Eben doesn't come to awareness easily.

His mind clings to his hazy, dreamless, unconsciousness as if to protect him from the harsh realities of the waking world.

However, there's only so long the bliss can last before his aches and pains brutally rip him from his solace.

The bandit awakens to a dimly lit room. He's laying prone on a worn woven mat, the resounding ache in his temples only rivaled by the burning pain of the slash on his belly.

A fumbling hand reaches down to check the damage, only to find the wound obscured under layers of bandages.

"Now now, don't go pulling your stitches out."

Eben flinches, turning his head to locate the source of the voice.

It's a man, dressed in a dark forest-green cassock. Eben's eyes catch on the intricate, vibrant red stole that hangs off the man's neck. Stitched delicately into the fabric are scales, fangs, and slit eyes.

Great. More snakes. Eben realizes that snakes are slowly replacing the mosquito as his least favorite creature.

"Please don't be alarmed. I mean you no harm, Eben. You can call me Father Sheppard, I am the high priest of Nǣdre Tor."

Eben grips the threadbare mat with white knuckles. "What— what happened?"

The man smiles. It's not a kind expression. "You don't remember your crimes? Did our little Adder administer a dose so high your mind has forgotten all your sins?"

"I'm sorry, please, if you'd just let me go—"

"Let you go?" The man laughs cruelly. "No, my little sheep. You must atone."

"Atone?"

"Yes, atone."

The man strokes his stole lovingly, fingers tracing the stitched scales. "The kind Gods and Goddesses of the pantheon allow for all beings born with sin in their hearts an opportunity to atone."

Eben clenches his jaw. Atoning could mean indentured servitude at best, hanging from a tree at worst.

"You see, Nǣdre Tor is a remarkable place that provides redemption for not only wayward souls like yourself, but salvation even for hellish creatures of the inhuman persuasion."

Eben traces the puncture wounds on his neck. Like his torso, they are wrapped securely in bandages. "Inhuman? You mean like the thing that attacked me?"

"Precisely. You are a quick one, aren't you? Do you get it from your elven side?"

Eben flushes, hands flying to cover his ears with the hood which was no longer on his person.

The action amuses Sheppard, causing the grey-haired man to smirk cruelly. "Why, how lucky are we to receive a creature like you? You'll get along wonderfully with Adder."

"Adder?" Eben is sweating now.

"Yes. Have you heard of the gorgon, friend?"

"Gorgon? As in, a giant half-man half-serpent monster who can turn you into stone with a look?"

A damned Gorgon? Well, that explained a lot. Eben never stood a chance, did he?

"The very one. Adder came to our town a sinful beast who slew everyone in his path. Through the glory of the Pantheon, he now seeks atonement by serving Nǣdre Tor as our protector."

Eben grimaces. Even if he believed in the Gods, he would know that this sounds like a crock of horse shit. "So I am to serve as protector of the village too now? Like your pet?"

Sheppard tuts, shaking his head in dismissal. "What use would we get from a criminal protecting us? No, you will be serving our friend, Adder."

"You want me to serve a gorgon?" Eben asks, astonishment clear on his face.

"Yes. His former caretaker passed away recently, so we're in desperate need of a replacement."

"I don't— what does—"

"Of course, the choice is yours."

Sheppard turns away from Eben, making his way towards the door before pausing at the entrance.

"Every man should have the right to express their free will, my friend. So Nǣdre Tor gives you the choice if you'd prefer absolution through service, or through execution."

Eben's heart leaps at the word execution. Was this really happening to him?

"Gracefully, I've decided to give you time to recover before making your choice. Rest up now, while you can."

With that, the priest left the room, shutting the door with a metallic snick of a lock. Eben was left alone with nothing but his racing thoughts to keep him company.

As soon as the man left the room, Eben attempts to struggle to his feet.

Regardless of what he was promised, the half-elf knew that escape was his only true chance at survival.

