of your concern. I'm tasking you two to track down this man, follow him into the Blasted Lands and bring him back alive."

Ah, and here is one of those questions. He's studying the picture critically, then shifting his gaze to the prison marked on the map, where Septus is pointing.

"If he is dangerous as you say, by what he knows, knowledge alone, why risk bringing him back alive?" He wonders what Crowe might have that the Order is interested in. Why was he locked away and not already dead? Sometimes Rickard even forgot they had a prison, unbreachable or otherwise: it wasn't as if they had a reputation for taking prisoners.
Curious, to let such a confidentiality breach live, considering the risks. Whatever riches they hoped to reap from the man must have outweighed the risks of him escaping again, or evading live capture.

Other than this tinkering curiosity, it seems like a fairly straight-forward plan to Rickard. It will be more dangerous than what they're accustom to, but he feels strangely comfortable with this. The Blasted Lands do not house the innocent. They are wilds filled with nothing but heresy and creatures that do not deserve life.

Septus looks up as his partner asks the question. "Good question. Why not simply kill him and be rid of the potential danger?" The old man shakes his head and sighs. "We can't kill him. He has knowledge of some very critical knowledge that we could use as well. Knowledge that outweighs the risk of letting him live. He will of course be terminated as soon as we've extracted all we can from him." The Master points at at a small town on the map that lies on the border of the Blasted Lands just a couple of ten kilometers south of Letalé. "This is the last known location of him. After that we lost track of him. This is where you will start your investigation. As soon as you arrived in the village, seek out the local priest. He is one our agents and has more information about the target." With that said he rolls up the map and puts it back beneath the desk.

"If there aren't any more questions I suggest you head to the armory and gear up. You'll have a long journey ahead of you filled with peril. You will have your faiths tested and your wills broken. But I wouldn't have send you two if I didn't know you were up for the task. Oh, and remember, our authority holds no sway in the Blasted Lands, but you still have my blessing to purge any heretic or vile monster that you may stumble upon." Septus bows his head once more. "May the Holy Fire guide our path."

The Master's reason is fair, and one Rickard had considered before he even posed his question. Still, it rarely hurts to ask. He wonders how long Crowe was imprisoned before his escape, how their artful interrogators had failed to carve out whatever information was needed.
The more he thinks about it, the more interested he becomes.

He's still pondering this as he bows his head respectfully alongside Septus, still wondering as they exit the large room and return to the hall where the knights had left them. The only thing that draws him out of his fascination is the necessity to prepare for the trip. He already knows which hounds he will brings. Kerr is one, but her brothers will tag along too.

No one has ever accused Rickard Conall of being a skilled fighter. He is, interesting enough, decent with a bow and arrow, or a crossbow; even a sling. With melee weaponry, short or long reach, mace or blade, he is adequate at best. Perhaps this is due to opponents knowing to exploit his blind side; perhaps it is also because he is simply not cut out to be any sort of warrior. It's good that his position does not require exceptional swordsmanship. It's even better than his dogs more than make up for his lack of skill, and the trio he intends to bring with them will no doubt keep himself and his partner safer in the Blasted Lands.

"I must needs ready the hounds," He says to Septus as they retrace their steps past the thick, heavy oaken doors. There is nothing ornate about them, nothing but slabs of heavy wood to shut away cold rooms. "I think it wise we leave at daybreak. We'll reach that border town, Tenbrook, before the sun is high, spend a day or prodding the locals. Move on from there."

Septus nods and puts his arms behind his back "Smart. I'll go get us the horses, supplies and get our weapons blessed. I take it you still prefer the crossbow?" The two leave the large building the same way they entered it and go each their separate ways. "In an hour at the Fountain of Light." He points at a fountain in the middle of a nice ornamented square. Then he walks off.

