Zola's Journal - VII

Zola's Journal - VII

[Encryption active] I wonder how it will end? I wonder what will be decided for me? What fate? 

I wait here in my quarters. I pace and fret. I believe that I did naught that my duties did not require. I regret the deaths, yes, but war demands a price, and the war against the Archenemy of Man demands the highest price of all.  Am I to be punished for my loyalty? Punished for my devoted service? Where is the justice? You do not train a weapon like me then complain when it is used.

What will my punishment be? A demotion? A retirement to low-level administrative duties? Perhaps I will be sent away for retraining and reconditioning, or to some remote outpost to  do penance in some menial position? Perhaps I will be removed from the Mourningstar warband? Perhaps I will be expelled from the Holy Ordos altogether?  

Does anyone walk away, ever? Does anyone leave the service of the Inquisition, either voluntarily, or under a cloud, and go on to live another life afterwards? I doubt it. We see too much. We learn too much. We know too much.

I wait in my quarters, but I don’t know what I’m waiting for.   A message that I am to be returned to duties? Or perhaps… what? Poison in my food? A blade in the night? A knock on the door, a formal declaration of disservice, and a shot to the head? I wouldn’t put it past Rannick. He is not subtle. [Recording ended]

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