“Our apologies, we haven’t any money. Lost it all on the mountain,” Rory smiled weakly.

“Oh, but we have this,” Layla pulled the slime crystal from her pouch and held it out.

“A rare find to be sure. Perhaps you are in the market to sell?” Hana raised his eyebrows.

“We’re new in town, so I’m not sure we know enough about the market to make a buying decision,” Rory hedged.

“I understand. You do not trust me, which is wise, for we are strangers to one another,” the dark man smiled. “But, we shall remedy this now. I am Hana, storyteller, minstrel, traveling vagabond, sometime-merchant, and priest of Nightfall. You are doubly blessed, for tonight is the most sacred night of my faith, and thus I shall deal with you generously, my friends.”

“Everyone who gets conned thinks they got a deal, mate,” Rory simply smiled back.

The dark man laughed deep from his belly, “It is true in this land as in all others. But truly, tonight I weave no false tales and deal fairly with all. It is too rare an event to sully with greed.”

“What is tonight?” Layla asked, just before a solid stomp from Rory’s foot hushed everything but her grunt and the death glare she shot him.

“As I thought, you are not only wayfarers, but farcasters and travelers. You are not ‘from round here’ as a man I once knew used to say,” Hana smiled gently at them again.

Erin: Was that English? I know we understand what everyone says, but that was definitely English, right?

Rory: Well, American, but yeah. He sounded just like Jack.

Jack: My accent isn’t that thick, Rory.

Erin: Oh, honey, it’s ok. Yeah-it-is.

The storyteller continued, ignoring the silent stares they shared, “Tonight, my young friends, is the Festival of Night, a most sacred day to those born under the sign of Nightfall, which happens only once a century. During the Festival, the world serpent rises from his home behind the sea and travels across the sky, blotting out the stars and the Sisters, leaving the whole of the night sky a blanket of darkness. The people light torches and release paper lanterns to hold back the dark, and the citizens of Alabastris and her provinces huddle round their luminous tubes and bulbs.” His face grew sour, and he glowered as he gazed behind the stage, down the parkway that bisected the plaza, and further into the town.

Layla: Sounds like he’s talking about a full eclipse of every moon, but what could cover every star in the sky?

Jack: He said the world serpent, right? Maybe it’s the same as the marks. Actually a real god-snake like in the story he just told. Maybe that’s the thing that summoned us here and ‘chose’ us.

Rory: Come off it, Jack.

As they talked, the four of them looked down at their palms, but only Layla’s Mark was exposed by her lack of gloves. Hana rushed forward and took her hands in his, covering her Mark. He gave her a gentle smile before stealing a glance around, “You must have care, my young friends. There are those in the world that would seek to silence you before your work could begin, most especially here in the White Empire.”

“You know what this is?” Layla looked up at him.

“It is the purest sign of night, the symbol of the Chosen of the dark serpent, a sigil of those gifted with the favor of that which Could Be. It is the Mark of Ouroboros, and it is why I have come to this town and sought you out,” Hana whispered conspiratorially.

“So, you knew us before we even started?” Rory grimaced at him, “I thought tonight was about honesty.”

“I have not lied to you, Chosen of Ouroboros. But what is life without a bit of mystery,” he smiled again. “I saw in a vision that you would choose to arrive here in the White Empire. I thank the Nightfather I interpreted the signs correctly.”

“So, you’re a priest of… darkness?” Erin hesitated.

“Quite so,” he smiled at her. “I understand that where you come from, the night has been vilified by the priests of the white god. They are much like the confessors of Heleyl, I think.”

“I didn’t mean-” she started to reply, but Hana cut her off with a genial sweep of his hand.

“I am not offended by the beliefs of old men from another creation. Perhaps the dark there is wicked, smothering, and its iniquity flees from the light. But here, in Ayrgard, Heleyl’s light is blinding, scorching, and his faithful seek to annihilate the soothing peace of dark. The Nightfather is a balm against the sweltering oppression of midday, and he seeks a return to the natural order, before Ilani’s blood begat the tyrannous sun.”

“Ouroboros wants… to… put out the sun?” Layla leaned in as she whispered.

