Cults are nothing new on the continent of Calkus. The Cult of the Sea God was a farce, a simple ruse invented by bandits wearing robes, hoping to rob a few unsuspecting idiots. The bandit leader told his new 'disciples' that they must sacrifice their worldly riches to the Sea God to appease him, increasing their devotion. When the Narcys City Guard eventually shut them down, they seized over four glass mesa's worth of stone seals, silver peaks and copper signets. The Cult of Eternal Rebirth which recently erupted in the Hinterlands were different. They were more dangerous and intelligent than common bandits.

Extract from The Scourge of the Hinterlands, by Ivus Selenas.

"Please," Bryn's speech was muffled by the thick canvas sack they had forced over his head. "Take it off. I need water."

His captors mumbled to each other; two distinct pitches. If he could free his hands, two wouldn't be much of a problem. The sack was ripped from his head. He waited as his eyes adjusted to the feeble light of the guttering candles on the table in front of him. He took care to appear as disoriented as possible. Better that they think him weak.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Save your thanks, deviant," one of his captors snapped. He crouched in front of Bryn's chair and stared at him with sharp blue eyes. "It's about time we questioned you, anyway."

Bryn faked a tremble and took the opportunity to size up the man. Average build, yet muscular. A few scars on his face and arms, most likely from combat. Might be more to him than meets the eye, he thought. The man stood up and moved behind Bryn. His associate placed an earthenware pitcher of water and two cups on the table. He filled a cup and drank deeply from it, then smiled at Bryn.

"We only want to know what you are to the Duke," he said calmly. He must be the diplomat, Bryn thought. Original.

"We already have our suspicions," he stated. "But we need you to sign a document."

"I'm listening," Bryn said, putting on a hoarse voice. Better to buy himself some time. The second captor was slim, no visible scars, no real muscles to speak of. He would be no trouble at all.

"All you have to do is sign this," the diplomat continued. "It's a confession of your relations with the Duke. Then you can sit in on one of our prayer sessions. After that, you're free to leave, if you choose."

Bryn heard a metallic clang behind him. Best case scenario, torture tools. Either that or weapons for execution.

"Well," Bryn smiled. "I'm sick of the Five-Faced God anyway. Been looking for a new religion. But please," his voice cracked. "The water first."

"You don't make the fucking rules here, scum!" The muscular man cracked Bryn on the side of the head with a powerful backhand. He flashed a curved blade in front of Bryn's eyes and crouched in front of him. The captor held Bryn's thick arm against the chair effortlessly, as Bryn intentionally put up a feeble resistance. He drew the blade along his arm slowly, creating a thin river of blood. Bryn threw his head back, screamed dramatically, and struggled against his bonds. The man disappeared behind him again with a chuckle. The diplomatic captor stepped forward and tipped the cup of water towards Bryn's lips. He drank deeply and gasped with relief.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Bryn," he said with an air of concern. "Will you sign the paper?"

Bryn looked at him thoughtfully.

"You know, now that I'm properly hydrated, I think I'll have to pass. I never did like cults. Always preferred fucking men." He chuckled. "Your friend's a bit of a looker. Is he available?"

Bryn heard a frenzied clatter behind him. He had only one chance. Judging by the footsteps, he waited until the scarred man was directly behind him. He planted his bound feet firmly on the floor, then threw himself back. The dense metal chair smashed into his captor's skull with an audible crack. A glint of candlelight on metal caught Bryn's eye; the unconscious torturer's waved dagger lay beside him. He rocked upright, and furiously hacked at the rope which held his feet with the dagger clasped between his bound hands. The second captor approached cautiously as the last thread snapped. Bryn kicked hard with his right foot and laughed as the man sprawled on the ground. He placed the blade between his feet and quickly released his hands from bondage. He threw a vicious kick at the prone man's head as he walked towards the table.

"Please," the man said, spitting out blood and teeth. "Mercy! I'll let you go!"

Bryn laughed deeply.

"Let me go? Well, that is kind of you. Me being a deviant and all. You misjudge me. I was planning on giving you mercy. The thing is, you didn't finish your water."

Bryn picked up the heavy earthenware jug and threw it downwards onto the captor's face. He heard it shatter but did not stop to see the results. Before he left, he firmly drew his blade across the scarred man's throat. Better to be sure with this one, he thought. He shoved the dagger through his belt; fitting that he should carry a torturer's tool once more. He carefully opened the door and peered into the endless darkness of the hallway.

Bryn listened for the sound of footsteps. He had considered taking one of the candles from the torture chamber, but decided against it, as it would increase his chances of being detected. When he was satisfied there was no sound of patrol, he wandered the labyrinth of stone walls and four way intersections with his dagger drawn. After what seemed like an eternity, he noticed a faint glimmer of light spilling around the corner ahead of him. Pressing himself against the wall, he approached the turn and waited. He heard a shuffling noise, as if somebody was shifting their weight against a wall nearby.

