“The Legionnaires went ahead, first breaching the exterior gate, then climbing over the rock, rubble, fallen trees and charred bodies that had served to block the main roadway into the town proper. I along with half of the remaining forces of the three-hundred and fifth Templar stayed behind as to ensure they were not flanked while making their way into the town. From the exterior, Subodh looked ghastly; fires ravished the rooftops of nearly all the huts and shanties, and the big cherry trees that lined the north and east sides of the settlement were up strung with the corpses of the fallen – hundreds by my count. It looked like Hel on earth.”
“We held our ground as the Legionnaires cleared the way. There wasn’t any resistance. The Colonial cohort followed them. You could say by this point we were desperate for help, and those colonists had some mettle to them, and with the majority of our forces re-assigned to MacArthur’s Gate, we didn’t have a lot of options left. Once the Colonial forces made their way in to the village safely, I and the 305th followed up the rear, ensuring that we were not attacked from behind.”
“I first noticed the construct I have been tasked to write this statement about immediately after making my way into the center of the city from the western gate. From the horizon, it was impossible to see – at the time, I thought it was just due to smoke obscuring its view. Now, looking back, I am sure it was witchery cloaking it from view outside of being directly atop it. The constructs themselves towered a good three, perhaps four stories above the tallest building in the village, and they appeared to be crafted from a dark stone that looked unfamiliar and ancient. The construction took the form of a pair of towers, with an open space between them large enough to fit three wagons wide. At the base of each tower was amassed the remains of dozens, if not hundreds, of both Bhaskarians and Decusians. They looked fresh – perhaps only days old, but they were in bad sorts; many appeared to have been in various states of dismemberment and mutilation.”
“As we stood in awe of the sight before us, we were set upon by the enemy unprepared. I personally witnessed four Templar fall to the hands of the Resolve’s foot-soldiery in under a blink of an eye. Whatever obscuring magic had kept us from being able to observe the towering monolith had seemingly also concealed the Resolvist swordsmen. More than five dozen of the ambushers had been lying in wait for us, and even with our numbers of more than a hundred, we were sorely outmatched. Despite this, we managed to hold our own through the intial ambush and managed some semblance of a defensive line, no less than fifty feet from the base of the construct. As we tried to fight our way out of the square and retreat, I bore witness to the construct reacting to the scene at hand – for every Decusian whom fell, activity began to stir between the two towers of the construct – as if a fierce wind began to pick up, isolated solely between the two towers. As more of our Colonials, Templars and Legionnaires fell, the swirling activity between the towers grew with intensity, until light and colors materialized out of thin air.”
“I had then managed to make out the visage of a hooded figure at the foot of the tower, coalescing from within the swirling wind and materializing colors. Behind the figure, the outline of a beast – of whose size and proportions that I still to this day dare not fathom more than a glancing thought of – began to take shape. It was then that I had come to realize the purpose of the tower constructs – it was undoubtedly a magical gateway of some sort, not unlike those I once observed a Consortium Arcanist summon, only much, much larger. Yet where the gateway led, I dare not venture a guess, lest I may lose whatever vestiges of sanity I have left within my shattered psyche.”
“Before I could even utter a word of warning to the others around me, Seraph Landcaster and a dozen of the 305th sprung into action. I recognized a few of them from around Ironhollow – they had been following around the Seraph for weeks prior, ever since his arrival in the Downs, and they revered him like the second coming of Decus. They moved with purpose, making a hole through the Resolve swordsmen and toward the construct. Somehow, against all odds, they made it to the foot of the gate, and without a moment’s hesitation, threw themselves into the maw.”
“Immediately after the Seraph and his men breached the gate from our side, I, along with many, had been knocked to the ground in a gust of wind and blinding light emanating from the construct. It was then I heard it. We all did – the howl of the beast. It was unnatural, feral, and overtaken with rage. It is my solemn duty to attest that I believe the being to have been Daemonic in nature, and that it had been the Resolve’s intention to lead us into the village to help facilitate the creature’s entry into our realm through the slaughter of wholesale slaighter of faithful Decusians. If it were not for the actions of the Seraph and his brave fellows, I cannot fathom what may have happened if the beast were to have had walked through the gate.”
“Under pain of death, I admit to the council that I, High Inquisitor Aeneas Eleutherios’, had then led a full-scale retreat from the village of Subodh. Moments after our remaining forces had made their way out of the village, what felt like a massive earthquake shook the entire peninsula. In the calamity of the situation, I was knocked unconscious. I awoke hours later to my brethren pulling me through a meadow surrounding the outskirts of Niranjan, which we had later found to be completely abandoned…”
“…and so on and so forth.”
