The four slept in, once again. The fear and stress of finding themselves in a new world, the terror of fighting for their lives on the mountain and in the forest, then running for their lives from Nafsbirg, had slowly begun to melt away in the embrace of the Cask’s golden lights, warm food, and rivers of liquor. For the first time since they arrived in Ayrgard, they had peace. During the previous evening, they’d decided to rest for a few days at the Cask, enjoying the comfort and generally allowing the strain and tension of their abduction to fade into the background of their thoughts.

After those days of rest, they’d planned to head out into the wilds and do some serious hunting, to raise their levels as quickly as possible. Some frank discussion with Belgryn had led to the staggering revelation that both adventurers and apprentices weren’t even considered competent at their trades until they reached level ten. Belgryn’s level in Keeper was, in fact, higher than their combined levels in their primary classes, and it wasn’t even his main class. The dwarf had retired from a life of adventure, and though he wouldn’t tell the group his class level, he revealed that he had surmounted the first wall that most adventurers hit around level thirty.

Their brief education included a good deal of advice on safely advancing their classes until they could reliably venture deeper into the Augrvein, the foremost of which was to stay in the Fyrwood until they hit at least level twenty. They had agreed to seek out the trainers he recommended within the Isenmar walls. It was, apparently, possible to get to level thirty simply by grinding away in the Fyrwood for months, but their progress would slow to a crawl after level twenty. The four agreed they didn’t feel like they had that kind of time.

Daylight crept into their rooms eventually, and they slowly gathered themselves, and each other, to head downstairs and out into the larger world. They agreed it would be best to go in full kit, just in case, with the half-formed notion that they might take a trip into the Fyrwood after buying some better equipment.

-----

Their plans for the day took an abrupt left at the foot of the stairs when they were snatched off the steps and dragged toward the bar by men alternately armored in white full-plate or dressed in white greatcoats. The hall was empty, save for the armed men and a starkly cut figure standing near the bar.

“Inquisitor Seiger Weiss. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Rory bitterly spat the words at him.

Except, no sound issued from his mouth.

Weiss made an ‘aha’ motion with his mouth and face, then soundlessly snapped his fingers. A rush of mana popped like a soap bubble, and sound returned all at once to the taproom. A low sob echoed from the corner of the room, and the four turned as one to see Igrin chained to the end of the bar with heavy manacles. Her eyes were fixated on an area obscured by one of the tables.

Weiss walked to the table and effortlessly flipped it aside, the heavy oak crashing onto the barroom floor and rolling away. Chairs scattered and tumbled in its wake, but the chosen paid no attention to the racket, for on the floor, shackled in a kneeling position by chains of radiant white light, was the wrecked and broken form of Belgryn, splattered in layers of clotted gore.

“I…” he choked and spit out a gobbet of congealed blood, “I gave ‘em… nothin’… r… rrr… run… runn... “

Weiss smiled and leaned against one of the heavy tables, “Oh, the time has passed for that, my stalwart friend. They can no more escape than can you.”

“Truly, your powers have not been exaggerated to me, darklings. Your ability to inspire loyalty in the Empire’s citizens is remarkable. Is it some spell or skill?” his eyes shimmered with white light in the dim interior of the Cask.

“Honestly, I usually just try being nice to people, mate,” Rory replied.

The plated warrior standing over him smashed his gauntlet into Rory’s cheek, cutting into the flesh and drawing a rivulet of blood. Rory’s head slammed into the floor, but the warrior jerked his arm, yanking him back into an upright position.

“Confessor. Would you kindly restrain your men from damaging the captives until I request it? I would have them in peak condition before questioning begins,” Weiss gave the warrior a withering stare. It was a testament to his power and reputation that the warrior took a half-step back before marshaling his nerve and gripping Rory’s hair in his mailed fist.

Erin jerked against the inquisitor holding her arm, dragging the man forward, and explosively slammed her vambrace into the man’s chin. His head rocked back, but rather than defending himself or attempting to restrain her, he simply watched her rush toward Rory’s guard for a moment before whispering, “Shackles of Contrition”.

