A large oval chandelier decorated with tiers of edged crystal-glass pieces overlooked a round granite dinner table. The chandelier was candlelit, and the glass reflected the light into a myriad of colours. That light paled in comparison to that from the twin stars, however, which shone red and orange light through arched windows which surrounded the room.

Currently, in the room, Ginger sat on a cushioned oak seat, his feet hanging in the air. He currently wore a white silk buttoned shirt with a frilled collar, and sleeves rolled to the middle of his forearm. He had a pensive expression as he stared absent-mindedly at the grainy granite.

Azroth sat on a similar seat beside Ginger. He glanced at his son, and couldn't help but think how good his genes were.

Opposite the two, sat Wick, the obese man who they had just welcomed. Azroth had to prepare a sofa for his seat when he had seen Wick through the window. First impressions were everything.

Azroth would feel more comfortable if he hadn't been hearing the constant creaking of the sofa frame every time the man shifted.

"Sir Wick, now that we've all become acquainted, could I know the purpose of this visit?" Azroth said as he gestured to a maid at the entrance to usher in the dishes prepared for this dinner.

Ginger was broken out of his thoughts and looked at Wick.

The man was fat. His face was fat. Those cheeks of his were drooping like a sad puppy's ears.

"Hmm...? What's that? Hmm...?" Wick spoke with a satisfied smile, and his eyes bulged unsettlingly wide as he saw the maids bring plates of luxury dishes. Freehawk, Sliver-fish, Ginger-tail thigh. The aromas mixed in the room and Wick inhaled deeply. Then he frowned slightly. He felt like a different smell interrupted the sanctity of those dishes.

Ginger looked at the plates brought to him.

Ginger-tail.

That old man in the waste eating his flesh. And then sliced through by Wick's axe.

Ginger gagged but covered his mouth quickly. It was unfortunate that both of the men there noticed it.

Azroth was confused. 'Wasn't ginger-tail thigh his son's favourite dish?'

Wick snapped his head towards Ginger.

"Hmmm....? What's this? It's you, hmm...?" Wick spoke with a higher pitch now and leaned forward on the table, bulging eyes aimed directly at the child.

Ginger calmed, and then returned the man's gaze.

"Ah, I apologise, Sir Wick, I've been a little unwell today. I hope you'll forgive my poor table manners, Sir" He spoke with his head slightly nodded, and then returned to look at his dish.

Now was not the time to recall those horrors, still all too fresh and real in his mind.

"Hmm... You smell like Rat" Wick said as he observed the boy a while longer. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he too returned to his dish.

Ginger felt like the man had seen through him in those few moments, and that perhaps he might have figured out his connection to Thatch. Ginger shook his head. That was impossible.

Azroth looked at the interaction uncomfortably. He felt a strange premonition that things would go terribly today.

"Sir Wick, I - " Azroth tried to speak again but was harshly interrupted.

"Shut. I am eating" Wick said with all seriousness of a Knight of Inquisition. It was a shame that seriousness was directed towards something so trivial, Azroth thought.

The trio then continued to eat in silence for a while. When the father and son had finished, they looked at each other, and then at Wick who continued to savour his food slowly and methodically, chewing too many times for each bite. When he had finished all the plates presented to him, he demanded more.

"Please, Sir Wick. Have as much as you like" Azroth said. He would come to regret those words.

It had been two hours before the man was satisfied, and he finally looked up and stared at Azroth.

Without saying anything, Wick fumbled to retrieve a small object from his large robe and placed it on the table. It was a fleshy purple lump that pulsed in an odd cadence. A horrific grin made it to Wick's face as he glanced at the father and son.

"What do you think, hmm...?" Wick said in a pitch higher than before.

Azroth and Ginger both looked at the lump, confused.

"Sir Wick, could you expla-" Azroth started, but was interrupted again.

"I asked, what do you think. Hmm...?" Wick said, spit scattering across the table in his excitement.

"... It looks to be some kind of Artefact" Azroth said, unsure. He had never seen something like that before.

"Ahh... An Artefact, hmm...?" Sir Wick calmed and looked at the fleshy object again, rolling his tongue around the word 'Artefact' silently. He then spoke again "This is from The Under"

Ginger and Azroth looked at each other again. They communicated through their eyes, in deep understanding of each other's thoughts.

'What the fuck is this fat-ass on about?'

"Sir Wick, that was indeed very funny" Azroth began to force a chuckle. Maybe the knight wanted to make a joke? Honestly, Azroth thought, Wick's sense of humour made his own look like gold. Ginger also followed along and forced his best chuckle.

"Joke, hmm...? Why would you say it was a joke?" Wick said as he rolled the lump around his finger on the table.

"Umm... Sir Wick, The Under is just a figure of speech" Azroth started. Did he really need to say it? Was he being treated like a ten-year-old? He glanced at his son. No. Like a four-year-old?

"It's not a real - " Azroth continued when he saw no reaction from Wick but was interrupted again. This was the third time. Azroth was getting sick of this.

"It's not real, hmm...?" Wick said, then continued "We call it a Verocay". He then rolled the lump towards Azroth, across the length of the granite.

"Eat it" Wick said.

Azroth looked at the 'Verocay' now in front of him and then back up to Wick, uncomprehending.

'Why the fuck would I eat this? What happened to interfering in my dispute with Plystil and the Scholars? Why was this fat bastard knight even here?' Azroth thought.

"Hmmm... Or I'll take your son for inquisition." Wick said simply.

Azroth snapped.

---------------

Pain.

Cold stone.

Hunger.

Thatch stirred awake, the piercing sounds of chains ringing as he shifted. He was without a single piece of cloth covering his skinny body, and his wrists had been chained to metal handlebars attached to a stone wall. The room he was in was small and dark and filled with dust and the heavy smell of iron.

He took stock of his situation and recalled how he got here. That girl died, he failed to kill the guard, and he would now face consequences worse than death before he too would eventually die.

And there was nothing he could do.

But this time, he knew he had to force himself to survive. The girl's fate had shown him what he had forgotten.

Death would not help him.