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Their eyes are adverted for now - and with any luck, you will have passed them by when they raise them again. So before you can double and treble guess yourself, you set your path around the coach, giving it what you hope to be a berth wide enough to not raise any objections, while maintaining a steady clip. Beyond the usual silent prayers that you offer up in these circumstances, you are also pleased with yourself that you had the forethought to order a ... whatever the Hell you are supposed to call this, as opposed to a more traditional outfit, otherwise you doubt you would have been able to make or maintain your pace. At a slower pace, the kind you might have to take in less practical clothes, you doubt your nerves would be holding half as well as they are right now. Which is a good thing too, because once your path swings wide enough that you can see more of the coach than just the horses and the bench, you are in a real shock. The sides of the coach are covered in a tarpaulin, painted with the sigil of the Inquisition - the three white needleswords, fanned on a black field. The tarpaulin is pinned on its four corners, but wetted by rain it sags just enough that you can see the shapes underneath. Pegs, you would wager, built into the body of the coach, and arranged in such a manner that they would hold something of considerable weight and a diameter nearly equal to the height of the coach's compartment. There are several things that it could be - none of them good, of course - but when movement draws your eyes upward, you see proof that it is undoubtedly the very worst. For under a half-loose tarpaulin, what you at first took to be bundles of equipment, you can now identify as cages. Inside one of them you can see a goose in profile, looking straight at you as it struggles to breathe with its beak pinned shut around a long and lead-shielded Socket.
There are very few Constructs and Implements that the Inquisition will use live fuel on. To your knowledge, there is only one that they will use live birds for. The fuel band of a Mesopleuron Ring.
May the Maker have Mercy for you. There is a Mitigator in Scrimshaw Mount.
A Witch bred and raised for the Inquisition to deal with what its Brothers cannot. Large scale, runaway breaches ...and other Witches. Suddenly, your dress feels tight. Impossibly tight - as if all of a sudden, it decided to strangle you. Your head ... it is as if you cannot even see straight, it ...
