1: The First to Fall

Six days later…

The captain emerged from the Inquisition headquarters, a grand building of white marble topped by a gold and emerald dome. Many in the kingdom feared the Inquisition, but the captain did not. After all, as long as one walked in the light of the Sacred Flame, then they had nothing to fear. It didn't hurt that as a member of the Order of the Sword- better known by their nickname, "the Purifiers," he was technically a member of the Inquisition himself. He had come here to report the success of his mission to his superiors, and with this task complete, and with no other assignments to see to, the captain began to walk the streets of the capital, toward the middle district of the city.

Alba's capital, Solas, was a bustling city, as capitals tend to be. But Alba was not a normal kingdom, and thus, neither was Solas. For the Kingdom of Alba stood at the very edge of the monster realm. It hadn't always been this way, but as the monster realm relentlessly expanded, its neighbors were consumed one by one, until finally, Alba was almost completely surrounded by the monster realm.

But for well over a century now, Alba stood firm against the monsters, thanks to its secret weapon: the Sacred Flame. An inextinguishable magical fire kindled by the kingdom's founder, Saint Gabriel of Royes, the Sacred Flame projected a barrier, sixty miles in radius, that not only repelled monsters, but completely destroyed the demonic energies they produced. Such a weapon would be a tremendous benefit to all of humanity in the fight against monsters… but sadly, the Sacred Flame was the only one of its kind. Nobody had ever successfully replicated the process by which the Flame was first kindled, and all attempts to widen the barrier's radius had failed. Smaller barriers could be made by taking small fires- Embers- from the Sacred Flame, but taking from the Flame would cause the Great Barrier to shrink in turn- once, the Great Barrier had a radius of a hundred miles, but through Embers being taken to protect the kingdom's most distant cities, or simply being lost in expeditions into the monster realm, the Barrier has shrunk to its current size. The captain glanced back over his shoulder- behind the domed Inquisition headquarters, a tall stone pillar rose high into the sky, topped by a great golden lantern. Upon this grand pedestal, the Sacred Flame burned, forever keeping the forces of darkness at bay.

Solas was divided into three districts: the central governmental district, the residential district on the city's outer edge, and the district between them, appropriately named "the middle district." So, it didn't take long for the captain to reach his destination- a chantry building situated in the middle district. Most chantires were gaudy and ostentatious, decked with gold and all manner of other ornaments. But not this chapel. It was a simple wooden building (which stood out from the stone buildings around it), without adornments- not even a stained glass window. The only "decoration" was a small golden lantern hanging from the awning above the door. The captain entered without hesitation.

In the antechamber, he could hear a man speaking. The service had already begun, it seemed. So, as quietly as he could, the captain slipped through the second set of doors leading to the chapel, and seated himself on one of the pews at the back of the room.

The chapel was brilliantly lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows, and was surprisingly full- most seated in the other pews wore shabby clothes, having doubtlessly been turned away from the more well-off chantries. And across the room, on a small raised dais, stood a bald, somewhat portly priest. Like the chapel itself, the priest had a humble appearance- rather than wearing fine fabrics and elegant jewelry, his attire was a simple black robe, held in place by a length of rope. The captain began to listen to the priest's sermon:

"…Anyone, but especially women, who bed their spouses frequently, or who takes an inordinate amount of pleasure from the act, should be regarded with suspicion," hs said. "In the worst case, they may have fallen under the influence of the Great Enemy."

The priest paced across the dais. "Yes, the Barrier created by the Sacred Flame keeps our kingdom free from monster energy. But the Enemy is a wicked and duplicitous sort. They will use any means to see Alba in ruins, its people their slaves."

The priest turned to face the congregation. "But they will find that we will not be so easily tempted!" His voice grew louder and louder, his face redder, several veins standing out prominently on his bald head. "We are a beacon of hope to the world! The light of St. Gabriel's flame will banish the darkness, burn the Overlord to cinders, and shine over the world in a new dawn!" The priest finally stood still, sweating and huffing. "The Great Enemy is always watching. But, so are we. So long as we remain vigilant, and trust in the light of the Flame, then we shall never fall to the Enemy's depravity. Glory to Saint Gabriel. Glory… to mankind."

