Chapter One

Chapter One

“Standing at the foot of the Seraphim Spire, I find myself in awe of its grandeur, it’s even
more beautiful than I had imagined, it’s white-gold exterior almost pierces the clouds
and looms over the City of Avaricum like a protective guardian, the weight of the
faith feels heavy here, it’s both oppressive and comforting” – memoirs of Tamoros
Chrysthenos, a travelling pilgrim of the Seraphim Church.

That ancient and most fabled of Cities, Avaricum, once the shining jewel of an Empire
now stands firmly in the shadow of its great past. Were it not for the Seraphim Church
the city would have fallen into obscurity, a fate unbecoming of a City with as storied a past as Avaricums. Positioned neatly at the tip of a small peninsula, the coastal side of the city still
thrives, with its grand port still in use, yet it is its land facing side that shows the extent
to which the City has lost its grandeur, many ruins and decaying buildings surround the
city which have not seen any upkeep for generations, most prominent of which is several broken aqueducts that used to supply the city with fresh water and the Severi Walls around its outer most edge, which was once a set of three defensive walls, while still in use, have seen great decay. Much of the City still thrives however, its buildings notably whitewashed walls and terracotta roofs still iconic to this day, its many temples, arenas and theatres, built from marbles and granites are a sight of awe
for foreign travellers, its grand avenues still lined with mighty statues. Yet the main
attraction for most is the Praesidian Spire, the beating heart of the Praesidian Order and
home to the revered and most pious Grand Priest Thrennan III.

Also known as the Bright Spire, it is built of white marble which reflects the sunlight
during the day and the moonlight at night, it is by far the tallest structure in Avaricum
and perhaps the known world. At the ground level the Spire is encircled by a circular
structure called the Aureate Cloister, and both are connected via four hallways with
small open spaces between the halls.

With nightfall descending over the City, candles, torches and braziers light up the city,
holding back the void of night, yet they do little against the unrelenting storm which
wages war on the City. Rain battering the streets, walls and rooftops, lightning scarring
the sky leaving a shine on the slick wet walls of the Praesidian Spire. In front of the
Western door of the Aureate Cloister a lone figure stands.

Cloaked in black, the figure is motionless, seemingly unbothered by the raging storm
around them, the heavy fabric of their cloak draped over broad shoulders and trailing
along the wet ground behind them, the hood drawn low, concealing all. The storm whips
at the cloak, causing it to flutter in the wind, the rain soaking the fabric and yet the figure
remains unfazed, to a passerby this figure could be mistaken for a statue, immovable,
unwavering and silent.

For a moment they remained still, their presence only marked by the occasional flash of
lightning reflecting off the slick surface of their cloak. One of the gates into the Aureate
Cloister looms just in front of them, its halls housing the many faithful and devout who
work within.

Then without warning the figure raises a hand from beneath their encompassing cloak.
From beneath the soaked fabric a fist emerges, large, strong and rough, the rain strikes
the exposed skin, beading along its surface, the lightning flashes reflect off the wet skin
revealing scarred flesh. The hand calloused and weathered shows the signs of a life
spent in combat.

With three sharp knocks the figure beats the gate firmly. The sound resonating against
the backdrop of rain and thunder before the hand withdraws back beneath the cloak.
For a moment there is no response, only the patter of rain, yet the figure remains still,
showing no sign of impatience as they wait for the inevitable response from within the
cloister standing like a sentinel at the threshold of something much larger than the
storm around them.

From behind the door, the unmistakable sounds of a hefty lock pierce through the thick
wooden door, metal scrapes and bashes against metal as some unknown hand from
within unlocks the door. Seconds pass by as the clumsy clunking of metal ceases and
the door lazily opens inwards, the wood creaking and hinges whining as the aged door
leaves a hole in the cloisters wall, breaching its defence against the raging tempest
outside. The light from within comes flying out, bathing the street and cloaked figure in
candlelight reflecting off the slick wet cloak.

Standing in the doorway is a short, scrawny figure, a young Novitiate of the Order. Dressed in the plain attire of a Seraphim Novitiate, simple sandals and brown robe with the hood down revealing the bald façade of a boy, barely a young man. Like all Novitiates the boy is as unremarkable and plain as the clothing they wear, just how the Order likes them. The boy looks up at the solitary figure before him and immediately straightens his stance, his eyes widen as a look of shock then fear paints his face as he quickly attempts to calm his heightened nerves.

“Good evening, Knight Marshal” the boy says, his voice ever so slightly quivering.