Chains and manacles of white light erupted from the floor, clamping themselves onto Erin’s wrists and ankles, then retracting into the ground until she was drawn, inexorably, into the same kneeling position as Belgryn. The inquisitor reached up and dabbed a drop of blood from his chin, then delicately retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his fingers.

“Unfortunately for you, foreigners, I have brought a dozen of my best inquisitors to find you here. A flattering course of action, to be frank. Your information seems to be accurate, Confessor. They seem to pose little threat. Would your Auditor be kind enough to assess their vanguard?” Weiss gave a terse smile to the Cask’s door, where Ebrahim and a sallow, thin man in white robes entered.

“Certainly Weiss. Gerhardt, would you please perform an assessment on the one in chains?” Ebrahim swept his hand from the thin man toward Erin.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER,” Jack roared. His eyes melted into pools of black night mana, and he pulled against the grip of the warrior in full-plate that had gripped his arm. The warrior simply wrenched Jack’s arm up and back with expert brutality, causing Jack’s shoulder to give a sickening pop as the joint was neatly dislocated. Jack roared again, a scream of rage rather than pain. Another set of shimmering white chains burst from the floor and clamped down on him, still screaming and struggling to get to Erin.

“What do you want?” Layla finally spoke up.

Ebrahim stepped in front of Weiss, who growled at the confessor before regaining his iron composure, “To wipe the stain of your existence from the face of our world. Your unholy mission from the dark spirit you serve is an affront to the natural order of Ayrgard and the position of Heleyl at the pinnacle of the celestial order.”

Rory shook his head, still ringing from the impact, “Sounds like there’s not much room for negotiation here, is what I’m hearing.”

“You will find the Empire does not negotiate. Ever,” Weiss moved past the confessor, approaching the thin man, Gerhardt, as he took Erin’s face in his spidery fingers. The Auditor’s hands glowed with a pale bluish-white light, and the scent of crisp morning wind moved through the hall.

“Erin Amanda Ward. Title, ‘Chosen of Ouroboros’,” he scoffed but continued. “Level nine dreadnought. Confessor, I am unfamiliar with this class. It does not exist in our records.”

“It was a present, fuck face,” Erin spat at him.

He seemed to ignore her, “Level five laborer. Excessive levels of health and stamina for her level, mana is negligible, spirit quite impressive. Strength seems to be primary. Focus on unarmed combat. Several upgraded Skills and martial arts. What is this? The Mark of the Cho-”

The room seemed to freeze around Erin, the auditor still in front of her, Jack frozen as he struggled, Seiger Weiss as still as a statue in mid-step. A deep resonating whisper surrounded her, echoing as much within her soul and her mind as the space around her.

"YOU ARE IN DANGER, MY CHOSEN. NEVER HAS THE DAY SENT ITS STRENGTH AGAINST ONE OF YOU SO SOON IN YOUR JOURNEY. IN THIS PLACE, I HAVE ONLY SOME SMALL POWER TO HELP YOU, BUT IT IS YOURS IF YOU ARE WILLING."

Time abruptly resumed.

Erin’s eyes filled with dark mana, and she whispered, “Yes. Please, save us.”

The thin man’s eyes erupted in a torrent of black mana, withering and necrotizing the flesh of his face and hands, then his head and up to his forearms, down to his neck and his elbows, until he released Erin’s head and fell to the ground, drained of life, a mummified husk.

The chains of light binding Erin to the floor shattered into thousands of glittering shards of mana, and she rose, as though pulled upright by an external force. Her eyes were pools of liquid onyx, and when her gaze fell on Ebrahim, the voice that issued from her mouth was not her own.

“DO WHAT YOU HAVE COME HERE TO DO, SLAVE OF THE DAY.”

“What is this? What is she talking about, Ebrahim?” for the first time his men had ever witnessed, Weiss was not composed and in control.

“UNHOLY SPAWN OF THE DEEP NIGHT! YOU ARE UNWELCOME IN THIS PLACE! I REBUKE THEE!” the Confessor screamed at the presence behind Erin’s eyes.

