Caleb came to as he realized that he was being dragged.

His head ached, and his vision swam in and out of focus. He felt a burly arm under each of his armpits, and his nose filled with the gamy scent of sweat. His heels scraped along a smooth, cold stone floor.

Gingerly, he tried to move his arms and legs. The clink of metal finally made his vision snap into focus. He looked down to see a pair of dirty iron shackles around his wrists connected by a rusty chain. His captors had been thoughtful enough to provide a matching pair for his ankles.

That was nice, he thought woozily. At least I’m properly attired for my stay in the dungeon.

He glanced around as he realized that he really was in a dungeon. Slick stone slabs made up the floor. Thick timbers lined the walls and ceiling. Illumination came from handfuls of phosphorescent rocks piled in mounted brackets set along the wall.

On either side lay cells filled with miserable-looking men and women. Their clothes were ragged, their skin waxy and pale. Some slumped dejectedly against the iron bars that held them inside. Others murmured to each other, casting fearful glances in his direction as he was dragged past.

Look, the Sea Vipers caught another one!

They’re taking him deeper into the dungeon.

Poor bastard, he’s next to be soul-drained, that’s for sure.

The metallic squeal of iron on iron echoed down the corridor. Before Caleb could do anything else, his captors flung him into one of the cells. He landed on a pile of straw, which cushioned the blow as he hit the floor.

He rolled over, groaning. The door to his cell was slammed shut with a squeal and a crash. Two heavily muscled Guardsmen turned away and a gave a salute to a third man, along with a muffled Yezzir, Komtur before leaving.

Caleb sat up, his chains clinking as he did so. He’d been thrown into a square ten-by-ten foot cell furnished with a pile of straw and a wooden bench. Wincing, he stood and went over to the barred door.

The shackle chain on his feet allowed a three-foot step, and not an inch more. But he pushed that fact and the dull ache in his head to one side to study the man on the opposite side of the bars. His uniform had a silver trim like Kane’s, but it was dull brown. Neither scabbard nor pistols jutted out at the hips. His face was round and unremarkable, save for the lack of mercy in its eyes.

A text-filled window blinked into existence to one side of the man’s face.

Name: Komtur Virgil Draymon Class: Inquisitor / Dark Wizard Acolyte Alignment: Neutral Evil Specific Specialties: Prisoner Management Sub-Specialties: Advanced Pain Magic

The man snapped his fingers to get Caleb’s attention. The window vanished.

“I am Komtur Virgil Draymon. Though I believe you know that already,” the man said, in a solemn voice. “I’ll be your captor and inquisitor for the evening. Welcome to Deephold Keep.”

“Thanks,” Caleb said, without enthusiasm. He rapped his knuckles idly against the massive lock that held the door shut. A couple flecks of rust flaked off as he did so. “Let me guess. I shouldn’t be expecting a mint on my pillow anytime soon.”

“You did murder Komtur Kane, Mister Ledger. I was no fan of his, but he was a useful officer to the Seeress, and a favorite of the Lord High Captain. Be assured, they will be here shortly to make you answer for that.”

“I murdered Kane, but it was only payback for what he did to me!” Caleb flared. “If you know who and what I am, then you must be from my world. How can you be part of all this?”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, as if to say: All of what?

“You know what I mean,” Caleb urged. “This fake cult of Myr. The treatment of people in this place!”

Draymon’s face darkened at that. “Myr is real, I can assure you of that. And as far as my treatment of people in this keep, I’m quite happy with the situation.”

“That makes one of us,” Caleb muttered.

“And that’s the one that counts. Believe it or not, I used to run hotels for a theme park.”

“You’re kidding. Where?”

“Let’s just say it was one of the ‘happiest places on earth’ and leave it at that. After all the years of hard work, all the years of drudgery, it finally came to me: I hated my customers.” Draymon let out a chuckle. “Now that I’ve been reborn here, I run a special, unique brand of lodging experience. The kind I always wanted. And I even have a captive audience.”

Caleb suppressed a groan at that.

“Look,” he said, “if you plan to torture me for information, you’re going to be disappointed. I literally came into this world just today. Twice, in fact.”

A shrug. “I don’t know what will be asked of you. Nor do I care. You do seem to be a special case, however.”

“Can I at least get some food and water? And maybe a pair of shoes?”

Draymon sighed theatrically. “I’m afraid not. Frankly, I don’t think you’ll be here long enough to worry overmuch about an empty belly, parched throat, or scuffed heels. Think on that if you wish. I shall see you anon.”

With that, the Komtur turned away and walked off, the jingle of keys marking every step. Caleb grabbed the bars to his cell, rattling them in frustration. He pressed his face to the bars and did his best to look up and down the corridor.

To his right, the floor sloped up slightly. He could just make out the cells full of people he’d passed before being thrown in here. The fact that his cell seemed to be the last along the way didn’t make him feel any better.

If that’s the way I came in, then that must be the way out, he thought. Good information to know. If I can ever get my ass out of here.

To the left, the floor curved more sharply down and to one side. He couldn’t make out more than ten feet further on. He heard dim echoes from deeper within the dungeon. The clack of claws or hooves. Something in the distance let out a roar, followed by the clinking of yet more chain, like a fettered lion.

Finally, Caleb let the bars go. His chains clinked once more as he sat at the end of the wooden bench and lay back, dejected. The rage he’d felt powering him on his quest for revenge had dissipated, leaving him feeling empty.

He let out a snort. “Looks like ‘and then things got worse’ is going to a consistent part of my story.”

Caleb thought about it a little bit. Taking out Komtur Kane had been a good thing. He’d been an evil person, that much was sure. Even if Kane respawned, he’d cost the man half of his accumulated experience. And if Kane had arrived somewhere else in Jaladri, then it could be a long while before he showed up again.

But a deeper part inside of Caleb reacted with shame, with worry. He couldn’t remember much of the past that had brought him to Jaladri. The little he saw included violence. A lot of it. Enough so that his hands hadn’t faltered when they’d finished off Malum Kane.

“Maybe I was as bad as him,” he mused. “Maybe I was an even worse man.”

Then his mind flashed to what Kane had said: If you want to survive, you may have to do things you’re not completely okay with.

Caleb sat up.

Maybe there was a point there he had to learn.

He did want to survive, no matter what. He’d set fire to a man’s cottage to distract him and his dog. Caleb regretted the act now, but he’d been starving. And he remembered the feeling of euphoria, the swirls of light that had lit up his vision. He’d gone up three levels in one fell swoop.

Maybe now, with no distractions, it was time to figure out how to use this Inner / Outer sight thing that Lir and Danu had seen fit to gift him. And given that Draymon had hinted that his execution might be coming very soon, what other choice did he have?