His feeble attempt fails terribly, the excruciating pain preventing him from moving. Still, he knew he needs to persist. This wasn't just a small village of paranoid people, it was a cult, and he didn't want to find out what it truly meant to "serve" their monstrous deity.

However, despite the perilous situation, he was already shaking from exhaustion. Eben lays back down on the mat. There was no reason to attempt to escape when he would make it barely two steps out the door. Closing his eyes, the bandit falls into a troubled sleep.

He awoke again hours —or perhaps days— later feeling quite hungry, dehydrated, and not at all rested. The small room he was imprisoned in seems no different than when he had fallen asleep.

With a grunt of effort, he pulls himself into a sitting position, his head spinning with pain.

The room was small, with smooth earthen walls and no windows. The only light came from a small oil lamp that hung from a hook on the wall, casting flickering shadows across the room.

He crawls over to the door, wincing as his injury protests every movement. Eben reaches up and tries the doorknob, but it was firmly locked. He curses under his breath, trying to think of another way out. He searches the room for any other options, but there was nothing.

If Claudia was here, she could've picked the lock in no time. Her skilled hands were useful for situations like this.

The thought of the petite woman causes a pang of deep sadness to resonate through Eben. Did she escape the beast? Was she also imprisoned somewhere, awaiting the judgment of these reptile-obsessed loons?

As he sat there, feeling defeated, he hears footsteps approaching. He knew that he was out of time. With a burst of desperate energy, he launches himself at the door, hoping to break it down with his shoulder.

His injuries prove too much, however, and he slumps to the ground, gasping for breath.

At the sound of a ruckus, two women in habits enter the room, seeming unimpressed with Eben's attempt to escape. Eben scowls at them. Nobody is more disappointed than himself.

Lifting him by the armpits, they drag him back to the straw mat. He doesn't even fight, the pain completely incapacitating him. The stitches have come undone and he's bleeding freely again.

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"Tch. Serves you right, bandit." The rotund blonde woman chides.

"Daisy! Have sympathy, he's just begun his journey to redemption!" The dark-skinned woman turns to Eben, concern clear on her face. "I'll check your wound in a moment, do you want some painkillers?"

Eben shakes his head. He needs to stay clear-headed, he can't afford to cloud his judgment, no matter how sweet the relief sounds. "No drugs. Please."

The blonde crosses her arms. "Good, we don't need to be wasting our poppies when we all know you're going to be taking the easy way out in a month."

"Daisy! don't be cruel!"

Daisy huffs. "Fern, you know that's how it's gonna play out. Nobody ever chooses Adder."

"Has this happened before? Kidnapping someone and forcing them to choose between execution or death by gorgon?" Eben asks.

Fern starts unwrapping the bloody bandages from his torso, surprising Eben with her gentleness. "It's not kidnapping... You attacked our village. But yes, others who have transgressed against Nǣdre Tor have been given this choice."

Daisy hands a jar of medicine to the other woman. "Adder won't kill you though. Not unless you do something to piss Father Sheppard off."

Eben grits his teeth as the astringent liquid is dabbed onto his wound. "Very reassuring. I'm sure the half-snake creature of pure death won’t kill me because some zealot told him not to."

Daisy scowls. "Bite your tongue, heathen. That creature spared your life only thanks to the teachings of Father Sheppard."

Eben scowls back at the sour-faced woman. There was no way it was true, right? One does not simply convert a monster from a bloodthirsty killer to obedient sheep. There had to be more at play.

But then, why had the creature spared him?

Fern finishes re-wrapping his wounds. She brings over a tray of food and water, placing it before him. "Please eat. You need to regain as much strength as you can before you make your choice."

Daisy rolls her eyes when Eben eyes the plate warily. She swipes the cornbread muffin off the tray, helping herself to it. "Feel free to give the rest of your food if you're so suspicious of it. Maybe Adder will think twice about swallowing you whole if you're skin and bones."

The women leave, locking the door behind them. Eben stares at the door, somehow wishing they'd stayed a bit longer.

