Morgan sat in a chair in front of a fire place as Hierophant Marindol stared into the flames. The old man seemed to be struggling with something in his mind. Yet the hero sat quiet and waited. The last few days had been busy.

Morgan had been inducted into the clergy of the shattered one officially. Unofficially, Marindol had inducted him into the inquisition. He had learned that the grandfatherly old man was far more power than he had realized.

A Hierophant sat on the holy council and were considered leaders of the clergy. It all made more senses then that he had swayed them to let him live. Especially given the notion that Marindol had power over the inquisition, too.

Still, Marindol had spent all night writing and going over letters. The tiredness was clear on the wrinkled man’s face. Suddenly, the priest asked, “When does a man become evil?”

Morgan sat there for a moment with a confused look on his face. The elderly man shook his head and motioned at the fire. He said, “Perhaps the twilight years of my life truly have made me soft. I wonder what the horrors the Record Archon will call upon. Of them all? One stands out that I fear the most to see. What will The Sparing Grace say in my defense? I have fought for a long time to protect people.

“You are perhaps too kind for what we will have you do, Hero. The Fate Arbiter sent you unto us as that. I know not why nor how. Yet, the prophecy speaks of what you will do. I feel like I might break under the weight of all this. So, I called on you to join me here today. You are a kind soul. Easy to confide in.

“I regret one day. A day that has cascaded to all this. I considered why. Simply put? I regret that I had grown too used to the routine. Had I waited and carefully took count of the Undying? So many lives would not be lost. So many people I knew and cared for. I fear that I would be driven insane should it happen again.

“Morgan. Are you sure you can face what will come? Can you promise me that you will not break under the horrors that I shall lead you to see? You saw what happens to Hound of Sorrow. I fear one thing most of all. I fear having to watch you fall into that same madness. Tell me. Can you with stand all of the horrors?”

Marindol held the top of his cane very carefully and stared at Morgan with an intense look. The young man sat frozen for a moment. Shocked at the action. Then, he said with a shake in his voice, “I want to protect people. I figured that I’d see a lot of terrible stuff. I mean, we have stories of heroes back in my world. I always admired them. Perhaps I was viewing everything in a childish way. Maybe it really didn’t sink in till Havar died. I know now, though.”

The old man slowly pulled the top of his walking stick. Slowly, a blade appeared from the wood, glinting in the light. He stopped and waited just enough for Morgan to take it in before sliding it back in. He said in a strangely gentle tone, “If you ever falter, know I will be there.”

Marindol got up and walked over to a long thing bound up in a ratty looking blanket. He mused, “To many my actions have been seen as odd. Out of character. Yet, I am a priest. It’s odd to the common man that we have such faith to our broken gods. Then that we work against our own god’s prophecy.”

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He picked it up gently, caressing it. Then, as if it was something of incredible importance, walked over to the younger. The old man continued, “Our god is long gone. Nothing left but scattered pieces. Even so. Do not think his will is not being enacted still.”

Gingerly the cloth was pulled off to show a sword in his scabbard. There was an odd pause as Morgan stared at it. Marindol smiled almost bitterly before saying, “Prepare. This will not be an easy experience. It may kill you.”

A small fear rose in Morgan as anticipation and concern took hold. He asked,, “No choice, though?”

Marindol huffed in an amused way. He pulled the hilt slightly like he had done with is cane. There was a click as the blade was pulled very slightly. A bright light flowed out from the metal. The old man held out it out. Morgan began to reach for it but hesitated for a moment. He didn’t try to hide his shaking as he continued. With both hands, the hero took hold of the scabbard and hilt.

Marindol, the blade, the fire, the light. Everything instantly disappeared like a candle being blown out. The colors of the room drained away before Morgan’s very eyes. Everything was left in a uniform white. All the shadows seemed to flee. There the young man was left alone.

He sat in the chair dumbfounded. Instantly, he pinched himself. The tinge of pain confirmed the reality of the situation. A total silence had settled over everything. Only a testing vocalization from him broke it. Then it would return without hesitation.

There was the thought that this was some sort of test. Given everything that had just happened, it seemed likely to him. The problem lay in the fact that no real goal seemed to be set. To Morgan, though, that was possibly even still a further test of some sort.

A bell suddenly chimed somewhere and the entire room rumbled. As if from everywhere, a choir of quiet voices spoke, “The bell must ring and sing it’s song.”

The bell rang again and the room fell away. Morgan found himself above an island, staring down at an almost paper like world. A massive tower rose up below him. He watched in horror as the ocean turned black as oil.

The bell rang a third time and the entire world shuttered. Off in the distance came pillars of red light and the ocean and island were painted red. The tower swayed. The voices spoke, “Yet, should it continue, all shall fall into misery.”

The tower crumbled and the bell began to fall towards the ocean. From it came hands reaching to take hold. The voices said, “You must ring the first and let none more.”

Right as the bell was about to take hold of the ocean a maw of blue fire burst across it all. Igniting it in an inferno. A great maw clamped down on the bell. The voices spoke, “Your choices will determine the path.”

The maw continued to rise and Morgan found himself facing a massive eye of some titanic animal made of ghostly blue flames. The voices continued, “You will face the beast in his full hatred. Yet, he alone has the power to silence the bell.”

The scene rewound to the point of just before the fire appeared. The hands of black ooze took hold of the bell. It rang twice. Red washed over the bell and it was pulled in. Then, a single voice spoke, “Should you not survive his hatred? Should you fail to find the fifth and save them? Should the bell be allowed to sing it’s full chorus?”

Everything warped and Morgan found himself in the middle of the street. The one just outside the temple in Shalecutte. It was a bright and beautiful day. Flowers bloomed and people were walking about. Then a shadow fell over the city.

Looking up, his heart nearly skipped a beat. There above everything was a hand that reached for the sun itself. A thousand maws and eyes covering it’s jet black form. Like a candle, the fingers snuffed it out. Then every star that appeared began to go out as the maws began to scream incoherently.

All around him, Morgan saw the people twist and become gaunt. As if the blood in their veins evaporated. There skin flaked and peeled away as their bodies twisted and broke. The plants shriveled and became dust. The air became stale and cold. He tried to scream, but nothing came out of him. Then, the eyes all turned to him. The countless eyes stared and he began to feel his body twist.

Then, like a snap, Morgan found himself back in the chair in the white room. A single, hazy humanoid figure in front of him. In quiet voices it said, “Let what was never be again. Let the broken god stay sleeping. Ring the bell but let it ring only once. Save the fifth.”