Chapter 31

[Ekroy of Qol]

Behind a gate of wrought iron, several wooden gates of rune-worked wood, and a single door of polished silver: Ekroy drank heavily.

His eyes drooped. His head, barely hovering above the table, swayed. Bringing a golden goblet to his lips for another swig, he somehow found the fortitude not to openly sob as he lamented his fate.

"The Light has abandoned me.” He moaned. “Extinguished, by the will of fate.”

Ekroy had been handed a simple, beautiful, opportunity. The chance of of a lifetime had been his to seize, and by all rights, he should have been able to. To walk up to the Dungeon's entrance, to declare it captured in the name of the Empire, and return with honor and recognition for the Greater house Qol.

Instead, he'd now lost two very costly battles, and was on the precipice of losing a third, tomorrow.

Things were not going well for him.

"What in all the light did I do to deserve this?" He let out a cry. "What did I do?"

His coffers were running dry, funding emptied by his numerous failed assaults on the Dungeon. His family name had been dishonored as well. Those he once considered his closest allies among the houses were turning cold. Many, often enough, were now outright unwilling to speak with him. And, on no less than seven separate occasions, he had been verbally humiliated among the court for his failures. His waste of capital being held personally responsible for the city-wide shortage of resources, which in turn was delaying the supplies requested by the Emperor.

The Emperor.

His uncles, his father: all of them across the oceans to the west, would know by now. He had no doubt that they would know the shame he brought them. In a few weeks, perhaps even less, their messages would return from the Northern Continent and seal his fate.

If he was lucky, they would force him into priesthood.

If he wasn't...

Ekroy shuddered.

“First, the Dungeon. Now, I’ve heard news the horrible thing is coming for the caravans! Yet, they blame the Constructs! Beset by Constructs, or bandits, or monsters: anything but the truth!” With a sorrowful cry, Ekroy's head drooped lower towards his wine. “Fools, the lot of them. So assured of my incompetence, they’ll doom us all.”

It went without saying, but he was likely a hair's width away from being entirely stripped of his titles. His fate would soon be to rest beside the filthiest of peasants.

Perhaps he could flee?

Drunkenly, he considered the possiblity.

If he was lucky enough to find work as a Mage… no, they would undoubtedly strip him of his license to practice such an art, too. And such work was dangerous, even if he did manage to escape the city.

Light help him, the circumstances being what they were, could he not think of a way to snatch back victory tomorrow… Even by his most lenient estimation, it might be nothing short of divine intervention if he didn't end up executed. But what could possibly be done, that hadn't already attempted?

No one believed him, and when he tried to explain. Oh, when he tried to explain!

All it did was dig him deeper.

"It was not a Mage, but a beast!" He had told them, upon his second return. "This is not a man, but a wicked creature of green flame and stone servants! The most terrible leviathan to emerge from the dungeon in recent memory!"

Their incredulous stares and mocking laughter. All he’d earned from such descriptions was ridicule. More than sufficient enough to tarnish whatever dregs remained of his dignity. Even in his most trusted company, what short supply of that still remained, he had fared little better.

“It’s too late for you, Ekroy.” His cousin had told him, not two hours past. “Sign away your titles, and before the ink is dry, try to find passage with the first ship you can find to the Southern Continent. Light provide you some small mercy: if the Northern Continent is half as bad as they say, the courts will forget you ever existed.”

Even his own family had given up on him.

"No one understands!" He truly was sobbing now, holding his head in his hands. "Point the blame at me, will they? Point the blame elsewhere, but it is all the same! This talk of the dangers to the East, of the Emperor across the ocean resolving some unthinkable crisis, yet they fail to look beside our own gates!” Reaching back out, the goblet spun on its base, before being brought back, sloppily, to his lips. After a long drink, he held it there. Looking down into his reflection as it distorted and shook, red like blood. “I am doomed.” He murmured. “For my grave to be labeled as mad, or a failure. Perhaps, both.”

Of course no one believed him. Why should they? He hadn't lost a single soldier. All the men under his command had simply returned shaken or wounded. At worst, broken bones, bruises, or missing their eyebrows and smelling like brimstone. There had hardly been a true casualty among them: Limping back together in a long line of humiliation. On foot, for lack of salvageable transportation.

"Tell us, what of the infamous statues? Of frogs, you say?" Their words lingered with the echoes of whispered conversation, in his ears. "How terrible it must have been, to be soundly defeated by frogs."