“I AM HE WHO WROUGHT THE MOUNTAINS AND THE NIGHT, WHO GUARDED THE ROOTS AGAINST THE OUTER CHAOS. I AM THE GREAT SERPENT. MY FANGS ARE ADAMANT, MY COILS LIGHTNING. YOU ARE A CHILD, PLAYING IN THE RUINED CAST-OFFS OF ONE OF MY CHOSEN’S GREAT WORKS. DO YOUR MASTER’S BIDDING AND BE NO MORE.”

The voice within Erin cracked like thunder, pouring power into the hall. Chairs and tables slid away from her, and the inquisitors and paladins of the Empire were driven back. Only Weiss was able to hold his ground against the tide of dark mana pouring from Erin’s form.

Ebrahim stumbled away, fumbling in his robes. From within, he withdrew a foot-long silver cylinder, glowing with straight lines of runic script like circuitry. At the top, he squeezed down on a delicate plunger, and the device began to hum and glow in rhythmic pulses.

“NO, EBRAHIM, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” Weiss screamed, panicked, as he watched the confessor seal their fate.

“Within my carriage, just outside these doors, is a divine artifact crafted by the ancient Brothers that founded Alabastris. One of only seventeen remaining from the original days of the Brotherhood,” he cackled triumphantly. “Should mana cease to flow through my body, or should I release my grip on the control device, the artifact will activate, and Isenmar will be consumed in holy flame.”

“Are… are you telling us you have a fucking nuke in your wagon?” Rory’s voice wavered.

Erin and the ancient presence simply stared at him.

Ebrahim continued to laugh, unhinged, “I will wipe the stain of these invaders from Ayrgard, Spawn of the Deep Night. I shall cleanse your taint from this world for another century. No revolutions nor wars shall be started by your provocateurs in this age. No terrible ravages shall befall the Empire I love, and the sun WILL shine for another century. I do this for my children, and for all of Alabastris!”

Weiss started toward the confessor, but drew up short when the man waved the silver detonator at him, his face gleaming with panic and fanatical zeal, “WAIT! Wait. Ebrahim. Calm, please. Please, tell me what you mean. There are thousands of citizens of the Empire inside the walls of Isenmar. Surely, we have them captured. They are helpless. Even this presence must be some spell?”

“NO! NO! THEY WILL RISE AGAIN AFTER YOU SLAY THEM! THEIR DARK GOD WILL TRANSPORT THEM TO HIS UNHOLY PLACES! Even now...” he took a trembling breath. “... even now, should the spirit blast fail to obliterate their wicked souls, I have placed my strongest warriors at both of the dark shrines near here.”

Ebrahim seemed to fold in on himself, and Weiss inched closer, his eyes fixed on the detonator.

“To think… Weiss… the serpent created an unholy shrine un-underneath the very capitol. Deep within the catacombs. Inside… in-inside the very chambers where the last of the ancient Brothers... sleep. The unholy evil beneath our very feet. The… the knowledge eats at those of us... who know,” Ebrahim had begun to laugh again.

“What do you mean, ‘sleep’, Ebrahim? The Brothers are long dead,” Weiss edged ever closer.

Jack struggled against his chains. Rory and Layla simply stared in shock at the revelations unfolding. Erin’s face wore an expression of placid patience, awaiting the dramas of children rebelling against their parent.

“N-no… no no no no… no n-no… he sleeps. The Last Brother, Weiss. He sleeps. Only a few o-of us know th-these secrets, Weiss. The long years, unfolding, w-waiting ff-for him to a-awake. Beneath the city, an ancient power. How strong must he be, Weiss? To lay in slumber for centuries and not perish?” Ebrahim continued to laugh and stutter, and the Inquisitor continued, slowly, to move closer.

The Confessor’s eyes blazed with religious zeal, “B-but m-my long w-wait is OVER! I go to Heleyl’s arms, a-and and and,” he stabbed a finger at Erin’s body and screamed, “I TAKE YOU WITH ME, ‘NIGHT FATHER’!!”

Weiss lunged at the priest, inhumanly fast, grabbing for the rod in his hand. Ebrahim’s head snapped around to see him leap forward, and then down, to see, perhaps for the first time with a clear mind, the device within his hands. “No,” he whispered, and let go.

The world was consumed by light and fire.