'To break a body is easy, to break a mind is an art, to remodel the mind into anything you desire - that's mastery.' - Unknown Author, Books Of Mesmer vol.12
Not a day goes by without some deluded soul—usually young, sometimes not—aspiring to follow in my footsteps. Imagine that: aspiring to become the Grand Inquisitor of the Inquisition. The mind boggles.
Once, the idea would have been laughable. But now? This profession has become respectable. There are university courses on it, for the love of the gods! Entire shelves in esteemed libraries are devoted to titles like Ethical Torture: An Examination or The Case of the Moonlit Assassin. The world, clearly, has lost its mind.
The serious contenders—those with enough ambition or arrogance—attend my lectures at the Obsidian Spire, Department of Arcane Law and Ethics. Grim material, but they lap it up, wide-eyed and eager. Despite their rigorous education, they still write to me, seeking stories of my so-called 'adventures.' They want to know how I escaped the Crimson Veil or dismantled the Ashen Prophets. Or, how I supposedly prevented a war with the Elarian Dominion. They love that one—as if it were some grand scheme, rather than a string of unfortunate blunders.
But the question that never fails to amuse me—the one that makes me want to throttle them through the parchment—is always about chaos magic. How do you control it? they ask. What's the secret? As if it's a trick, like sharpening a blade or pulling a rabbit from a hat.
Responding to these letters is dreadfully tedious. So, when the Writers Guild suggested I pen a series of memoirs for my students, I agreed. A brilliant idea, really. It spares me from quill-and-parchment duty and serves as course material. A win-win. I'll recount my life in all its grim, gruesome glory. There will, of course, be occasional digressions into the personal, the entertaining, and, yes, the salacious.
One of the perks of being the Grand Inquisitor—hero of the Empire, no less, with a public holiday in my honor—is that no one can dictate what I write. I could fill entire chapters with scandalous details that would turn even the most hardened noble's stomach, and who would stop me?
So, dear reader, brace yourself. I will take you through icy wastelands, plague-ridden villages, ghoul-infested swamps, and royal parties rife with espionage. Maybe, if you're perceptive enough, you'll discover the secret you so desperately seek. By the end, you might wish you'd chosen a more peaceful profession—dungeon adventuring, perhaps, or grave-robbing. At least those trades let you sleep at night.
Let me be clear: if you think you can ace this course with a few essays and some memorized test answers, you're charmingly naive. No, it all begins with a certain... disposition. The kind that doesn't flinch at the sight of blood. The kind that can stare into the abyss without gibbering like a lunatic.
First, you'll have to survive the trials at the Obsidian Spire. If its labyrinthine halls don't break you, the training might. You'll learn the fine art of interrogation—where persuasion and torture are often indistinguishable—and study the arcane, because only a fool hunts heretics without knowing their tricks.
More than that, you'll need a degree of moral flexibility. The greater good often requires locking away your conscience—preferably in a deep, dark box.
And if you survive all that? Perhaps you'll earn the right to wear the golden eye. Though I wouldn't hold my breath. Most of you will have dropped out by then, weeping in some dark corner. This isn't a life for the faint-hearted—or the sane.
So, for those still desperate for my wisdom, a final warning: be careful what you wish for. The answers you seek might be far more horrifying than you can imagine.