The congregation repeated the priest's words: "Glory to Saint Gabriel. Glory to mankind."

The priest took several breaths, and wiped his brow, before clasping his hands over his stomach. "And with that, we come to a close. At our next meeting, we will discuss how to determine if one has fallen under the sway of the Enemy. Thank you, and may the light of the Flame guide your path."

The people in the pews stood, and gathered their belongings. As they did, the captain walked down the center aisle, to the dais where the priest stood. The priest's eyes gleamed when he laid eyes on the captain. "Ah, Simon! You should have told me you were coming!"

Simon stopped just in front of the dais. "Sorry, Praetor. I just came back a few hours ago."

The priest stepped down from the dais, placing his hands on Simon's shoulders. "Come now, Simon, you don't need to be so formal. You can call me 'Felix.'"

Simon shifted slightly. "I do need to be so formal. At least when we're in this building."

"I suppose that's fair." Felix took away his hands, and turned. "Come, let's speak in my office."

The Kingdom of Alba did not follow the teachings of the Order of the Chief God. Rather, it followed its own set of guiding principles, laid out by Saint Gabriel, and codified by the Chantry established in his name. The Order classified the Chantry of St. Gabriel as an "unorthodox" religion, but because of its staunch anti-monster teachings, and because of the promise provided by the Sacred Flame, they nonetheless named both Alba and the Chantry as allies.

Felix led Simon through a door at the back of the chapel into his "office," in truth merely a small study at the very rear of the building. After taking a seat across from Simon at the desk in the center of the room, the priest asked, "Now, how can I help you? Are there any sins you wish to confess?"

"I just wanted to pay you a visit," Simon replied. "It's been awhile since I last stopped by."

Felix laughed. "Such a thoughtful young lad. I'm sure you'd make fine young woman very happy one day.

"Praetor…" Simon knew where the conversation was headed.

"You don't need to be ashamed," the praetor continued. "I realize it can be difficult for someone in your position to meet women. But I can help you with that. But you have to let me help you, Simon."

This was not a new conversation. Twice now, Praetor Felix had approached Simon, insisting that he take a wife. But Simon had no interest in marriage. He had a duty as a Purifier. Any other obligations, to a wife, a family, would come second to his duty to his kingdom. Simon looked down at his hands. "I don't need a wife, Praetor. All I need is my faith in the Flame, and your guidance."

Felix laughed again, his hand resting on his chin. "You truly are the ideal Purifier, Simon. It's easy to see why you were promoted to Captain at such a young age." He slowly stood, and circled around his desk.

"Alba needs soldiers like you, Simon," he said. "I must admit, when you're in the field, I tell the congregation of the deeds of Alba's Red Fang: your exploits, your loyalty, your unwavering resolve. You are truly an inspiration to us all." Felix rested a hand on Simon's shoulder. "But in the end, you are only one man. Imagine what could be accomplished if we had a thousand- no, even just a hundred men like you. Such a force could finally march into the monster realm, storm the Overlord's castle, and present her head to the godly people of the world."

"I simply strive to uphold my duty," Simon replied.

"Of course," Felix replied. "But you have a duty not just to the kingdom or the Inquisition, but to all the generations that would follow you." At that moment, there was a knock on the office door. "Ah, perfect timing."

Simon looked to the door in surprise, and stood. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Praetor. Were you meeting with someone?"

"I was. But if this is who I think it is, then you can stay right where you are." The praetor waddled to the door. When he opened it, he exclaimed, "Cassandra! Perfect timing! Please, come in, come in." He stepped aside, and a woman entered the room.

She was… lovely.

Simon would willingly admit that he didn't meet many women- his duties often took him far from Alba, sometimes for months on end, and being more susceptible to monster energies than men, women were barred from serving in the Purifiers. But even so, he knew this woman was beautiful. She resembled a fine statue: clear blue eyes, a delicate face, long blonde hair pulled into a braid. He looked then at her clothes: black boots, black trousers, and a black coat with silver buttons, a golden goblet embroidered on fabric just above her collarbone. She was an inquisitor, then- Simon had a similar uniform (with two golden crossed swords in place of the goblet), though he never wore it, preferring his armor. She was tall, too. Much taller than Felix, even taller than Simon.