First stop was the quartermaster. This wasn't going to be fun because the man handling the supplies didn't like Septus very much. Rickard was usually the one getting the supplies, but he was busy with his damned dogs.
He enters the warehouse and walks up to the counter. Behind is a young man in his twenties. His faces turns into a storm as he sees it's Septus. "Need more supplies to murder some villagers?" Septus rolls with his eyes and explains the situation as best as he can and is allowed. "Look, I know we don't see eye to eye. Just give me the supplies I need. We're going to the Blasted Lands and I would like to survive longer then a day there." The eyes of the man behind the counter widen. "Y-You're going into the Blasted Lands? Well, take all the supplies you need then. Just make sure you die there." The Inquistior simply sighs. "I need some food rations, rope, map of the area, crossbow bolts tipped with Holy Iron and silver, tinderbox, holy water, wooden stakes, couple flasks of Promethean Fire and two sleeping bags. Think you can get all that to the stables within the hour?" The man writes it all down on a piece of paper and nods. "Sounds to me you're going to wage a war there, but whatever. We'll get it to the stables." Septus thanks the man with a nod and leaves.

The armory, a separate building only looks nice from the outside. Inside it's all dark and gray. Mainly because it's also here that most weapons are crafted. Luckily Septus already had a sword. He just needed to pick up a crossbow and look for a Telum Priest. He walks up to one of the smiths and makes his request. It doesn't take long before a crossbow is brought from the back. Septus takes the crossbow with another nod and then proceeds to the Priest. The priest was usually walking up and down the building, blessing all the different components that were used to create the Inquisitions weapons. Septus luckily finds the man rather fast and walks up to him. "Brother Tundril. I require your blessings for these weapons. Me and my companion are going on a dangerous mission, and we would feel a lot safer if we knew our weapons held the powers of the Holy Fire." Brother Tundril was an old man. Probably three times older then Septus. He doesn't say anything and simply waves his hands around Septus who is holding the weapons in his arms. Then the priest simply turns around and walks off. It seems that was all that was needed.

At the stables of the Inquistion, Septus picks up two healthy steeds. He wasn't really an expert on horse breeds, so he just took whatever the stable boys gave him. Luckily the quartermaster had held his word, and all the supplies were brought to the stables. The stable boys packed up the horses and Septus led them to the Fountain where he waited for Rickard. He looks up at the church tower. "Hm... Did that in 42 minutes. Nice."

"Crossbow is adequate," He responds mildly, though he knows Septus wasn't really expecting an answer. His partner has seen him fight with a blade... of course he will use a crossbow over a melee weapon every given chance. He nods, glancing briefly to the designated meeting spot, and deserts the space at Septus' side.

Rickard retrieves Kerr from where she patiently awaits his return. She's still sitting beside the building, and her dark eyes catch sight of him immediately... yet she does not move. He says nothing to her, only gives a quick click of his tongue against his teeth as he walks past her, and that is all it takes for the man to summon her to his side. She pads at his heels, following him towards the kennels.

It's a small building not far from the stables. There is enough room to house a dozen dogs with a single dog to a pen, but only eight occupy the structure. They howl and bark and whine excitedly when the door clashes open and the houndsmaster enters with Kerr at his side. He likes it in here. It smells like a stable (the familiar scent of hay, used for bedding in this case; cool, clean water; dirt and muck and fur), but there is a unique tinge in the air... a wild scent, the smell of blood. These are carnivores, and he feeds them as such. They get fresh meat, good meat.

If Rickard was ever given the choice between training his hounds and joining Septus on a mission, he would choose the dogs without hesitation. Sadly this is not an opportunity that ever presents itself, and so he is always leaving home to purge some new perceived threat. It isn't that he doesn't like Septus; they may disagree on things, not always see eye to eye, but his partner is probably the closest thing he has ever had, or will ever have, to a friend. It isn't that he loathes his work, either. There are aspects of it he cannot stand, such as when the lives of innocents are sacrificed for naught. There is always a claim that it's for the 'greater good', but Rickard doesn't think any one in the Order really knows what good is... much less the 'greater good'. Still, it is work he excels at, and work that does reap its rewards. There are people and beasts and practices in the world that need to be destroyed, to keep the innocent who are allowed to live safe. It is this notion, the one that he is doing some good for some people who deserve it, that keeps him from completely losing control.
That, and his dogs. And the dogs are so much more tolerable than the people, so he would choose them every time.