The Consul raised his head up from the statement before him, casting his gaze upon the assembled souls with a callous, cold look. Methodically, he folded his hands over the yellowed parchment, awaiting a response. He cast a harsh look upon the assembled two hundred or so Bishops in attendance, seated upon ascending concentric rows of thrones in a semi-circle around the dais he stood upon. The Consul’s gray eyes moved to each one of them for a fleeting moment, as if challenging them to speak up. Satisfied with the assembled silence, the Consul took the Inquisitor’s report had had been reading from, folded it once, and returned it to the brass strongbox that had been used to transport it to the Ecclesial Council for dissemination.
After a long moment of stunned silence, a wavering voice reverberated through the Eccesial chamber. Bishop Erasmus’ accent bore a thick Volgen slur, the words emanating from his weathered lips shaky and unsure.
“A Daemon then. Is this what the Inquisitor claims in his statement, Consul? Can it be true?”
The Consul adjusted his monocle and stole a look to the far end of the auditorium chamber – to the general direction of the elder Bishop’s throne arrangement – before speaking.
“The only Seraph known to have been physically present for the events in Subdoh was that of Seraph Landcaster. As the Authority dictates, the testament of an ordained Seraph is needed when concerning such sensitive matters – the word of a simple Inquisitor is not sufficient evidence to make a ruling in this matter. And for good cause, my excellency – I’ve no reason to believe the ravings of an obvious madman.”
Bishop Erasmus nodded politely, lowering his gaze.
“Whatever “beast” was witnessed by our forces in the old colonies was no doubt parlor tricks. Smoke and mirrors by the Resolve – or even more likely, at the hands of Consortium Apostates breaking rank the moment they tasted a bit of freedom from Republic rule.”
A voice from the one of the lower seated rows, this time delicate and refined, broke the momentary silence. A Bishop from Nemus, by the name of Aristarchus.
“And only twenty-seven souls of this Inquisitor’s patron Clergy are accounted for, Consul?”
What could be interpreted only as a stifled sneer appeared briefly across the Consul’s chiseled face. He drew a long breath, and then submitted his reply.
“Twenty-seven, aye your excellence. Of which eighteen remain alive as of today. All of them properly incarcerated for the time being, as mentioned in my brief prior to the Inquisitor’s read testimony. As I explained earlier, it is the will of the Archbishop himself that these fellows are inspected by the Diaconate, and perhaps even the Garden, for fear of heretical thought and tainted souls. No doubt these men, including the Inquisitor, have been through much in their time in the Old Colonies, yet such incoherent and false ramblings concerning Daemons and the occult simply -cannot- be excused, even when made by those suffering from the mental traumas of war.”
Aristarchus brought a slender hand to his bottom lip, running the tip of his thumb across it. The bishop’s eyes darted to and fro, a nervous look filling them. A few long moments of silence filled the chambers. After what seemed like an eternity, the Consul nodded to himself, gathering his assembled materials. Standing from the throne he had been situated upon, he had looked upon the assembled bishops with little sign of reverence. He spoke yet again, this time with forcefulness.
“It is the conclusion of the Consul’s office that the College disregard, in its’ entirety, Inquisitor Eleutherios’ sworn statement concerning the happenings in Subodh. He was obviously under significant duress during his time within the Old Colonies, and his testament is evident of such. Notwithstanding is he and his men’s disobedience in returning to Vitaveus after the Authority’s direct order of non-contact with the Republic proper. The Inquisitor is tainted with madness, as were his compatriots, and they were all driven to abandon their duties in the End of the World when word reached them of temporary suspension of Colonial support. Which I may remind you, has saved countless thousands of gold in the last month alone…”
The assemblage responded with a few hushed whispers and ramblings. The Consul continued.
“It is the Consul’s opinion, and coincidentally that of the Archbishop’s office, that this Republic has lost sacrificed enough lives in the pursuit of fallacies and fairy tales. Whatever “beast” was witnessed by our forces in the old colonies was no doubt parlor tricks. Smoke and mirrors by the Resolve – or even more likely, at the hands of Consortium Apostates breaking rank the moment they tasted a bit of freedom from Republic rule. There is no proof that any arcanist upon the face of Eden, not even the Resolve cultists, possess the power to traverse realms and summon forth the Dae’. To even suggest that a mortal could hold such power is blasphemy! We have sacrificed far too much in the name of old superstitious tales of mystical artifacts that bend the powers of both Heaven and Hel – it is time that we put the Old Colonies behind us, once and for all.”
The Consul looked across the College of Bishops once more, and without another word, turned towards the council exit. His footsteps reverberated upon the marble floor of the hall and across the sprawling center dais, accentuating the stammering point he had made moments prior. Making his way across the to the other side of the auditorium, he continued his pointed remarks.
