Unlike standard expedition reports, this account of the renowned Inquisitor Mortward has been structured as a theatrical play, suggesting it was intended for performance at a Guild gathering. Whether fact or fiction remains unclear, though its prescient focus on cursed “loot” provides insight into our still-forming understanding of such artifacts.
Of the many Mortward references in our collection, this remains among the most intriguing, particularly the narrator’s unsettling final observation about the Inquisitor himself.
Edited for clarity, the script has been included here for further analysis.
Guild Lodge, Study Room—Present
TheCARTOGRAPHER stands before a desk, speaking as if to a journal. Worn from travel, eyes still dusted with the dunes.
CARTOGRAPHER
I had only just returned from my expedition in the crimson dunes of Leilen when the Cartographer’s Guild suggested I contact a certain Inquisitor by the name of Mortward.
The Guild had their reasons, but I didn’t see the need. I had just returned after nearly seven months in a waterless land and wanted rest, not mystery.
I told them: I would contact him only once I had recovered, and not before. No letters. No visits. If Mortward could wait a week, I would hear him out. Otherwise, he could find another surveyor.
To my surprise, he agreed. Without protest.
I should have known then that this would not be any ordinary request.
Guild Lodge, Meeting Room—Present
MORTWARD sits in silence. His presence alone alters the air. He is not particularly tall or muscular, but commands an imposing presence. TheCARTOGRAPHER enters.
MORTWARD
Thank you for making time to see me. I hope you’ve had sufficient rest. I know how draining the lands to the west can be.
CARTOGRAPHER
You have been to Leilen?
MORTWARD
Oh yes. My office carries me everywhere. Wherever Vitriol rises.
CARTOGRAPHER
What can I do for you?
MORTWARD’S eyes meet his. Serious. Measured.
MORTWARD
What about Lunnon? Do you know it?
CARTOGRAPHER
Amused by his remark, theCARTOGRAPHER raises his eyebrows.
The ruined city? Collapsed during a massive earthquake decades ago. Very few survived it.
MORTWARD
Yes. Your memory serves you well. The city is still a ruin. Nothing dares to grow there. Not even moss. A very particular rot still lingers in that area.
TheCARTOGRAPHER shifts uncomfortably.MORTWARD watches, unwavering.
CARTOGRAPHER
What does a ruined city have to do with anything?
MORTWARD looks up to the ceiling; closes his eyes. Breathes. Begins.CARTOGRAPHER settles in.
Flashback: The Marshes of Pintat
Mist snakes between tangled roots. Mortward, younger but no less grim, slogs through muck. Eyes burning with purpose.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
I had been searching for a witch. She carried cursed manuscripts. Dangerous things. I tracked her across the Feltic Sea, into the swamps of Pintat, likely looking to absorb the foetid energy of the decaying corpses swelling below the waters.
But the land itself turned against me.
He slips, collapses. Blood blooms in the water.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
I cut my leg. Infection set in. Fever followed.
MORTWARD, half dead and delirious, crawls up the edge of a road. A man,MORREN, stoops down with care, taking his hand gently.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
By the glory of the Divine, a man named Morren found me. He had fled his own people. Lived alone in one of the few standing houses near Lunnon.
Cut toMORREN’S house. A strange stone structure with low arches, sinking into the earth.MORTWARD, pale and half-conscious, is tended to byMORREN, a kind, hollow-eyed man. The walls display three faded murals. Crimson, violet, and gold. Each seething with life and decay.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
One wall showed a Triumph: a dragon above a tortured army. Another, a Celebration: women dancing on bones in a vineyard of rot. And the third—a Coronation: a tall women receiving a golden crown, that defeated army and the dancing women behind her.
He stands before the murals, transfixed.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
A tall woman crowned, flanked by both armies and dancers. Beautiful. Terrible. It moved something in me.
Somewhere during that time, I was moved to Morren’s chapel. I noticed those windows, most broken but a few still gloriously intact, that same woman depicted in stained glass.
Cut toMORREN’S chapel. Small, domed. Its stained glass windows shimmer faintly. The altar at the center is black marble, veined with purple and blue.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
The chapel stank of sweet rot. A spoiled wine scent. I remained in Morren’s care for the better part of two weeks, and once my wounds had healed enough, I thanked him and returned to my mission.
I quickly picked up the witch’s trail and followed her back to Lunnon. There I found her and another witch in a makeshift inn in the outskirts of the city.
Flashback: Outskirts of Lunnon
MORTWARD watches two women at a makeshift inn. One is a necromancer, the other the true witch. Both vanish.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
Ironically, the witch I had first tracked turned out to be a mere necromancer—posing as a witch—and the real witch turned out to be far friendlier than I expected. She also fled, I presume, after finding out I was an Inquisitor.
Both witches vanish.
Flashback: Morren’s House, Later That Week
Mortward returns to Morren’s house to thank him. The home sags into the damp earth. Its stone frame stoic.
Silence.
MORTWARD findsMORREN under the dining table. Huddled. Rocking.
MORTWARD
Morren? What happened?
