Nine days before the destruction of Ark’s Cathedral:

Inquisitor Deroch crumpled up the latest response from Port Savig’s Bishop and glared out of the carriage window. The overcast sky illuminated the dreary streets of Eastern Market, the hazy view obscured by small rivulets of rain that streaked across the glass windowpane.

The carriage eventually came to a stop outside the Witchdoctor’s clinic, and the harnessed horses snorted restlessly as steam rose from their glossy coats in the morning chill.

Deroch stepped out of the carriage marked in the red liveries of the Church and grimaced towards the three hooded Paladins dismounting from their horses. He walked over to the trio.

“Give me five minutes. Make sure no one enters or leaves the house.” Deroch instructed one of them to secure the rear of the building. Then, smoothing his greying slick hair back, he knocked on the front door.

“Um, we aren’t open yet… is this an emergency?” A timid woman’s voice rang out.

“I am from the Church conducting an investigation. I would like a moment of your time.” Deroch called out in an overriding voice. After a moment’s hesitation, the bolts were shakily withdrawn, and a diminutive woman with gentle jade eyes and auburn curls opened the door.

“I believe we’ve met before.” Deroch stepped inside and pulled his black leather gloves off while looking around the Clinic’s entryway. It no longer reeked of the subtle wrongness emanating from the Aberration, further supporting the fact that the wily Witchdoctor had fled. His frosty blue eyes slowly came to rest on Tsarra.

She looked tired, frightened, and alone.

It supported the profile he had built up on her. A horrifically scarred slave liberated by the Aberration and painstakingly reassembled as its apprentice. Her personality was marked as docile, timid, and shy.

“Um… would you like some tea?”

Deroch struggled to contain his surprise. It was not often that Inquisitors were welcomed in for drinks. Maintaining his steely demeanour, he declined the offer.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” He stepped into the forge, then the treatment room, his practiced eye scanning the area for changes no matter how minute. Puzzlingly, none of the important tools had been removed or put away, and the Inquisitor had a sneaking suspicion that the slippery Witchdoctor intended to return to the Clinic at some point in the future.

“Are you aware that your master is on the run, fleeing to Port Savig at this very moment?” Deroch abruptly pinned her with a cold gaze, and caught her flinching in surprise.

“Mm…” Tsarra struggled to speak, caught off guard by the sudden challenge. More than that, her eyes grew watery at the confirmation that Exill had chosen to leave her behind. Her mentor was a terrible liar, and she had already known this to some extent.

Yet it still hurt to be abandoned.

“I understand it may come as a surprise to you, but I’m sure he had his best intentions in leaving you behind…” Deroch’s tone softened at the sight of the Maiden barely holding herself together.

“I promised your Master that his companions would not be harmed, as long as they cooperate with the Church.” Deroch paused and his voice took on a more wistful tone, “I suspect that guarantee factored greatly in his reasoning to leave you behind. To keep you safe.”

The Inquisitor was rewarded when Tsarra involuntarily glanced at a drawer in the corner of the treatment room. Moving swiftly, he opened the drawer and pulled out a notarized contract.

“No!” Tsarra tried to reach for the paper, but was quickly rooted in place by the Inquisitor’s unnerving gaze.

With triumphant satisfaction, Deroch quickly scanned the contents of the parchment. To put it succinctly, it revoked the secrecy clause contained within the contract promising Tsarra’s freedom.

‘But why would he go to such an extent?’ Deroch was troubled by what the revision signified. Exill was essentially handing incriminating evidence to the Church on a silver platter. ‘Does he have no intention of returning to Ark? Or did he want to guarantee Tsarra’s safety to such an extent?’ The Inquisitor’s mind raced in thought.

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“Um, I don’t know what -” Tsarra hurriedly began, but was swiftly silenced when Deroch folded the parchment and slipped it into his robe. She stepped back in panic when he placed two fingers on the carotid artery of her neck, then cornered her against the wall, his hypnotizing blue eyes dissecting her with ease.

“Did he ever hint that he would return?” Deroch whispered.

Tsarra didn’t say a word, but to the experienced Inquisitor – she was like an open book. He felt her pulse spiking in surprise, combined with the sudden dilation of her pupils. It was evident that Exill had promised to visit his treasured apprentice someday, that much was certain.

Leaving the trembling woman behind, Deroch stepped out into the receding morning shower and fired quick instructions to the waiting Paladins.

“Conduct a thorough search, and detain the woman.”