“Quite so. A return to the primal twilight of the beginning, when Ouroboros and Ilani could be together always, and his children could walk in the gardens of night. When men and folk needed not hide from the heat of the sun, and the crops were not withered by its searing light. This is why you were summoned, to fulfill an age-old promise from the Serpent to the Tree, that one day, they would be inseparable once again,” Hana’s voice had taken on a honeyed consistency as he wove the words together.

“You’re serious? We’re here to put out the sun? How does that even work?” Rory gaped at the dark man.

“Seek the Seals. It shall be revealed to you in time. This is all I can tell you for now. Now, twenty silvers for the crystal, and you and I part ways for the time being. I sense the moment for my exit from this place is at hand,” Hana began to close up his trunk and pack away his things. He jangled a bag full of coins in Rory’s direction and tilted his head.

“Fine,” Rory tossed the crystal to the storyteller, and he in turn lobbed the bag of coins. With a flourish of his hand, the trunk spun around twice and shrunk to the size of a pocket-book before being tucked into Hana’s breast pocket. Four pairs of eyebrows went up.

“Until we meet again, Chosen. May the nights be cool and the days be short,” and with that, the priest slipped out of the plaza and darted between two buildings before the four could so much as object.

“What the shit was that all about? He just booked it?” Layla turned to the others, “Oh, shit. I get it. Check it out.”

Behind them, a tall man with close-cropped blonde hair, lean of build, wearing a white, high-collared greatcoat, was leading two armored guards into the plaza. He strode up to them with confident, heavy steps, drawing up just out of arm’s reach of the four. As his eyes scoured over the group, he came to Rory’s face and stopped short. He turned to the guards, “Is this him?”

“No, my lord, the other had a patch, and a golden eye,” the guard replied.

“You,” he turned back to the four, “What is your business in Nafsbirg?”

Rory’s face transformed into a mask of serious professionalism, “We are traveling adventurers, having just come over the mountain. We slew a nightstalker and a number of slimes, and we’d much appreciate a recommendation from a local on which inn we should stay at, where to sell a few items procured during our travels, and a restaurant that won’t give us the runs.” He cracked a smile as he felt Not Worth Your Time kick into overdrive.

The blonde man returned the barest smirk, “I am Inquisitor Sieger Weiss. Pleased to make your acquaintance…?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Rory Poole, of the county of Boston,” Rory replied with another smile.

“Bohss-tunn. I am unfamiliar with that province. Your name is quite interesting as well. Unlike any I’ve heard in Austrvost. And I must say, your accent, most interesting, though I admit your Imperial is flawless. Did your companions come through the Northern Front?” The slightest narrowing of the man’s eyes and an infinitesimal furrow of his brow caused something in Rory’s hackles to stand on end.

“No, of course not, we took a boat in.” Butter wouldn’t have melted on Rory’s tongue. The others stared at their feet or similarly avoided the inquisitor’s gaze.

The man hesitated, looking for some flaw or tell on the smaller man's face. Rory closed a hundred-million dollar deal last year by asking a client if he would take a free hot dog if it were offered to him. He wasn't going to crack under pressure because a cop was asking him where he was coming from.

“Very well. Enjoy your stay. You are advised not to eat at the dwarven stalls on the East edge of town. Filthy creatures, soot everywhere. Find room and board at either the Empty Star or the White Shawl. Both are of reasonable quality and run by upstanding citizens. If you haven’t the means, the Golden Lark is clean enough, though frequented by the mongrel elves. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a heretic and a traitor to find. Good eve.” Weiss turned to the west, and the four saw his eyes glow an intense white for a moment. Then with a snap of his heel, he and the guards were off, vaguely in the direction Hana had slipped away earlier.

“So, to be clear, we’re not staying at either of the places he recommended, right? I mean, that was some 1940s Germany shit that just came out of his mouth, right? We all got that? We picked Nazi Germany for our start zone. Right?” Layla whispered intensely, pulling Erin to her side to muffle her voice.

“Yeah, El, we got it,” Erin sighed as her gauntlet clanked against her faceplate.

Rory waved down a passing woman with plaited brown hair and a simple dress, “Scuse me, miss, where can we find the Golden Lark?”

The girl smiled generously at Rory and gave him directions which amounted to, “Head South along the plaza boulevard, past the essence engine, halfway to the edge of town.”

“Did she say ‘essence engine’?” Layla’s eyes might have actually sparkled.

“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Jack seemed equally excited.

They would be less excited in the next few minutes.