“Our work in the Old Colonies is over. It is time to focus on the wellbeing of our Republic rather than expending resources halfway across the world. MacArthur’s Gate has, and will always be, a fool’s errand, and -as- -we- -all- -know-, the Archbishop nor the Authority tolerate fools gladly. With that said, it is of the opinion of this Consul that any future returning members of the Colonial efforts in the End of the World are never given such a platform as we have been forced to entertain in this unsavory business with High Inquisitor Eleutherios.”
More hushed whispers. The Consul craned his neck back towards the College of Bishops, as if challenging them to speak up in defiance. Satisfied that there was no argument, the Consul continued. As his free hand reached out towards the doors of the auditorium, a voice arose from the sea of silence. It was soft, yet rang of confidence, coming from somewhere far in the upper-echelons of the auditorium seats.
“Consul, I beg of thee, a final question?”
The Consul stopped in his tracks, gritting his teeth. Taking a moment to adjust his monocle, he turned. Nearly in unison, the assembled Bishops followed suit, craning their necks to acknowledge the new voice. Far in the top rows of the auditorium, reserved for the lowliest and least important clergymen of the College, stood a middle-aged man of average height and import. From initial appearances, he bore the look of a humble man, foregoing many of the elaborate trappings, baubles, adornments, and jewelry of his brethren clergymen, and instead opting to ordain the simplest standard trappings of a Templar, save the identifying tunic and cape of his proper station of Bishop. He had undoubtedly been a serviceman once, his posture exuding a confidence that can only be earned in battle, complete with a stony expression that exuded humility but also demanded recognition.
The Consul wavered slightly at the sight of the Bishop yet regained his composure quickly.
“Yes, my excellency?”
The words were prompt and spat out quickly. The Bishop replied.
“The Seraph in the Inquisitor’s report. Is there any news concerning his fate?”
The Consul shifted in place. His gaze adverted towards the ground for a moment, attempting to stifle a sneer, at last recognizing the Bishop of whom had asked him the question.
“No, your excellency. Your so-…ahem…Seraph Landcaster remains absent without leave.”
Bishop Johan Landcaster kept his stern, stoic expression. He had already known the answer the question he had posed – his own flesh and blood had been named in the Inquisitor’s report as being responsible for closing the Resolve’s summoning gate, no doubt sparing thousands a fate worse than death, and he no doubt met his untimely demise right there and then in Subdoh. Yet his question was not for his own sake, but more so for his assembled brethren – in the gathering of the hundreds of Bishops that now sat within the auditorium, he had wanted to pique every one’s attention to the fact that not only had his very own son had been regarded as a hero in the Inquisitor’s sworn statement, but that a Seraph of the Decusian Church had still been unaccounted for. His strategy has worked; nearly all his fellow clergymen had now looked upon him with curiosity. Taking advantage of the moment, Bishop Landcaster moved towards the auditorium isle, and descended the stairs to the floor. He rubbed his chin pointedly, feigning a moment of pondering thought – in truth, he had rehearsed this moment for days, and rubbing his chin had helped calm his nerves.
The Bishop paused for a moment as he approached the auditorium dais, looking upon the portrait that lined auditorium’s far wall. The scene depicted Archangel Decus extending his outstretched hands to a gathered assemblage of men and women. The scene dated back centuries, and this take upon it had been more than a hundred years old itself. It was truly a masterpiece in every sense of the word and looking upon it had always instilled within the Bishop a sense pf reverence and spirituality. Prying his eyes away from the work of art, his eyes rested back upon the Consul. With renewed vigor, his next words came out as softly as his original inquiry, but with enough volume to ensure that not a single world was misunderstood by the assembled clergy.
“And of the Garden’s Assets, Consul? Did they return to Vitaveus with Inquisitor Eleutherios’ men? Have they reported their own findings as to what is happening in the Old Colonies?”
The Consul physically reeled. A ruckus enveloped the chambers, the assembled Bishops surprised by the accusation.
“Wh..what are you talking abo-…”
``Before I could even utter a word of warning to the others around me, Seraph Landcaster and a dozen of the 305th sprung into action. I recognized a few of them from around Ironhollow – they had been following around the Seraph for weeks prior, ever since his arrival in the Downs, and they revered him like the second coming of Decus.``
The Bishop interrupted, bridging the gap between he and the Consul across the dais. He gave the Consul no time to think, hammering him with another question, his tone of voice now becoming louder and more accusatory.
“There are still those that serve the Church without question, Consul – those that would report when even the Authority steps outside of its’ purview. ”
The Bishop clenched his fist, now standing face to face with the Consul.
“Answer the question. Has the Garden been opened without the College’s knowledge? Has a Tender been commissioned without approval? Have we turned so far from Decus that we now openly wield the tools of the enemy without so much as an acknowledgement given to the ruling council of this very Authority we claim to hold over this Republic!?”