"They think I'm a fool, incapable of the simplest task. One more young blood, who overstepped his ability." Ekroy whispered into his drink. "What if I told them that beast was simply toying with us? That, with what I have seen, it might lay siege to the City of the Emperor with ease? What would they say then?"

"Why, I imagine they would laugh.” A voice answered. “Only after laying the sheet of blame at your feet, of course. So as to catch your head, before it dirties their precious floor.”

“Light!” Ekroy moved, half in surprise, half in casting. Despite the alcohol swirling in his veins, his spell burst to life. The orb lit up the dark room as he backed away from the table. “Who goes there?”

All about the room, was stillness. Paintings still held, quiet against the walls. Each with a scene of brilliance, or beauty. Elegant craftsmanship showed with the vases, and the gold sculptures, waiting on shelves. If there was any source of motion, at all, it lay in the soft breeze upon the silk curtains of the tower’s window.

There was someone waiting, just beyond them.

"Who goes there?" He yelled, as his foot caught noisily against his chair with a horrible screech.

"Another fool." The voice answered. “Nothing more.”

“Reveal yourself!” Ekroy’s dueling blade pointed, blindly. Even without the prickling sobriety that was brought on by the sudden onset of fear, he knew this looked like a pitiful display. “I warn you, I will set this room aflame!” He announced, in hopes of some small redemption. Whispering a quick chant, he extended his palm, as the magic flowed to life. “I am no simple Mage. I am not to be trifled with.”

“Peace, lesser son of Qol. I do not doubt your claim.” Stepping from the shadows beside the silk curtains of the tower window, a plain man stood. “Thankfully, I have not come for violence.”

In plain white cloth, with only sandals to garb his feet, the man seemed terribly out of place with the finery of Ekroy's keep. Especially, when considering the door was still locked, and the window… well, the window lead to nothing but beautiful view of the city, or a very long fall. This far up the Qol’s family tower, Ekroy couldn’t even imagine how someone might use such a thing as a point of entry.

"Name yourself!" Ekroy demanded loudly, swallowing the lump in his throat as the flame flickered in his palm. "Another step, and I warn you: I will not show mercy."

"Why, I am nothing more than a Priest." The man bowed. "Just a humble servant of the Light.”

“Know that I did not call upon the Church this night, so-called Priest. Should you wish to live, it is past time for you to leave.” Ekroy raised his voice. “My guards will escort you.”

“Then shout all you like.” The man replied, seemingly unconcerned. “It will make little difference. No one will come." He shrugged, as if the matter couldn’t be helped.

“Do you threaten me?”

“I only speak the truth, beneath the Light.” Looking about the room, as if for the first time, the man raised his brow, remarkably unconcerned by the fitful flames in Ekroy’s hand. “Tell me, you would truly risk setting all this wealth to the torch?”

"If I must." Ekroy answered, warily watching the man. “Though it might pain me.”

“If you must...” The man hummed, turning back to Ekroy with a saintly smile. “Those are words I can appreciate, lesser son of house Qol. I share that exact sentiment.” Without fear, he stepped towards the table between them. “Shall we sit?”

“I demand you leave!” Ekroy raised he hand, with a flare heat. “Go no further, and I say again: I did not call upon the Church.”

“You need not call to the Church.” The man announced. Parting his hands to reveal them empty, he sat at the table. “On the darkest of nights, the Lord of Light will always be there to guide its faithful."

“Forgive my suspicions, so-call priest.” Ekroy answered from where he stood. “You are but a stranger to me, and I feel I owe you little.”

“I shall forgive them.” The man closed his eyes, hands coming together in a simple prayer. “Those who faithfully follow the Light should never fear its servants. Certainly not someone destined for greatness."

"Do you mock me?"

"The words of one who has spent much too long in the company of the favored blood. Only a noble could twist my words as such." The man shook his head. "I implore you to lower your blade, lesser son of Qol. If the Church had deemed your recent failures intentional, we would not be speaking.”

“I see.” Ekroy hesitated at that implication.

“I have come tonight, because I believe you to be an innocent son of the Empire. Someone who has worked in its best interests, to the best of your ability. For that, you are granted mercy.” The man continued. “Though, should these words not be enough motivation to earn your trust, know that cutting down an unarmed priest, would not do well for your reputation. Neither, would setting one on fire."

"What you say is true." Ekroy admitted, cautiously, as the man gestured in prayer once more. "Though, I have never known a priest to scale tower walls in the dead of night."