“The Grand Archon is expecting you, he awaits within the Spire, please, follow me”

The Novitiate signals for the lone figure to enter who simply grunts in response as they step
inside before the Novitiate closes the door behind the Knight Marshal. Directly ahead lies
a hallway leading towards the central spire, to the immediate left and right are two
walled doorways leading further into the cloister. The interior walls are made of the
same cold stone as the exterior with torches on each corner of the square room and a
simple chandelier hanging from the wooden ceiling, the only decoration coming from the
red carpet at the centre of the floor leading to and from doorways and down the hallway.

The Novitiate shuffles his feet along the ground as he leads the Knight Marshal down the
hallway towards the central spire. The Knight Marshal remains hooded, his arms folded and hidden beneath the cloak with droplets of water falling from his cloak onto the dry carpet below. The hallway is of a slightly different construction to the cloister, the base of the walls are made of the same slabs of stone yet halfway up the wall is made from a dark brown wood, providing an element of elegance and sophistication that isn't seen in the more oppressively designed cloister. Halfway down the hallway the wall opens up on either side, two archways providing access to the gardens that fill the gaps between the Cloister and the Spire. As they walk past these archways their feet squelch on the rain soaked patch of carpet as the Knight Marshal looks straight ahead, unbothered by yet another barrage of rainwater as he walks past the archways.

The Novitiate leads the Knight Marshal to a door at the end of the hallway, the door itself is a metal relief of famous figures, myths and legends from the history of both the Order itself and its pantheon of Gods, even down to the intricate design of the iron ring handle that the Novitiate grabs and pulls on with some effort to open the door. As the door slowly gathers momentum, it open with a dull groan before gently coming to a halt against the wall with a loud metallic clunk. The now open doorway exposes the large ground floor chamber of the Seraphim Spire.

As they cross the threshold of the doorway, the Novitiate once again and with slightly more effort, clasps the iron ring handle on the door and shuts it behind them. This dome shaped chamber is bustling with activity even at this time of evening, well lit from candles on the walls and a couple of large candle chandeliers hanging from the flat wooden ceiling. The room itself features the same red carpet that forms a giant cross as it leads from all four hallways, it also forms a ring along the curved wall around the edge of the room. As Hakon and the Novitiate stand, with the Southern hallway to their back, the Northern hallway is directly their opposite, with the Western to their left and the Eastern to their right. A wooden staircase fills the gap between the Northern and Eastern hallway leading further up into the Spire. Dotted around the rest of the room are bookcases, tables and chairs, areas for lectures and most noticeably, in the centre of the room is a small spiral staircase leading downwards beneath the Spire. This staircase is locked within a giant metal cage and has four guards posted around it. 

The Knight Marshal merely glances at the room seemingly disinterested in its grandeur
as he is lead around its outer periphery by the measly Novitiate who never looks up from
the ground as he walks. They both walk towards a set of set of stairs that hug the inner
wall of this grand chamber, walking up they reach another door leading them into the
next floor of the Spire. The Novitiate holds the door open for the Knight Marshal.

“Thank you, my Lord, The Grand Archon awaits in his office, I am not permitted to go any
further” says the Novitiate meekly, clearly intimidated by the presence of the Knight
Marshal, who once again merely grunts at the boy as he walks back down the stairs. The space on this floor is much more limited in comparison to the chamber below, due to its
purpose being to house the offices of the 12 Grand Archons, with the doors to each
office featuring the name of the Grand Archon who dwells within, the walls are lined
with wood and decorated with intricate paintings, the floor is wooden with the same red
carpet travelling throughout, a different atmosphere to the lower levels, less
intimidating and more refined. The Knight Marshall walks further down the cramped,
dimly lit hall space as the names of Grand Archons pass him by, Thaeron Mynthos,
Darius Ardashir, Sassius Venetus Minidia and Dellion Julianus Perennius. The Knight
Marshall reaches the centre of the room where the hallway splits into 4 directions, he
takes a left and walks further down towards the second room on the right as the rooms
of Sheng Xuande Qi and Aneirin Nemetorix pass him before he reaches the door of
Grand Archon Vacellus Proponius Marcellum.

The door is like all the others on this floor, the name sign dimly reflecting the light as the
Knight Marshal once again lifts his toughened hand from beneath his robes and firmly
knocks on the door. A muffled voice from within promptly responds.

“Enter”

With the same hand the Knight Marshal clasps the round iron doorknob, with a firm
twist the door lock releases, and the door opens wide revealing a decorated yet dimly lit
office space. The room is almost entirely square with the outer wall matching the
curvature of the spire, at it’s centre is a small round wooden table decorated solely with
a collection of candles which barely light the room. To the right is an ornate wooden
desk with a collection of papers, books and other objects one would typically find on a
desk. Several bookshelves and paintings are dotted around the room, a large window on
the curved wall let’s in a little moonlight but the persistent storm bathes it in rainwater.
Standing by the window, bathed in moonlight stands a lone tall figure, again their
features hidden behind a beautiful crimson robe with gold accents. The figure looks in
the direction of the Knight Marshal, for a second their face is hidden in darkness,
nothing but a dark cavern in place of their face. The figure lowers their hood and reveals
the face of an older gentleman, his face is pot marked and wrinkly, the skin beginning to
sag, their eyes a dim yellow having lost the bright golden colouring typical of younger
Avaricans. His eyebrows are bushy and greying, his hair, also greying, is thinning and
receding. The Knight Marshal steps further into the room.