He thinks perhaps when he reaches an age suitable for retirement, if he lives long enough to be deemed too old to be useful out in the world, he will tend the dogs full time. He trains them well, and perhaps some day the Order may understand and see what he sees in the animals. They don't put much stock in the hounds. They trust their own steel better than the jaws of a beast, but they humor him, allowing him to tend the dogs. Maybe because they do glean something of worth from the animals, maybe because he can at least put them to use... maybe because they don't really care one way or the other. It matters not, so long as they leave him be to his work. It's a silly dream anyway, to even think he might live long enough to earn some semblance of retirement. It's perfectly reasonable to assume they wouldn't come back from the Blasted Lands.

He takes his time with the dogs: brushing out their coats in search of chewing lice (which there are none, of course not, he checks every night); checking their mouths for loose or rotting teeth (another nightly duty, and not a pearly white is out of order); tending the nails of those who had been allowed to grow too long (Kerr was one of these, and she let Rickard know how unhappy she was with him clipping her talons by growling all throughout the process). He doesn't do it for only the three he intends to take, but for all eight of the dogs. He is gentle with them, talks to them throughout the process though he isn't enchanted enough to believe they actually understand him. By the time he has finished grooming the animals, Septus has been left waiting at the fountain for almost half an hour, ten minutes or so beyond the time they had been schedule to meet.

Rickard finally does leave the kennels behind, Kerr curled up in her own pen. He has a puzzled expression on his face when he spots his partner and the horses near the fountain, his head tipping to one side. "I thought we were leaving at daybreak... you want to ride now? When it will be dark soon?"

Septus looks rather angry when Rickard finally arrives. He didn't like waiting. Especially not when they had an assignment. "Yes I want to leave now. The longer we dabble around doing nothing, the longer Crowe has to hide away in some hole in the Blasted Lands. Maybe you didn't see it on the map, but the Lands are quite big." He exhales exaggerated from his nose and shakes his head. "Come on. No more time to lose. We'll sleep in that one inn on the Meridian Road. Service was decent enough last time we went there." He plants his heels in the sides of the horse and gallops off towards the main gate of Letalé.

It doesn't take long and too much effort before the main gates of Letalé are behind the group. Everyone had stepped aside as soon as they saw that the Inquisition was coming through. The two large dogs did help in their display. After about 15 minutes of riding after they left Letalé, Septus slowed his horse down a bit and brought it to a canter. "So, let's discuss the mission in a bit more detail. What do you think the information this Crowe is holding that makes him so valuable?"

He feels a little poorly for keeping Septus waiting, but he wasn't aware that his partner had intended to ride this day. He had pointed out earlier that it would make more sense to ride come morning, arrive before nightfall the following day... but Septus isn't exactly known for his patience. So Rickard only nods, turns away again, and goes to fetch his dogs, his armor... if it could even be considered armor. He wears only a studded leather jerkin over a quilted doublet. He has tried heavier armors in the past, but they don't suit him despite the risks of the job. He prefers to be mobile, and he has an irrational fear of getting caught in a river or a lake, burdened with heavy armor, drowning.
To travel light seems best.

Kerr is disturbed from her slumber in the kennels, as are her two brothers, Ruhan and Tivit. They, too, are named each for one of the other two hounds myth claims guards the gates of purgatory. Where Kerr is mottled and ugly, black, one of her brothers is as white as the snow, eyes brilliant and gold. He is quiet, never barks, though his growl is something to behold. Tivit was the runt of the litter, but he has grown large, strong. His fur is the perfect shades of browns and reds to blend into a forest landscape, with eyes as gold as his brother's. All three hounds tail their master as he returns to Septus and mounts his horse. He brings leads and harnesses for each dog, but they are tethered to nothing for now. Mayhap there will be need in the bordertown, but for now he allows them free reign. He trusts them not to lose themselves on the journey, nor to snap at any passers-by on their way out of the city.

Rickard rides alongside his partner in silence, his dogs keeping admirable pace, and not a one of them gives a chuff or snaps at the other, as dogs sometimes are wont to do when traveling with a pack. Tivit and Ruhan are as well-trained as their sister. When Septus slows, Rickard tugs on the reigns of his courser, matching his partner's pace. The dogs begin to stray from his side once they are out of the city, and he allows this. He knows they will return if he calls for them.

"It matters little," Rickard responds simply. "It isn't our duty to find out." They were told to bring the man back alive, not to ponder over his use. Rickard would wonder about it all he wanted on his own, but he thought it unwise to speculate aloud. It wasn't their place.