"Soren Thorne," the central figure intoned, voice distorted by the mask and the roaring flame between them. "You stand before the sacred fire that burns away falsehood. Here, lies wither. Here, heresy burns."
Soren's mouth had gone dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he tried to swallow. The heat was unbearable, yet something about the flame drew him closer, called to him with voices he couldn't quite hear.
"We begin with intent," the masked Inquisitor continued. "The root from which all corruption grows."
Another figure moved forward, producing a scroll from which he read in that same ancient, resonant tongue. With each word, the flame pulsed brighter, reaching toward Soren like a living thing hungry for contact.
"You harbor forbidden knowledge," the central Inquisitor accused, the mask rendering his features immobile, inhuman. "You consort with Naeria Veyl, vessel of corruption. You bear within you the taint of heresy."