As he went about the path that landed him in between the crops of crystals, the Inquisitor would find the path would curve westward, as in front of him was a quaint little box that's gilded from the outside. It's not exactly a chest since there's no keyhole to lock it with–it's simply a box of heretic's goods. Whoever left them there. The Inquisitor would find the box unable to be scanned, its contents well concealed…
What do you do?
=][=
He kept his walk, the path cutting through the fallow fields of glistening crystal . The morning-sun reflected from the 'crops' gives a slightly irritating glare. The air is bristly, chilled , as like a temperate autunm. As if everything is a parody of some agri-world near its harvest season, crystal-crops awaitng landcrawlers. Above him, the flock followed, the sounds of their fluttering wings harmonised with the slightly clankering sounds of its metallic component and the slight humm of its machines.
He walks, the fields seems unending, even as the road start to curve Westward
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And before him, there it is.
In the middle of the road, lies a rather unassuming box. Gilded decorations over the clapsed metal. As if left behind by whoever before. The first sign of sentient civilization since he step foot into this realm
The Inquisitor scowled. It is a rather...unwise measure for a man who have seen what he had to be recklessly open unknown container of unknown origin, especially as the material seems to have an unusual effect on his psychic sight. But, nontheless, it and its potential contents are the only clue to him knowing what is this place
For cautious sake , he attempt to lift the boxed from a distance with his psychic power, while direct a single cherub from his flock to attempt opening it. As it happens, he placed a hand on his hand cannon