As the days go by, Eben attempts to stay vigilant. He's heard stories of the horrifying things cults do to their followers, and he doesn't want to find out which are true and which are tales.

Thankfully, his torture was much more mundane than he had feared. So far, the worst thing about this experience was the mind-numbing boredom and long periods of isolation.

Some days, Eben became so desperate for interaction that even visits from Sheppard were valued. Though after a few minutes into the man's sermons on how "the great deceiver" tricked humanity into losing the favor of the gods, Eben was again craving silence.

Besides the priest, Fern would also speak to Eben for a short while when she came to bring him his meals or clean his wounds. The woman was extraordinarily kind to Eben; keeping him comfortable, offering words of support, and even bringing him some charcoal sticks and paper to draw with.

However, her considerate actions didn't make him forget where he was or help him ignore how she locked the door behind her. So when the stitches on his stomach had just barely started to heal, Eben snuck beside the door.

When Fern next enters to bring him his breakfast, the bandit sweeps his leg over her ankles, toppling the woman to the floor.

Eben had hoped that like the villagers, the nuns would freeze up at the first sign of violence. However, when Fern gives an alarmed yell, several women nearby rush to her aid. The injured man had no chance as five angry nuns descend on him, locking him away once more.

For the next several days following his failed escape attempt, nobody spoke to Eben. Sheppard's visits stop, Fern refuses to respond when spoken to, and even Daisy halts her jabs and rude remarks.

Just when he starts to feel himself losing his grip from the seclusion, things return to normal. Or as normal things can be while being held captive by cultists. Sheppard resumes his sermons, Daisy insults his drawing abilities, and Fern's attitude suddenly returns to her former cheery kindness. In fact, Fern became more friendly.

Eben knew what was happening. They were trying to wear him down. They'd make him desperate for interaction, then love-bomb him so he'd come to associate the relief from isolation with their cult.

So the bandit plays along. He smiles, obeys orders, and pretends they were convincing him. He just needs to last until he saw an opportunity to escape.

For now, he attempts to keep his mind occupied with the charcoals. The room was boring, so there weren't many interesting subjects. Most of his drawings consist of food brought to him, interesting arrangements of paper, or self-portraits. This time, Eben settles for a self-portrait.

As he sketches out his face, he pays close attention to detail. He perfectly captures his freckles, hazel eyes, and neck-length orange hair. It’s a pretty accurate depiction, even in monochrome. However, he pauses when it comes time to draw the pointed tips of his ears peeking from his hair. Eben didn't often like to draw his ears. Most days, he likes to pretend they didn't exist. Frustrated, he smears the charcoal across the paper, destroying the drawing.

His tantrum was interrupted by Daisy and Sheppard entering his prison. The blonde tuts at the state of Eben's room covered in crumpled papers. Sheppard only smiles placidly, putting Eben on edge.

It wasn't uncommon for Eben to receive surprise visits from Father Sheppard, but each time he was wary. The man oozed a sense of wrongness that went beyond his creepy attire or dead eyes.

"Hello, Eben. How are you?"

Eben wants to smack the man. He was shit, obviously! The slash in his side had only just healed on the surface, the skin raw and pink where the blade had pierced him. Not to mention, he has been in the same fucking room for three weeks!

Eben clenches his fists. He couldn't show his true feelings. He needs to pretend he is integrating into their society.

"I'm doing better. My pain is a little better today...are you here to give me another sermon?"

"Not quite. Daisy, can you check his wound for me?"

The woman nodded, approaching Eben.

"I heard you made an escape attempt last week. You must be feeling stronger."

Eben felt his heart speed up. "Not really... I just wanted to go outside. I haven't seen the sun in weeks."

"Well, today is your lucky day. What's the verdict, Daisy?"

Daisy examines the wound, face worried. "It's improved a lot, Father, but I would give him some more time..."