The Consul fumbled with his materials, parchments spilling to the floor. He turned quickly on his heel, moving towards the auditorium exit, intent on escaping…
…only to be brought to his knees with a swift elbow to the kidney by Bishop Landcaster. Surprised gasps filled the chambers as the Bishop grabbed the back of the Consul’s crushed velvet tunic, pulling his slack, lithe body up from the marble floor, turning him to face his brethren Bishops. The clamoring of plate mail and the unsheathing of swords reverberated through the auditorium as four heavily armored Diaconate Templar rushed forth from their guard positions on either side of the auditorium, moving in to intervene. Unphased, Landcaster unsheathed a stiletto from beneath his own chainmail tunic, placing the tip beneath the Consul’s chin – the Templar guards stopped in their tracks, uncertain of their next move.
“Answer me, Consul. Answer the College. In the name of your savior, in the name of the Archangel, speak truth, lest I bloody the floors of this Chamber, so help me Decus.”
The Consul shrieked, kicking his feet about. Cowardice consumed him, and he began stammering.
“U..Uh…Unaccounted for! The Tender is presumed dead…lost with the others!”
The Bishop at last pushed the Consul away, sneering in disgust. Clamoring outrage washed over the auditorium as the assembled Bishops reacted to the outrageous news. The four Diocanate Templar rushed over the Consul’s aid, blades drawn and pointed in the direction of Bishop Landcaster. Two of the Templar had even made steps towards Landcaster in an ill-conceived notion of attempting to arrest him – which they had immediately reconsidered as the assembled College of Bishops shouted them down in anger.
“It is not the right Archbishop to authorize the release of a Tender upon any lands of Eden without express approval of the College, Consul! You would have us believe that the Archbishop is convinced that MacArthur’s Gate is a worthless stack of stone and mortar in the ass-end of the world, yet he sends a certified Diabolist and a coven of Witches half-way across the world there for no apparent reason!?”
The Consul squealed as the Diaconate Templar ushered him to the exit. His voice came out in a scratchy squeak, barely audible over the roaring clamor of the auditorium chambers.
“You question the Archbishop, Landcaster!?”
The audacity of the Consul, even when faced with the chaotic and dangerous situation before him had somehow emboldened the Bishop. Taking an armored fist to his chain-mail tunic, he pounded his chest three times in a traditional Templar “psych-up” technique and then raised his voice to near shouting-levels, making his final enamored plea to the assembled clergy.
“My brethren, I ask of thee: why has the Garden been commissioned by the Archbishop without regard to our Holy Sacrament? The Garden Tenders and their accursed progeny have always been, and shall always be, options of -absolute- last resort. To use them with such blatant disregard to our own moral convictions and Ecclesial rules is nigh blasphemy. And I ask further, my brethren, why are we so hasty to dismiss the word of an Inquisitor of our Faith – the very vanguard of our Republic against the taint of heresy and evil? Why have we have abandoned our forces in the End of the World just when they had begun making progress against the forces of the Resolve, all under the guise of our efforts being misguided and futile? No less than a year ago, we assembled here in this very chamber to send thousands of our brothers and sisters to face to keep our mortal enemies from obtaining the Relic enshrined within MacArthur’ Gate. We have sacrificed thousands in the name of the Old Texts, out of fear of what may become of us all if our enemies acquire the Doctrine. I ask of thee, my brethren, when did we lose our faith in the founding principles of what makes us Decusians? When did we turn from the lessons of the One True God!?”
The roaring clamor of the auditorium was now at a fever-pitch. Bishops young and old joined in on the fervent cries that carried forth within the hall – cries of blasphemy, treason, heresy intertwined with shouts of honor, duty, sacrifice and diligence. Dissenting voices screamed at one another, some citing Decusian scripture while others called them superstitious fools. While the assembled College was far from a unanimous voice, Landcaster had accomplished more than he had possibly hoped for. Doubt had been cast upon the actions of the new Archbishop, and from this doubt, opportunity for change would soon blossom. For many within the Authority had been opposed to the Archbishop’s decisions, yet few dared speak out for fear of retribution. Finding the opportunity to cast doubt upon the Archbishop’s intentions with his anonymously received tip about the Garden had been Landcaster’s original plan, yet once he began talking, he could not help himself to go further. Reminding the College of the Doctrine had been hasty and reckless and would undoubtedly label him as a zealot – none the less, it had incensed the College to a fervor that he had not witnessed in years.
Bearing witness to the chaos erupting around him, the Consul scrambled to the auditorium exit, Diaconate Templar at his side. Bishop Landcaster allowed him to take his leave, for his point had been made – there were those that had questioned the Archbishops motivations as of late, and they would not go quietly into the dark of night.