The Hall of Wisdom

Part Three

The scene we now find ourselves examining is that of a particularly unique environment, one of which few eyes have ever rested upon, at least within the past thousand years or so. Far beneath the soil of Eden, nestled within the winding catacombs that snake beneath its surface, lays our point of interest. The most astute reader could recognize this setting as a familiar one, for these very caverns may very well have served home to the ancient men of Eden so many years ago, during the war that would one day birth the Decusian faith, and serve to reclaim the surface of the world from the dreaded Illblooded.

This coy idea, however, is not the object of attention for this portion of our story. No, curious reader, the focus of our tale is of those who claim these subterranean labyrinths as their homes in the present day and age. How ironic that we find the feared and dreaded Resolve, supposed avatars of power incarnate, huddling beneath the surface like moles and arachnid. Yet it is here, in portions of this unseen and unknown underworld, that they plot and plan, study and experiment, pray and worship, all the while the surface above is subjected to the horrors of the Everdark.

It is here, in this underground maze, that the Resolve have flourished for so many countless years. Within these dank caves and caverns, they have created themselves a kingdom all their own. What once served as homes and shelters for the depraved humans of Eden now exist as temples and shrines, crafted by the hands of those so unfortunate to have followed the Resolve in blind faith over the countless centuries of their existence, and tended to by the denizens of Hell itself. How aghast the peoples of Vitaveus would be upon the discovery of such vileness beneath their very feet, yet for centuries have the dark followers of the Thrones guarded their secrets with the upmost prejudice. And even if such a place could be discovered by mortal eyes, the sight of which they would be presented would undoubtedly be mistaken as Hell itself.

We cannot ever be certain of the true numbers the Resolve claims during these dark days, nor can we speculate as to the fates of the thousands whom had joined the cause during the early days of the Torment. However, my curious reader, we can take comfort in knowing that the strongest of their kind, the hooded and mysterious figures that enjoy frequenting the Decusian people, have now been reduced to a mere five, one most recently felled to the hands of a few valiant Decusians. It would be foolish, however, to dismiss their shallow numbers for weakness. It is believed in some circles that the original founding members of the Resolve had not been an army nor gathering of hundreds, but only a consortium of thirteen errant magi, damned and forsaken mages who had sold their souls to the deities of Hell for power eternal. Their power, while near absolute, had been shared amongst them all, akin to a fresh ale passed amongst friends. And thus, when there are fewer thirsts to quench, there is more drink to be had for those who wish to partake.

Whatever the case may be concerning the powers of the Resolve, it is important to know only this, my dear reader; their power is not without bounds, and as of late, those of the remaining founders of the forsaken cult had been growing increasingly desperate. The time of the Culling was soon at hand, and one of the strongest of their kind had been slain at the hands of the zealous Decusians. Plans had been laid, and events set in motion, both of which could not be undone. Assistance was needed, and needed soon. An undertaking such as the Culling would require every one of the remaining five founding fathers to successfully accomplish.

And thus, dear reader, out of desperation we find two of the founding fathers of the Resolve standing silently before a gateway, an ancient door leading into an abyss of their own design, deep within a long forgotten portion of Eden’s underworld. Both of the hooded figures look upon the sigils that cover the ancient stone door they stand before with apprehension, knowing all too well what lays behind it. It is a curiously ironic idea that two individuals whom carry the blood of millions upon their hands may be stricken with such fear, those who converse and deal with daemons and the denizens of Hell whom now stand frozen with uncertainty. Yet there they both stand, silently mustering the courage to open the ancient door, to look upon what they loathe and fear.

As with anyone driven by pure desperation, however, they eventually move forward, through the gateway to certain damnation, through long and dark hallways carved from ancient stone and earth. For what seems like days, they walk in darkness, descending farther into the depths of Eden and perhaps Hell itself, until they finally arrive at their destination…