The woman turned her gaze to Simon. "Is this him, Praetor?"

Felix nodded eagerly. "It is indeed."

The woman immediately walked up to Simon, looking him over. "I must admit, for Alba's infamous Red Fang, you're much more ordinary than I expected."

Simon gave the woman a confused look. It was far from the first time someone had made such a remark- with dark brown eyes, short, curly brown hair, a face most would describe as "boyish," and being a bit shorter than most men, he certainly didn't cut an intimidating image without his helmet. But what really confused him was how she addressed him. Almost everyone always called him by his rank- Captain. Only the praetor used that nickname. "I'm sorry, but do we know each other?"

Felix came to the woman's side. "Simon, this is Cassandra Rovais. We met by chance after a service, and I've been hoping to introduce you two."

Simon breathed a small sigh. He could only imagine what kind of stories the praetor had weaved about him. But the captain hid his exasperation, and simply asked, "I see." He glanced to the embroidered emblem again. "I see you're an inquisitor, but I don't recognize your emblem."

"I'm an agent of the Order of the Chalice," she replied, the pride audible in her voice.

Simon tilted his head slightly. "I can't say I'm familiar with it."

"We investigate the kingdom's internal affairs. Smuggling of illicit substances, and the like."

"Ah. I see." Simon wasn't sure what else to say.

Felix must have sensed Simon was struggling to keep the conversation going, because he then said, "You must understand, Cassandra, the Purifiers spend a great deal of time outside Alba's walls. I daresay most are more familiar with the monster realm than their own homeland." He then reached our, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. "But, this is hardly the place to get to know one another. It's a beautiful day outside. You should take advantage of it." Then, with surprising firmness, the praetor pushed the two out of the office, and into the chapel, shutting the door behind them.

Cassandra stared at the door in surprise, before looking to Simon. "Well. I suppose we don't have much choice but to take up the Praetor's offer. Shall we?"

Damn that old man… Simon thought to himself. But he simply said to Cassandra, "…of course."

"…and what about that man, the praetor?" Cassandra asked. "How do you know him? Is he your father?"

Simon shook his head. "No, nothing like that. He's just a family friend. After my father passed, the praetor… took me in."

A short silence fell between the two. Then Cassandra asked, "Well? Aren't you going to ask me any questions?"

Simon thought quickly for a few moments. "Yes, actually. There is something I was curious about. Your name, Rovais… that's the name of the governor of the province just east of Solas, isn't it?"

Cassandra nodded. "It is. The governor is my grandfather."

Simon blinked. "Your grandfather? Then that would make you a noble." A noble? What the hell are you thinking, Felix? he quickly thought. "Why join the Inquisition, then? Our stipend is pretty sizable, but I can't imagine you'd need it."

Cassandra gave a proud smile. "Let's just say that I have a passion for doing the right thing. I suppose that's something you and I have in common." She looked over to Simon. "What about you? Why did you join the Purifiers?"

Simon hung his head slightly. "…My father… hated monsters with a passion. He wanted to join himself, but as a former convict, he couldn't. So, he pressed me into doing it for him…"

As Felix suggested, Simon and Cassandra had left the chantry, and were wandering Solas's streets. Evening was approaching, but the bustle around the markets showed no signs of stopping any time soon. The two of them chatted as they wandered, Simon often struggling to keep the conversation moving forward- he'd never talked to a woman for so long in his life. Only his mother came close, and that had been many, many years ago.

Another uncomfortable silence had settled over the two. Simon could feel the heat beneath his breastplate, as he desperately tried to find a new topic of conversation. But he needn't have worried so much, because Cassandra then asked:

"Is it true? Has the Overlord truly declared to monsterkind that the Purifiers are to be killed on sight?"

Simon breathed a small sigh of relief. If there was one thing that he could spend all his time talking about, it was his work. "It is."