***

Later that afternoon Deroch stepped into the Chrysanthemum annex where Tsarra was temporarily being held. The room was simply furnished with an engraved oval table that took up most of the space. The Inquisitor was followed by a sneering, cruel man dressed in rough linen clothes.

“I apologize for holding you here, but recent events have left me little choice.” Deroch excused himself as he took a seat opposite Tsarra. When the diminutive woman stubbornly refused to respond, he dove into the heart of the matter. It was posed as a question, but was in actuality a statement of fact.

“You will testify to Witchdoctor Exill’s Heresy, and aid in his capture if he ever returns.”

“I will never help you capture him.” Tsarra denied him with all her courage.

Deroch examined her uncharacteristic behaviour that intelligence suggested was timid, shy, and withdrawn. He sighed softly while steepling his fingers, reluctant to resort to what he was about to do.

“… I thought you might feel that way. Which is why I asked an acquaintance to accompany me today.” He nodded in the direction of the sneering slave trader, “Let me assure you that although you will be a slave, your daily life and freedom will remain largely intact.”

Deroch slid a notarized contract in her direction.

“In fact, the Church will negotiate with the Healer’s Guild on your behalf to ensure the continued operation of the Witchdoctor’s Clinic – something your Master regretfully neglected in his urge to flee.” Deroch tapped his thin lips, “Of course, the contract guarantees your freedom in the event of his capture.”

Tsarra’s lips quivered at the thought of being enslaved again, all to assist in the unjust sentencing of her saviour. She shivered when her eyes met the cruel sneer of the Slave Trader, who was licking his lips in anticipation.

Deroch gave her several more seconds to accept his generous offer, then… heaving a weary sigh, stood up.

“Enslave her.” He instructed the Slaver and stepped out of the room.

The Inquisitor’s boots clicked softly against the polished stone on the way back to the Inner Sanctum. The tactics he was resorting to was outside the modus operandi of the Church – the most grievous of which was the retention of slaves.

Unfortunately, there was little hope of hiding that a free citizen had been enslaved when it eventually came to the Witchdoctor’s trial. As to the necessity for such a trial, there was no question in his mind.

The hornets nest of corruption he was about to upheave reached the highest ranks of the Church. The risk of an internal schism occurring was significant. That was why it was imperative that fair trials take place. There should be no question in the minds of the common man that Heresy had taken place.

On the matter of enslavement, Deroch could only hope that his fair terms and treatment of Tsarra would soften the blow to his reputation.

However halfway to the Inner Chamber, he heard commotion echoing from behind that made him pause.

“Fetch a Healer, quick!”

The frantic shout emanating down the hallway froze him in place. Feeling a pit in his stomach, Deroch turned and rushed back towards the Chrysanthemum annex.

“What is going on?” He shouted at the Slaver who was hurriedly re-tying the laces around his waist. Snorting in disgust, Deroch shoved the startled man aside and strode into the room to witness Tsarra convulsing on the floor.

“She bit her own tongue! I didn’t do anything!” The Slaver hurriedly explained, and Deroch immediately knelt at the woman’s side and tried to pry her mouth open so that he could clamp the bleeding.

Tsarra grinned between gritted teeth, blood foaming at her lips. She refused his attempt to save her, and her convulsions grew weaker as the seconds passed.

“She said she would rather die than be turned into a slave again. I swear on the Spirit I did noth-” The whining Slave Trader was silenced with an icy glare from the crouched Inquisitor.

“Let me save you…” Deroch gently coaxed the Maiden to open her mouth, angry and frustrated that his plan was falling apart so close to fruition.

However, it was not to be. He grimly watched the light fade from Tsarra’s tearful eyes.

“What a waste...”

Deroch’s guilt ridden mind raced with repercussions, anguish, and how the situation could be resolved. Bleakly wiping his hand of blood, he stepped out into the corridor, and came face-to-face with a red-faced Healer in the Church’s service, who was huffing in exertion.

“I’m sorry Brother, but your services are no longer required.” Deroch firmly turned the puzzled man away. He had to limit exposure and motioned a Paladin to escort the Healer away.

Approaching the other Paladin guarding the door, Deroch paused in rare hesitation. The scheme he was about to commit had many flaws, but there was little time to improve upon his plan.

“I need you to discreetly transport the body back to the Clinic right this moment.” He whispered and turned to walk away a few steps. Then, having second thoughts, Deroch returned to give one last order.

“… and fetch me a stake.”