"Ah, a man of wit. Lacking or misused as it tends to be in the noble houses, that is an excellent quality for you to possess. Here, I had almost wondered if all of our great minds had flown off across the ocean."

"Now, you mock."

"I only jest." The so-called Priest replied, locking Ekroy’s gaze in place. "For, by now, I think we both know what I am."

Ekroy nodded.

Since the man had appeared, he’d felt the growing fear. Deep within his chest, it had already begun to settle, pooling together into a sense of true dread. The title of those only spoken in whispers.

“Inquisitor.” He swallowed the word, throat suddenly dry.

The smile alone, was answer enough.

“I am faithful.” Ekroy began, swallowing the lump in his throat. “To the Empire, to the Light-”

"We know, lesser son of Qol.” The man replied. “Your faith is not in question. In fact, in all that we must do to guide the Empire down the path to salvation, for all the conspiracies to be unraveled, I have found your situation is a most refreshing case.”

“I see.” Ekroy’s mouth felt as though he had sipped upon sand, not wine. The urge to swallow again, almost enough to choke. “For what purpose does an Inquisitor seek from me, then?”

“An opportunity." The saintly smile held true. "Though, I harbor suspicions you've grown sick of such things. It seems as though the last opportunity you were provided did not leave you with much joy."

“What kind of opportunity?”

“One, in which you have great interest.” The Inquisitor answered. “Tell me, Ekroy of Qol: have you heard of the Blue Death?”

"I have not." Ekroy did not approach. “Is this to say, such a thing awaits me?"

“In some sense, but not as you might first imagine.” Gesturing to the table, the Inquisitor didn't answer further. He continued waiting patiently, until Ekroy finally lowered his weapon to join him.

Only then, did he continue.

"The Empire’s nature is to serve a single purpose. For this reason, it was formed. For this reason, it persists. Through times of hardship, through times of peace.” The Inquisitor pushed the glass of wine aside, shaking his head. “Many, as of late, seem to believe that peace is eternal. They overlook what they cannot see, and live in ignorance to the horrors that have been trimmed away. The fractures we have mended, the heresy that has been purged, the weakness the Church had no choice but to remove. How many hardships, how many catastrophes, have been stopped before they could come to fruition? Most will never think to ask such a question.”

Ekroy swallowed a lump in his throat.

“The Empire’s relationship with the Dungeon is a necessary, but fragile, thing. For all the riches we might discover, for all the ruins left behind by the turmoil amid the age of wonders: our position is one of caution.” The Inquisitor closed their eyes, raising their palm as it filled with the aura of Faith. “Our ancestors were not ready for the miracles bestowed by the Lord of Light. Before the Empire, there was naught but fragmented nations. Each one in possession of magics that could not be comprehended. They used weapons that were manifested for the sake of destruction, driven by knowledge, now deemed forbidden. When the Emperor rose up for the sake of our salvation, it is said that most of these nations foolishly chose to fight. Thus, they were destroyed” His palm curled, slender fingers containing the gradient glow until it was barely visible. “In their desperation, a great many sought to replicate the Lord of Light’s original blessing. To tap into the greatness that had brought about our gifts, to seek answers as he once did: within the depths.” The Inquisitor’s palm opened once more, revealing a single glowing point of faith. Condensed, it seemed, to form the shape of a small disc of pure mana. “It is their failure to achieve such goals, their futile acts of heresy, which remain. Those places of refuge, by which no creature of the Dungeon can survive. Relics of a bygone age, now repurposed to serve the Empire. As all things should.”

“What does this have to do with a Blue Death?” Ekroy asked, cautious not to interrupt as the Inquisitor let the magic in his palm wink out.

“Many months ago, from the Northern Continent across the sea, there were rumors of a certain beast. The Blue Death, as it was called. Claimed to be a Leviathan: a destroyer of Sanctuaries.” The Inquisitor answered, pulling free a roll of parchment from his sleeve, unraveling it with a deft ease. “Of course, preposterous as such a rumor might seem, it was investigated. The results were… unexpected.”

“This is…” Ekroy stared at the paper, eye widening.

“An opportunity. You need only remember who provided it when the time comes.”

Looking back up, Ekroy found the chair across from him was empty.

“Wait!” He stood, shouting towards the curtains, shifting quietly in the wind. “Does this mean the Church come to my aid? Will you take the field with me, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow, Ekroy of Qol, you will march out to victory.” The voice chuckled, cold laughter echoing faintly as it faded away. “But by then, I imagine victory will already have been achieved.”