"That must be frightening for you," she said in a low voice.

Simon shook his head firmly. "Not at all, if anything, it's a badge of honor." He smiled. "It is a victory for us, even if only a small one."

Cassandra tilted her head slightly. "How so?"

Simon was silent for a moment as he pondered his reply. He wasn't sure how much he was allowed to tell. But then again, she was an Inquisitor- she must have known at least something. "We know the truth about monsters. The truth that the Order keeps from their followers- that monster don't kill, but seek to tempt mankind into wickedness. That they would seek to kill the Purifiers rather than tempt us shows the strength of our conviction."

Cassandra blinked. "Wait. Monsters… don't kill people?"

Simon felt his blood run cold. She didn't know. His mind raced, as he tried to formulate some kind of excuse, when suddenly, something crashed into the both of them.

"Ah- hey!" Cassandra shouted indignantly. Simon turned his attention to… whatever had crashed into him. It was a figure with a heavy, tattered brown cloak that completely covered their body. They were sprawled on their hands and knees, and from the way their body heaved, it seemed they were breathing heavily.

Cassandra must have sensed that the figure was in some kind of distress, because her anger dissipated all at once. "Hey," she said. "Are you alright?"

But the figure didn't answer. It simply continued to breathe heavily.

Cassandra reached out her hand. "I'm a member of the Inquisition. If you're in some kind of danger, we can protect you."

Simon watched the two warily. The figure had turned toward Cassandra- their cloak had shifted exposing their arms and legs. They were… covered in dark fur. "Cassandra, get back!"

But it was too late. The cloaked figure sprang up, and swiped a furry claw at Cassandra. She cried out in pain as the figure's nails tore through her sleeve, leaving deep scratches on her forearm. The figure then threw its cloak away and tried to run away. Simon identified the beast at once- a werewolf.

Simon darted after the monster, drawing his sword. The Great Barrier sapped monsters of their strength, so the beast didn't get far. With ease, the captain reached out, and grabbed the monster's arm, before pulling it back and throwing it to the ground. The beast cried out as it fell against the flagstone ground, back-first. Before it could rise, Simon stepped up to it, raised his sword, and stabbed it down into the monster's chest.

The werewolf cried out- Simon had to admit, the beasts were very good at feigning agony. And despite its smaller body, this creature was not a child. He showed no mercy, driving the sword deeper. It screamed even louder, thrashing, but its struggles soon ceased, and the beast fell, limp.

The commotion had drawn a crowd, who were quickly gathering. Simon could hear the people talking. "What happened?" "Look at the body! It's burning up!" "A monster?" "How in Gabriel's name it it get past the barrier?"

"It's alright," Simon said, cleaning and sheathing his sword. "I'm with the Purifiers. The situation has been resolved. You may carry on with your business." He wasn't actually sure what the protocol was for dispatching monsters in the barrier, but saying that kind of thing seemed the most appropriate action.

The crowd was beginning to disperse when Simon noticed someone approaching. He looked, to see Cassandra, clutching her arm. "Well. I see that the Praetor's stories weren't exaggerations," she said. "I'm alright, by the way. It's just a few scratches."

Simon said nothing.

Cassandra blinked, confused by Simon's silence. "Simon? What is it?"

Simon continued to say nothing as he drew his sword again.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked in shock, stumbling back. She then followed his gaze, down to her wound, her eyes widening in sudden realization. "W-Wait, Simon! This is-"

Her pleas fell upon deaf ears. Inquisitor of the Order of the Chalice, heir to a noble family, a potential bride-to-be… all of that vanished in an instant. To Simon, she was one thing now, and one thing only:

An enemy.

Simon pulled back, aiming a swing at the woman's left side. She hastily drew her dagger to block, but staggered from his blow. From her speed, it was clear she had at least some experience. But even so, she was still outmatched- Simon was no ruffian or smuggler, but a trained soldier. He pulled back and struck again with an overhead swing. She tried to block, but the strike caused the dagger to fly from her hands and clatter to the ground. Now he had his chance. He drew back his blade, and thrust it with all his might at the woman.