“Grand Archon” he says bowing his head gently in reverence. His voice is gruff, deep and
slow, reverberating around the room.

“Knight Marshal, good. Take a seat” Grand Archon Vacellus signals for the Knight
Marshal to sit at the table, his voice is sharp, quick and crystal clear, it almost seems to
carry an edge that could cut. In his hands are several sheets of paper which he places
on the table before placing the tip of his finger on them, tapping on them gently.
“From what I see here, your last task was a resounding success, you show such…
efficiency, but of course we’ve come to expect that from you haven’t we?” Vacellus
looks towards the Knight Marshal with a wry, uncomfortable smile as he remains
standing beside the table, his eyes locked on the Knight Marshal, unwavering, intimidating.

“Such ruthlessness, pragmatism - ” suddenly he pauses, his brows furrow, and he seems
to show a slight annoyance, his voice sharpens as he speaks again. “Do remove your
hood Hakon, it is most frustrating speaking to a dark void in place of a face”
The Knight Marshal, Hakon, obliges and with both hands he slides the hood down the
back of his head whereupon it rests on his shoulders, the dim candlelight revealing the
face of a man who is not quite considered old, but his best years are past. His eyes are
his most poignant feature, icy blue like the winter sky, his head is bald and a large
unkept bushy beard define his face, thick wrinkles, signs of fatigue and several scars
decorate his face, yet despite this, Hakon has the look of a toughened, seasoned
warrior, the square and muscly shaping of his head coupled with his sharp, square
jawline define a man who is not to be trifled with. Yet despite Hakon’s fierce look, he
remains silent as Vacellus speaks again.

“Better” Vacellus takes a breath and clasps his hands behind his back, straightening his
posture before continuing. “Your calculated efficiency is why you are here, the Order
has further use of you – by now you will no doubt have heard the rumours, the Order
has encountered some minor irritant in a backwater hamlet deep within the Gallian
Tribelands”

“Mag Luachmhar” says Hakon, confirming his knowledge of these troubling rumours.

“Yes, it seems this unremarkable village has inexplicably remained unaffected by the
plague and famine that has been ravaging the Tribelands for the past few years, an
anomaly which has prompted investigation” Vacellus walks over to his desk and grabs a
new set of papers. “As our suspicions grew we sent an Orderly Knight to investigate, one of their Novitiates returned a blubbering, maddened fool claiming the local Gallian foliage had tried to seduce him" Vacellus pauses for a moment as he chuckles at his memory of the young Novitiate before rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "Given this had most likely taken the lives of the Orderly and the other Novitiates we dispatched several Praesidian Knights, they too have failed to return, evidently their faith wavered and they have succumb to whatever Demonic influence has infected that pustulant little backwater village, you know as well as I do that any investigation that results in the vanishing of several members of the Order is cause for concern"

Vacellus lets the papers slip from his hands and drop to the floor, one hand settles
behind his back while with the other he points directly at Hakon.

“Now your faith will not waver, will it, Hakon?” Vacellus speaks in a way that heavily
implies he is making a statement rather than asking a question, but before Hakon can
respond Vacellus spreads his arms and a smile grows across his face “Ah, what am I
saying, when has Hakon Runarsson ever failed the Order, for his faith is stronger than
all, the chosen champion of Vemephrae herself, he could never fail!” Vacellus starts
laughing as he grabs a goblet from his desk and drinks from it before continuing.

“I wouldn’t know how the Order would even react to such an…. Unlikely event”

Vacellus’ eyes stare at Hakon as he smiles, unsettling Hakon as an eery, uncomfortable
silence descends upon the room.

“I live to serve” Hakon responds, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“That you do Hakon, that you do, you will leave for Mag Luachmhar in the morning, you
will investigate the source of the demonic influence and you will purge it, no matter the
cost, saving the lives of the townspeople is no longer the main concern, it is the spread
of demonic influence that concerns the Order, this task is no longer about saving lives,
it is about eliminating a threat” Vacellus walks back over to the table and using his fists
he places them on the table in front of Hakon and leans in front of him, his eyes locking
onto Hakons. “The previous men we sent used faith as a shield to protect the weak,
whereas you have been chosen because you use faith as a blade to destroy evil, you
understand the difference, do not prove me wrong”

“I will not fail you Grand Archon” Hakon says firmly, clearly confident in his abilities

“Of course you won’t” Vacellus’ words sound more threatening than reassuring, “Also,
you have been assigned a young Novitiate to accompany you” Hakon responds quickly,

“I work better alone” says Hakon dismissively

"You will do as the Order commands!" Vacellus quickly snaps back, clearly not appreciative of Hakon's dissent. He then takes a moment to regain his composure, letting out a slow sigh before returning his gaze to Hakon and smiling unnaturally. "The Order feels this particular Novitiate is in need of greater guidance, she has great potential, we would hate to see it wasted"

“Does the Council wish me to act as her mentor and patron? It is not common for a
Knight Marshal to have an associate Novitiate” ponders Hakon, clearly not used to filling
the role of a mentor.

