The world was darkness.

And Pain. He was in some considerable pain.

Eric could feel the dull aches of cracked ribs and bruised hips coursing through him. His leg was twisted, sprained. He could feel the electric arcs of that shooting from his ankle when he tried to move it.

All of that was overshadowed by the goose egg of angry red pain that was radiating from the back of his head.

Everything hurt.

Some petulant giant child had picked him up and thrown him against a wall like an unlucky doll.

"Aeshya yessu! Moirai gidhhani beaten like a stray taessi atu gi heru va! Sjeishi caved his head geh iffirai tu bo"

At first, the words didn’t make any sense they were speaking some strange language

"tu ko avek waking up"

Then as Elrik swam back into consciousness he remembered slowly - that of course - he wasn’t on earth anymore.

“Abrexi innu and he's been beaten to within an inch of his life”

His eyes slowly drifted open

The room he was in was dark, perhaps underground. Dull irasik lamps burned in a dim imitation of torches along the walls. Elrik couldn't make out a window from where he lay. The floor and walls were of a kind of smooth off-white tile, dirty and badly maintained, like some old medical facility. The air had sour metallic tang to it, like old rust.

As he adjusted to the light, he slowly started to make out the figures standing over him.

"Look who’s awake!"

The voice that spoke was rich and deep. Like thick turkish coffee. The man who spoke smiled down at him.

He was an older man, perhaps middle aged. Elrik would have placed him at forty.

The man looked grizzled, with rough stubble and an old scar than ran from the corner of one mouth down his face that gave his face a twisted kind of humor. He looked unkempt and rough.

The second man, who stood to the other side of Elrik, with a long sallow face and rough pitted skin. A white scarf was wrapped around his neck.

The second man didn't smile, but just bent down to tend to Elrik.

Both men seemed to be garbed like soldiers. They wore rough linens and dark mismatched leathers, that looked softened only by long use.

Erik tried to move and sit up, so he could start to tell how badly hurt he really was.

That’s when he realized he couldn’t.

He was tied down to the table he was lying on. As he craned his neck to look, he saw that length of rope wound over his hands and into loops in the surface, fastening him to the rack. He couldn't see further, but he guessed his feet were bound to table in the same way.

It slowly came to him then the two men weren’t tending to his bones. No, they were tying him down to the table.

The man with a scar grinned down at Elrik

“Welcome back watch-man”

Ah.. christ.. Where was he?

"What..", When Elrik opened his mouth to speak, his voice came out in a dry croak, "What do you want?"

His throat felt parched. He tried to guess how long he'd been here, unconscious, but failed, “Who are you people?”

The sallow skinned one didn't say anything, just stared down at him, expressionless.

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The scar faced man, waved his finger in the air over Elrik's face, "No, no. We just make you ready, yes? Lord Ambrose asks the questions"

"Wait, who.. who is Lord Ambrose?" Elrik choked out from his dry throat. He felt a moment of panic that the two would leave, leaving him here tied to the table without any answers.

The scarred man looked carefully at Elrik, the smile fading from his face into a more complicated expression. Then he looked to the other soldier, "You, go. Fetch some water".

The other man nodded and wordlessly left the chamber.

Then, the scarred man turned back to Elrik. His face seemed to pass through a series of emotions - contempt, pity.. weariness. Then he came closer and sat down next to Elrik,

"Look watch-man.. I.. The man we work - the man we all work for - is Lord Ambrose Vi Gurdia. Do you know who he is?"

Lacaani.. she'd mentioned a name..

It's not his real name.. but he calls himself Ambrose. That silver star badge is the sygil of his house - it's a minor house from the..

Elrik shook his head, as he lay on the table, "No, who is he?"

The scarred man ran a hand across his face, scratching at the stubble. "Alright. Let me tell you a story"

"Once upon a time there was an old man, a Sergeant in the city watch. He lived through some interesting times this man. He had just seen over the last five years the Kalaghutta city watch transform from a shit house cleaning crew into something else. Something more.”

The scarred soldiers voice had taken on a sing song storytelling quality to it, as if he was telling a child a story.

“This man, the Sergeant, he was not a very idealistic man, you see. No, he was just another guard on the wall, taking bribes, keeping the rest of the rabble in line and looking the other way when a noble lord walked by. But there was some thing in the air and he, like the watch, wanted to change."

The soldier carefully ran his hands over the bindings on Erik as he spoke

“This city has always had its fair share of thugs and underlords. In the end they always answer to the Nobles, just like everyone else.

There was word of a new underlord in the city that year. There are always new underlords.. But the sergeant, he thought this time it would be different. So he set off on his own little campaign, with the watch behind him. He brought in the low level thugs, then he started bringing in the money men behind them. When the nobles made a hassle he just worked harder.

Slowly, but surely he worked his way up the chain. His captain warned him, but of course, he ignored the warnings. This time he thought things would be different.

Then, as the months dragged on, he started to lose his people. Men and women he trusted, started throwing themselves off of bridges, hanging themselves in their homes or tripping on swords in alleyways.

He taught, back then, that’s the price. That in the end it would be worth it. He thought - they would win.

What he didn’t know, was that the half the men he had left were already turned.

So one day, finally, he came back to his watch house, to find that same underlord, the one he'd burned so many months chasing, gotten so many of his people killed over, sitting in the captains chair while all the watchmen kneeled.

And as he watched, three of his men - three of his friends - stepped forward. The underlord walked over to them, and handed each of them a dagger. That sergeant watched as each of them slit their own throats.”

The scarred man ruefully ran a hand over his face, touching the scar there, “Maybe a good man, a better man would have tackled that underlord and put a blade through his throat. But that sergeant was just an old man.. and not a very good man. So he kneeled, then and there, before the underlord and kissed the ring”

The scarred man exhaled in a long breath, “ That underlord is now the man they call Ambrose Vi Gurdia. And he is the man who really rules this city"

...

"Here", the sallow faced one was back, with water.

Elrik tried to crane his neck to see more of the room.

He was in, well, a dungeon, of sorts. No.. not a dungeon but an interrogation chamber. Elrik felt his guts clench in anticipation. That metallic scent, he now recognized as the scent of old dry blood.

The scarred man took the water and waved the other soldier away. Then he carefully leaned over Elrik and tilted the wooden cup, letting the water trickle into Elrik's throat, slowly, so he would not choke.

Elrik took a long breath, "Why tell me all this? What does he want with me?"

The scarred man sighed, "Look, watch-man. I could tell you that he wants answers. I could tell you that he's been trying to track down something here, in the city, for months or that he's been watching the Yitka like a hawk waiting for something. But you wouldn't know anything about that anyway.. Or I could say that he really wants to know what you and the little lordling found out moving so damn fast.

But that's not what you really want to ask is it?"

Elrik stared at the man, "Doesn't matter what I say does it? I'm a dead man already"

The scarred man gave a humorless smile, "You're a bright one, catching on so fast. Yeah.. you're a dead man. Whether you hold out, whether you break easy, it's all the same. You're never leaving this room.. That was the moral of that story watch-man. It doesn't matter in the end. No one refuses Lord Ambrose. Just make it easy on yourself"

The scar faced man gently patted Elrik's forehead, in a strangely intimate gesture.

Elrik twisted his head, "Is that it, Sergeant? That's all you have?"

The scar faced man's face twisted in a parody of a smile, "I'm no corporal any more, watch-man. "

Then the two of them left the room.