[ WP ] Magic is viewed as a curse . It 's unpredictable , hard to control , and dangerous . Those few who find a way to wield it risk losing themselves in the process .

The cottage was iced over. For hundreds of feet in every direction, snow fell and blanketed the ground, a grey cloud standing silent watch overhead. Beyond it, the sun shone, the birds sung, and a warm summer breeze blew. Lord Inquisitor Bevain resisted looking behind him as he entered the isolated pocket of winter. 
 
 Foot prints marred the snow around him, crunched over each other in a perfect picture of chaos. He guided his horse, Jackal, slowly and carefully closer, it nickered, nervous and Bevain pat its quivering neck. He could feel it too, a strange *taste*, a sense of something off. It was dire enough to put Jackal, seasoned in war and conflict, on edge. 
 
 Clustered around the cabin were dark men in darker cloaks, pulled tight against the unnatural cold. One of them noticed him and broke away, high stepping through shin high drifts. `` My lord!'' He called, deeming Bevain close enough to address, `` I had not expected you so soon!'' He stopped by Jackal's head and took the reins when they were offered. 
 
 `` Inquisitor,'' Bevain stated simply as he dismounted, then said nothing more, surveying the scene before him. The cabin was, as stated, iced over, but the ice itself was clear and transparent. One could see the cabin encased within with no more difficulty than looking through a window. Frozen in the doorway, seemingly in mid-flight was a young woman, mouth open in a silent scream. Before her, prostrate and also frozen was a young boy, caught as he was crawling. 
 
 Right at the edge of the ice, a hand reached and grasped. A little girl had almost made good her escape. The ice had caught her body, and left half of her face and her hand free. She was still very much imprisoned, but alive. It was here that most of the Inquisitors had gathered, talking amongst themselves. 
 
 `` Is this what's become of the Emperor's chosen?'' Bevain called as he walked towards them, somehow making it look dignified, despite the ungainly height of the snow, `` Roosting about, gossiping like hens?'' 
 They broke apart, sheepish. 
 
 `` What of our perpetrator? I assume he is soundly restrained if we're free to gab about.'' 
 
 A young man stepped away from the group and drew himself to attention, `` My Lord, the Mage has frozen himself behind the house mid spell, he too is caught up with his victims.'' 
 The youth was just that, certainly no more than a year outside the College. His facial hair was caught in a moment of indecision as to what it wanted to be. 
 
 `` Thank you, Inquisitor...?'' Bevain let the question hang. 
 
 `` Revim, Lord Inquisitor,'' was the reply, `` Ephraim Revim.'' 
 
 Bavain nodded, `` Thank you, Ephraim,'' he said, using the lad's first name which made him stand impossibly straighter. He then turned to the little girl, `` Now, what to do with you?'' Her eyes, a startling green, looked up at him. Well, at least one did. 
 
 `` If I may, sir,'' Ephraim began, `` If you will notice, the spell persists. I have reason to believe the Mage may yet live, as I've been trying to convince the others.'' He gave a pointed look to a grizzled Inquisitor at his side who just as pointedly ignored him. Bevain raised his eyebrows, `` You think so? I give you leave, then. Take one of the men with you, carve the witch out, then *convince* him to disperse with,'' He waved a gloved hand, `` This.'' 
 
 Ephraim did his best to keep a grin from erupting across his face as he replied, `` Yes, my Lord!'' Then pointed at one of he other Inquisitors to follow him. Together, they shuffled to the rear of the house. 
 
 Bevain sat on his haunches before the little girl, stark pity on his face, `` Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry.'' The side of her mouth not frozen twitched and a string of drool dribbled off her lip. Bevain untucked a kerchief and gently wiped her mouth. 
 
 `` Do you know who I am?'' He asked her, and her mouth twitched again, emitting a mutated, `` Yeshh.'' Tears shone in her eye. `` Then you know what must happen.'' He continued. He dabbed her lip again as she answered with a pitiful affirmative, which was quickly followed by a, `` Pleashh....I... I...'' 
 
 `` I'll have you know,'' Bevain said, standing, `` That what I will do is a mercy, compared to my peers at the College.'' The other Inquisitors stood silently, and the others who could had taken some steps back. While it was true that what Bevain offered was a mercy, he was still a Lord Inquisitor. `` My colleagues,'' Bevain continued, gesturing vaguely to the surrounding Inquisitors, `` Can attest the horror that awaits you should we free you and take you into our custody.'' He drew a long barreled, silver flintlock from a holster at his side, the weapon of a dragoon. The metal had been inscribed with a number of prayers that overlapped each other, endlessly. 
 Bevain began to methodically load it. `` They will take you, chain you to a stiff metal board,'' He described, `` They will flay you open, they will draw out your insides to see what magicks you might harbour. Especially since you've been touched by them. There's so much that they do not understand, that they feel they *need* to understand. And they believe you can reveal those secrets.'' He cocked the hammer, `` Theirs is a vehement belief.'' He leveled the gun at her bright green eyes, awash in tears. Drool dripped freely now. `` It does not match the tenets of the Emperor. Yours is a curse. I grant you mercy.'' 
 
 He fired. Powder smoke filled the air, thick and acrid. The ice on the other side of her head was cracked and crimson, and her tears had stopped. 
 
 In that same instant, there came a billowing, a loud roar that sounded as if all the snow in the mountains were coming to bury them, followed by silence. Another pistol shot cracked in the cold air. The ice began to melt, the cloud disappated, and the snow fled. 
 
 `` Inquisitor Revim!'' Bevain called. There was no answer, `` Inquisitor Revim!'' He called again, louder. 
 
 `` Here, My Lord!'' Came the answer, `` Bastard got my arm!'' The two Inquisitors rounded the cabin, and indeed, Ephraim's arm had been frozen solid. Already, however, it had begun to melt. 
 
 `` Should be right as rain in a moment, Lord Inquisitor.'' He said, at an attempt at nonchalant cheer. Bavain nodded, `` Well done. Good instincts. We'll make a chosen man of you yet.'' 
 
 He turned to the grizzled Inquisitor who stood nearby, red faced, `` Clean this up.'' He ordered, then walked back to his horse in the swiftly receding snow. 