"Another bloody back shift?" The voice echoed from around the corner. "Morty and Jev are already here, why do they need us?"

"Because they can't have the Duke scarpering before they're sure he's seen their side, isn't it?" Another voice, this one older. "Or he could just leave, march straight back in here with the guard, see?"

"Aye, suppose you're right," the first voice replied. More shuffling echoed from the hallway as the guard shifted his position against the wall. Does this mean Cilirus is being kept down this hallway? Bryn realised it was probably the case, but it was irrelevant. These men sounded as rough as the scarred man from earlier; he had little hope against two more with only a torturer's knife. As he turned to leave, the first man spoke again.

"So, you gonna join?"

"Hardly," the older voice chuckled. "You've seen them yourself. As soon as you take the oath, something comes out of you. Makes 'em look like dead-eyed puppets, saying whatever they can to please the head robe. I'm out of here as soon as the commission's up. If you're wise, you'll do the same, lad."

Bryn stalked back towards the four way intersection and decided to follow the corridor with a slight breeze issuing from it. After a short walk, Bryn emerged in a large courtyard. He scanned it carefully, watching for any movement. Satisfied that there were no guards, he hoisted himself up onto a ruined pillar and made his way on to the first level of flat elderglass roof.

Bryn kept to the edges of the roof as he made his way across. From this viewpoint, the structure gave an impression of a perfectly symmetrical cross, with a bulbous half-sphere rising from the middle, like a festering boil. That had to be the main chamber. He shuffled along the metal edges of the roof, making his way towards the centre. Most of the chambers below seemed to be dark, but he did not wish to give away his position by attempting to peer into the chambers. He heard no voices or sounds of movement from up here, however he did occasionally spot guards moving. Elderglass seemed to muffle sound completely.

As he approached the dome, he noticed that more of the corridors and chambers below were illuminated. He peered through the thick glass of the central dome and noticed a chamber full of empty chairs, all facing an altar. Two guards remained on each of the four entrances, however there was nobody else to be seen. Fertile Mother, Bryn thought. I'm too late. He slumped his back against the dome, physical and mental exhaustion overtaking his need for caution. As he wondered about his next move, a faint whisper drifted along on the breeze.

"...you're...us then?" At this distance, it was barely audible.

He crept along one of the rectangular cross-points towards the source of the voice and noticed a crack in the elderglass, near the metallic edging. He could make out the Duke's figure; he was with only one other man. Surprising that there were no other guards for a prisoner of his status.

"Nothing would please me more," the Duke boomed. "than to help your worthy cause."

Not a trace of sarcasm, Bryn thought, What have they done to him?

"Then we are both pleased, sir," the other man chuckled. Bryn recognised the voice as the stranger who had initially come to meet the Duke in his manor.

"Your manservant was not so receptive to our ways. Our guards had to permanently sedate him."

So they were going to kill him anyway. Bryn could hear the smile in the man's voice. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it off with his fists.

"Inconsequential," Cilirus sighed. "One can always find another servant." A laugh burst from the Duke's lips, however Bryn could immediately tell it was not his laugh.

"Tomorrow, then," the stranger said curtly. "You'll give the announcement."

"I certainly will, my man," Cilirus replied. "Until then, I shall rest. Good day, sir."

"Until tomorrow."

Bryn watched through the glass as the blurred figure shifted across the room and heard the door click firmly as he left. Bryn watched the Duke through the crack in the glass. He spent several minutes shaking out his arms and legs as if he was preparing for exercise; or perhaps as if he was not used to using them. Bryn wanted nothing more than to whisper to Cilirus, to gain entry to the room and help him escape. However, the rational part of his mind knew that the Duke would not follow him. Something was wrong with his speech, his stance, his mannerisms. He had heard of possession in the old tales, but they were just stories to scare children.

Bryn continued to spy on the Duke for a few minutes. He made no move to rest, walk, or to do anything at all. Bryn ignored his forebodings and whispered to the Duke.

"Cilirus!"

The Duke scanned the room carefully, as if he was having trouble locating the source of the noise.

"Up here," Bryn said.

The Duke's eyes snapped up to meet his. They remained cold and hard. Glazed. Without emotion. This was not the Duke.

"Who in the abyss are you?" He shouted, his nostrils flaring with rage. He opened the door and screamed into the corridor.

"Guards! Intruder!"

Suddenly, the Duke reeled backwards, as if faint. He looked up at Bryn and met his eyes. He looked more like his usual self.

"Azarr sa lase," he whispered, fear showing in his eyes. An instant later, the anger returned to his face. Murder was in his eyes.

The sound of footsteps pounding on stone grew louder. Bryn's instincts kicked in. He no longer had a companion to rescue. He slid across the glass roof and quickly made his way along the metal edging. After descending a ruined pillar, he slipped into the surrounding woodlands.