“The Council does, and you are right, however the Council sees her worth and does not
wish to see her fail at The Choosing, you must mould her Hakon, young Allusa could be
a great boon to the Order” Vacellus’ words could be mistaken for caring for the girl,
however Vacellus only sees people as the tools they can become, he values her worth,
not her.

“Very well” Hakon accepts the outcome knowing there’s nothing he can do about it.
Vacellus turns to face Hakon.

"Oh, another thing, as luck would have it, Mag Luachmhar is her childhood home, she might help bridge any, cultural challenges" Vacellus shrugs as he tries to find ways in which she could help Hakon. He walks back over to his desk and sits down, shuffling some papers around and picking up a quill, he then recentres his gaze upon Hakon and points the quill at him.

“A word of caution, do not grow to care for the girl, I am aware of your past, The Order comes first, always" Vacellus stares at Hakon with a serious look on his face, his lips pursed and his eyes remaining open and steadfast. Hakon simply nods in response.

"GOOD!" Vacellus exclaims, suddenly appearing all cheery. "You leave for Mag Luachmhar in the morning, that will be all, goodnight, Knight Marshal” Vacellus turns his attention to the papers on the desk as he begins to write, clearly expecting Hakon to leave.

"Before I leave -" Hakon stands, in doing so the chair scrapes along the floor creating an almost painful scraping sound, in a flash Vacellus drops the quill, his eyes suddenly glow bright yellow and a beautifully intricate necklace depicting an Eagle he is wearing glows bright red, matching the colours of the gems within the necklace. Hakons chair quickly floats across the floor, its feet just off the floor before it's dropped back down a few feet behind Hakon. As the chair returns to its idle state, Vacellus' eyes and necklace cease glowing.

"Do pick up the damn chair when you stand, such lack of manners is unbecoming of a Knight Marshal, particularly one of your stature" Vacellus snaps at Hakon "Now what were you about to say and be quick about it, you have taken enough of my time as is" Vacellus demeanour shifts as he grows increasingly tired of Hakons presence.

"My apologies" Hakon remains calm and stoic as always, unbothered by Vacellus' attempts at dominating the conversation "You said one of the Novitiates returned? Might I speak with them?"

"Very well, I'm not sure how much help he will be, he's quite mad, you'll find him in the dungeon attempting to claw his out to get to the foliage outside" Vacellus struggles to finish his sentence while laughing at the thought of the Novitiate and his new found infatuation for foliage.

"Thank you Grand Archon, I will see myself out" Hakon turns to leave, but places the chair back in its proper place beside the table first"

"Yes, yes" Vacellus mutters as Hakon turns to the leave, leaving Vacellus scribbling away behind him, as he steps out of the room he once again clasps the iron doorknob and shuts the door gently before sliding his hood over his head again.

Hakon returns to the grand chamber as he heads straight for the Northern hallway, as he walks past several people, dignitaries, Novitiates and Knights, they all bow their heads in some sort of hushed reverence at the man. Hakon walks into the Northern hallways and exits the open archway to the right into one of the small gardens. This garden is simple, like the others, grass and trees would make up the aesthetic were it not for the entrance to the dungeons, a slight extension to the exterior of the base of the Spire with a simple wooden door guarded by two Knights who recognise Hakon on sight and hurriedly stand aside to let him past, as they do so they place their fists on their chests and salute Hakon as he grunts in response and opens the door to the dungeon, a strong gust of wind slams into the door and causes the wet ring handle to slip from his fingers, the door swings open and slams into the stone wall with a dull thud. This startles one of the guards who visibly jumps, Hakon turns to face him, his face hidden within the dark hood. The Guard, after losing control of his body from the slamming door, begins to shiver from the cold rain drenching him in his thin leather armour. After a few seconds he regains his composure yet a slight look of sheepishness lingers on his face, unsure of whether or not Hakon will perceive his shivering and shock as weakness and the resulting response to that.

Hakon continues to stare for a moment longer before turning to face the doorway to the dungeon and walking down the stares. The Guard breathes a quick sigh of relief as he shuts the door behind Hakon.