Apparently, this is the wrong thing to say because Shepard's saccharine smile evaporates. Daisy notices, seeming to shrink back from the displeased look. "But um... with the blessing of the pantheon, I'm sure he will endure."

"What's happening?" Eben asked.

"Today is the day you'll be making your choice. Get up, we're going now."

Eben struggles as Daisy lifts him by his arm, his wound stinging at the movement. "What?! No— you said I had a month!"

Sheppard glared, eyes cold. "I distinctly remember telling you I would give you time to heal. You're healed, and now you will come with me willingly or I shall take your refusal as your answer."

Eben clenches his jaw as Daisy bound his hands, leading him out the door. Was he really about to die?

The pair lead him down stone-lined halls. Eben glances out of the stained glass windows as he's dragged along.

For a moment, Eben contemplates slamming his body into Sheppard and trying his hand at bursting through the window. He loses his opportunity to act though, as they step through a door and into a massive stone cathedral.

Villagers whisper among themselves in the pews as Eben is led onto the stage by Sheppard.

Foolishly, his eyes scan the many faces for Claudia. The woman is nowhere to be found among the villagers. Relief and sadness mix into one. Perhaps she got away? Would it be too much to hope that she'd come back to help him?

The half-elf feels queasy as he realizes the massive size of the crowd before him. He longs desperately for his hood. There was nothing worse than feeling like a sideshow freak.

Sheppard raises his hands to silence the crowd. Instantly, a hush consumes the cathedral. Sheppard began speaking, voice booming off the stone walls.

"Twenty-five years ago, Nǣdre Tor was attacked by one of the Great Deceiver's minions of evil. Many of us lost dear friends, family, and loved ones... However, through the indomitable power of the pantheon, I was able to subdue the creature and convert him to our ways."

The villagers cheer wildly as the priest recounts his victory over the monster. Eben flinches, wishing he could protect his sensitive ears from the ruckus.

"Now the beast seeks forgiveness for his sins by protecting us from any creature or man that would wish to do us harm. Today we will offer yet another beast redemption, as only Nǣdre Tor can."

The man tugs Eben forward. "Tell us your name, half-breed."

Eben hesitates, crowd shy, but is spurred into action by another painful tug of his bindings. "Eben— Eben Garder."

"Make your choice now then, Eben. Will you redeem your soul through acts of service, or through execution?"

Eben swallowed, mouth dry.

The last thing he wants is to be anywhere near the gorgon, but Eben didn't want to die here. He has no choice. "I will serve Nǣdre Tor to atone for my sins."

The crowd erupts into cheers and yells of excitement. Taking their cue, several women approach the stage.

They place down several items on the altar in front of Sheppard. The half-elf notes the strange assortment includes a goblet of wine, a dagger, and most concerning, some black iridescent scales.

Eben eyes the arrangement warily as the priest ground the scales into a fine powder with mortar and pestle before pouring the concoction into a silver goblet. Next, the priest grips Eben by the wrist, dragging the blade across the skin of his palm. He watches in horror as the concoction turns pitch black with the introduction of his blood.

The priest mutters something unintelligible over the lid of the cup before handing it to Eben. the man breathes deeply, attempting to calm himself. Surely, they didn't expect him to drink this?

His eyes flicker momentarily to Sheppard. Outwardly, the priest seems calm, but Eben sees the tenseness in the way the man holds his body. More frightening though, was how the priest held the dagger at his side so tightly that Eben could see the white of his knuckles.

Praying he wasn't poisoning himself, Eben brought the goblet to his lips,

Eben sputters and coughs as searing heat suffuses through his body. He fell to his knees as the skin on the front and back of his neck seem to burn like a hot iron was being pressed against his skin.

When finally it was over, Sheppard pulls Eben to his feet. "Rejoice! We accept another into the fold!"

Eben tenderly probed the skin on his neck as the cacophony of praises and screams seemed to echo through his being. As his fingers trace his throat, he can feel the outline of scales.

Eben's heart sinks. What has he gotten himself into?