MORREN lets out a terrible cry before recognizing him.
MORREN
Are we alone? Did you check the corners?
MORTWARD
Yes. We are safe.
MORREN
Let’s go outside. I need the moonlight.
MORREN shivers.MORTWARD offers him the tome. Calms him.
MORTWARD
Tell me. What happened?
MORREN gulps, then speaks, his pace quickening, clearly agitated.
MORREN
You see sir Mortward, there is nothing of value left in these damp marshes. Not even the weeds will grow here, but I ain’t no fool.
I know that some very rich people lived here. I see the murals every day. I eat and sleep where they used to eat and sleep.
The chapel is also empty of its relics; only that vile thing is left there. But I knew there must be something, some loot to be found around here. When you stayed here, I noticed how you looked at the same murals I look at every day, but you recognized something I didn’t. I saw you look inside the chapel and notice those windows, and the floor and even that ugly, ugly stone in the middle.
I knew they were rich folk, but I thought everyone here was rich. But then after you were here, I realized these ones, the ones before me must have been really rich.
So, after you left, I started to dig.
MORREN’S voice becomes haunted.
You have been out there, you know how the ground can get. It’s not firm like in my country, but it isn’t water either. It is a wretched mix of rot that pulls you in and wraps around you once you’re down.
I digged, I digged a lot, and I dived, and I sunk my arms in these foetid swamps more times than I care to remember, but I finally found it.
After all of that, I found the crown.
MORTWARD leans forward, intrigued.
MORTWARD
A crown?
MORREN
Voice dropping to a whisper.
There is a problem, though. I don’t know how to put it back.
MORTWARD
Why would you want to put it back? Why would you want to bury such a thing again? You have done nothing wrong.
MORREN starts to sob profusely, rocking back and forth again.
MORREN
Whispering repeatedly)
It won’t go back. It won’t go back.
MORTWARD grabs him by the shoulders, shakes him gently.
MORREN(CONT’D)
…I should have never taken the cursed thing. But I did.
Every hour since has been constant misery. It took me hours to dig and get the filthy crown out, and I know it watched over me every second. I felt it, just as I feel it now.
He looks over his shoulder, terror in his eyes.
After I grabbed the crown, it just got worse. Sometimes you can see it, appearing out of the corner of your eye, just to disappear immediately. Sometimes all you feel is a cold presence behind you with its steely eyes. I know it must have eyes, piercing right straight into your soul. It’s a malevolent presence that just won’t leave me and the worst is that it likes to play with me.
Voice rising with panic.
It leaves me for hours just to come back when I feel safe and resume my torment. I see it always just in the corner of my eye, shifting and scurrying.
Only once have I been able to look at it straight on. I tried to stay in the dining hall, protected by the murals, and I made sure that no one was out there, but it always came, just as I laid down. I can feel its cold presence entering the room, and when I get up, it is always gone.
It haunts me, moving from one room to the other, from a shadow to another shifting behind my back, and I can always smell its sweet rot. It had just found me again when you arrived, and I thought for sure this time it would take me.
But then you came.
He puts his face in his hands and weeps.
MORTWARD
I will help you put the crown back.
MORREN looks up, hope and fear warring in his eyes.
MORREN
Points to the chapel.
It’s there. On the altar. Where I left it.
Flashback: MORREN’S Chapel, Night
They enter together. The crown sits atop the altar. Purple-violet metal. Rubies and sapphires catching what little light exists. A large diamond at its center. Its four prongs twist in rough, organic fashion—like antlers or the horns of a dragon.
AsMORTWARD approaches, the smell of rotting corpses and blood fills the air.
Metal hinges scream. Wind howls. The chapel gates burst open.
ASHADOW FIGURE appears in the doorway. Eyes glowing red with hellish fury. It does not move except to extend one large finger.
It points at Morren.
A screech. Then it vanishes.
The ground shakes.
The ceiling cracks.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
We ran.
They flee as the quake snakes behind them.
MORTWARD(NARRATING)
The earthquake seemed primed to follow us, snaking through the city and leaving destruction in its wake.
I took Morren with me and we left Lunnon that same night and never looked back. I left him in the care of a healing order far away from the crown and the swamps.
I pray the Divine will keep him, and whatever it is that he unearthed will never find him there.
Guild Lodge, Meeting Room—Present
MORTWARD sits still. Waiting.
CARTOGRAPHER
And the crown?
MORTWARD
I left Lunnon with survival on my mind. I forgot to bring it. We must go back. And put it away.
He stands.
The swamps are worse now. The house may be gone. I need someone who can get me there. And keep me alive.
He meets the Cartographer’s gaze.
Will you be my surveyor?
Guild Lodge, Study Room—Later That Week
The Cartographer writes by candlelight. The room still smells faintly of travel—and something else.
CARTOGRAPHER(WRITING)
I told Mortward I would consider his request but that I would need some time to make my decision. That was a week ago. I haven’t replied.
He hesitates. Nose twitches.
I didn’t tell him that I, too, smelled the faint odor of sweet rot when I first met him.