She tried to leap to the side. But she wasn't fast enough. The blade sank into the left side of her chest, just under her breast.

She gasped in pain. Remorselessly, Simon grabbed her shoulder and pulled her closer, driving the blade further into her chest. She cried out, spluttering, coughing up a bit of blood into his face. Simon didn't flinch. He'd stared death in the face countless times, watched the life drain from his foes more times than he could recall. This was no different.

Shaking, the woman brought up her hands, and gripped the blade of Simon's sword. She pushed, but he didn't budge. Not that her actions would have helped. He struck a mortal blow, and she would die at any moment. "H… how could…" she whispered. Then, she collapsed.

Simon withdrew his sword from the woman's body. Calmly, he wiped the blade of his sword in the crook of his elbow, and sheathed it once more as a pair of guards approached. They wore chainmail suits beneath blue tunics, a golden lantern stitched into the fabric. "What's going on here?" one of the guards demanded.

The crowd, which had returned, began shouting all manner of answers, mostly along the lines of, "That man just murdered that woman!"

One of the guards approached Simon, and said angrily, "Explain yourself!"

Simon looked down at the woman's body. "This woman was attacked by a werewolf and infected with monster energy," he replied. "What I did here was a mercy."

The guard looked over to his companion. "Well?"

"The Purifier's story is true," the other guard answered. "That woman was attacked by some kind of monster."

"I see." The first guard looked back to Simon. "Sir, regardless of your reasons, I'm going to have to place you under arrest."

Simon flinched. "What? Why?"

"Humans… cannot be infected by monster energy within the Great Barrier." The guard retrieved a pair of manacles from his belt. "I need you to come with me."

"I acted to protect the kingdom! You would arrest me for that?" Simon asked, indignant.

The guard began to glare, reaching for his sword. "The courts will decide if your actions were justified. Now, will you come quietly, or not?" The second guard took notice, and turned to face Simon, drawing his sword.

The captain huffed, and held out his arms. "Fine then. I'll surrender myself. But I'm sure the courts will agree that I did the right thing."

Simon was wrong.

The next day, he was brought before a judge. At first, it seemed that Simon would be commended for his actions, and then released. But when it was revealed that Cassandra was a noble, the court's opinion toward him shifted dramatically. He was quickly found guilty, not only of murder, but treason, and his sentence was decided in mere minutes: death. Simon could only look on in shock as he was put in chains and dragged from the courtroom.

The next few days passed in a blur. Simon could only seem to remember fragments: being taken from the castle dungeons and hauled before the Inquisition tribunal, being stripped of his position, and then being thrown into another cell. He recalled Felix visiting at least once. He shouted, the veins popping out of his head like they did during the more fiery parts of his sermons. But Simon couldn't hear the praetor's words. From the moment the manacles were placed on his wrists, it felt as though he were cut off from the rest of the world. He said nothing to anyone, paid no heed to anyone's words. He simply sat, and let the world race past him.

Then, the day finally came. Simon was pulled roughly from his cell by an inquisitor (he noticed the golden goblet embroidered into his uniform), and led from the dungeon beneath the Inquisition headquarters to the square outside. He was then marched up the wooden steps of a large platform, where a man in a black hood stood before a stone block, a long sword in his hands.

He was roughly turned to face the crowd. It was quite large. But then again, the execution of a Purifier, defenders of the realm- and a captain, no less- would be quite the spectacle. "Simon Ozwell," the inquisitor holding him said aloud, "for the crimes of murdering a noble and treason against king and country, you have been sentenced to death by beheading. Have you any last words?"

The words finally reached Simon, and he suddenly awakened, as if from a stupor. But her had nothing to say. He could not deny his actions. And surely, saying anything would only serve to make things worse. His head low, he answered in a low voice, "No sir."

Without another word, Simon was forced to his knees. His chest was laid against the stone block, his head hanging over the edge. He heard the hooded man grunt as he lifted the sword over his head.

There was a sharp sound as the sword fell. And with a single stroke, Simon's head was cleaved from his neck.