The Hall of Wisdom

“The others went ahead, breaching the interior gate, climbing over the rock and rubble that had served to block the western gate. There was about six of us that stayed behind to assure no Resolvists flanked our forces from the rear. From the exterior, the village held a ghastly appearance; fires ravished the rooftops of nearly all the huts and shanties, trees were strung with bodies of the fallen, and the ground itself had been charred and burned.”

“We held our ground as the first and second platoons made entry. The colonists followed them. As it appeared that all enemy forces had been cleared during the approach to the village, I followed the last of the civilians into the village of Subodh to assist my brethren.”

“I first noticed the construct immediately after making my way into the center of the city. From the west it was impossible to spot due to smoke obscuring. Once I had entered the village, however, it was obvious that the fires had been set purposely to shroud the “project”. The constructs themselves towered a good three or four stories above the tallest building in the village, and appeared to be crafted from a dark stone. The construction was actually a pair of towers, with an open space between. At the base of each had been a pile of what appeared to be human skulls. From my estimate, I can safely say there had been more than two or three hundred of them piled around each tower foundation.” 

The counselor raised his head finally, looking upon the assembled souls with a callous, cold expression. Methodically, he folded his hands over the yellowed parchment, awaiting a response. He cast a harsh gaze upon all twenty in attendance, moving to each of them, challenging them to speak. He took the Inquisitor’s report had had been reading from, folded it once, and slipped it into a leather satchel beside his throne.

It was Bishop Erasmus that broke the silence. His accent bore a thick Volgen slur, the words eminating from his weathered lips shaky and unsure.

“A Dae, then, yahs? Ist thus whut has been agreed upon by tha’ council?”

The counselor adjusted his monocle, and stole a look to the far end of the chamber before speaking. He cleared his throat, then spoke up, his voice monotone and nasal.

“The only Seraph commissioned to the Inquisitor company is missing in action. As doctrine dictates, the testament of an ordained servitor is needed when concerning such sensitive matters.”

Bishop Erasmus nodded politely, lowering his gaze.

A voice from the back of the room, this time delicate and refined, broke the momentary silence. A bishop from Nemus, by the name of Aristarchus.

“And only twenty seven of the entire company is accounted for, counselor?”

What could be interpreted only as a stifled sneer appeared briefly across the counselor’s chiseled face. He drew a long breath, and then submitted his reply.

“Twenty seven, of which eighteen remain alive. Incarcerated for the time being, as mentioned in the brief prior. It is the will of Archbishop Anslem that they are inspected by the Council, for fear of possession and taint.”

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 counselor nodded to himself, gathering his assembled materials. Standing from the wooden throne, 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 Council that we disregard Inquisitor Eleutherios’ report concerning the happenings in Subodh. He was obviously under significant duress, and his testament is evident of such.”

The assemblage responded with a few hushed whispers and ramblings. The counselor continued.

“We have lost enough lives in the pursuit of fallacies and fairy tales. Whatever was witnessed by our forces in the old colonies was no doubt parlor tricks. Smoke and mirrors by the Resolve. What was seen in Subodh is no doubt a pagan idol, and nothing more. There is no proof that the cultists possess the power to walk the realms. To even suggest such is…blasphemy.”

The counselor looked across the College of Bishops once more, and without another word, turned towards the chamber doors. His footsteps reverberated against the marble floor. He spoke as he walked, grinning inwardly.

“Furthermore, it can be ascertained from the reports hailing from Macarthur’s Gate that the Exsequiae does not exist. Our work in the old colonies is over. It is time to focus on the wellbeing of our Republic rather than expending resources half way across the world…”

More hushed whispers. The counselor 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 counselor continued on. As his free hand reached out towards the chamber doors, a voice arose from the sea of silence. It was soft, yet rang of confidence.

“Counselor?”

The counselor stopped in his tracks, gritting his teeth. Taking a moment to adjust his monocle, he turned. In unison, the assembled bishops did as well. Standing at the far head of the granite table was an older man, a bishop of seasoned years. From his appearance, he had looked to of been a warrior once, his posture exuding a confidence that can only be earned in battle.

The counselor wavered slightly.

“Yes, my liege?”

The words were prompt and spat out quickly. The bishop replied.

“The Seraph. Is there any word concerning his fate?”

The counselor shifted in place. His gaze adverted towards the ground.

“No, my lord. Your…son has not been accounted for.”

Bishop Johan Landcaster kept a stern expression. He had already known the answer the question he had posed. It hadn’t mattered. Taking a step away from his position at the table, the Bishop began to stride through the chamber, approaching the counselor. His fellow clergymen looked upon him with curiousness and apprehension.

The Bishop paused for a moment, looking upon a portrait that lined the wall next to him. The scene depicted the Archangel Decus extending his outstretched hands to a gathered assemblage of men and women. The portrait dated back centuries, and instilled any that looked upon it with reverence and a sense of spirituality. It was truly a masterpiece. Prying his eyes away from the work of art, his eyes rested upon the counselor. With renewed vigor, his next words came out as a clamoring shout.

“And of the Garden’s Agent, counselor?”

The counselor was immediately taken back. A ruckus enveloped the chambers.

“Wh..what are you ta-!?”

The Bishop interrupted, bridging the gap between he and the counselor.

“There are still those that serve the Church without question, counselor. Those that hold their faith above contracts made with mortal men!”

The Bishop clenched his fist, now standing face to face with the counselor.

“Answer the question. Has the Garden been opened? Has an Agent been commissioned without the approval of the College?”

The counselor fumbled with his materials, parchments spilling to the floor. He turned quickly on his heel, moving towards the door…

…only to be brought to his knees with a swift elbow by the Bishop Landcaster. Surprised gasps filled the chambers as the Bishop grabbed the back of the counselor’s crushed velvet tunic.

“Answer me, damn thee! In the name of your savior, in the name of the Archangel, answer me!”

The counselor shrieked, spilling his papers to the ground.

“Unaccounted for! The creature did not return with the others!”

The Bishop pulled the counselor to his feet, spinning him around.

“It is not the right of the Council nor the Archbishop to authorize the use of such weapons, counselor! To spread the seed of the Garden requires a unanimous vote of the College!”

The counselor squealed. His voice came out in a scratchy squeak.

“You question the Archbishop, Landcaster!?”

In that moment, a gathering of seven bishops scrambled out of their thrones. The counselor locked eyes with most of them. The Bishop glared at them as they made their way past the scene, hurrying out of the chambers without a word.

Grunting, the bishop released the counselor.

“I question why such a creature was released without regard to doctrine nor sacrament. I question why the word of an Inquisitor is being treated as fallacy. I question why we have abandoned not only our forces in the Gate, but our men in Subodh, our colonies, and our citizens in the Blacklands. I question all of these actions, counselor, and I question your loyalty to this Republic.”

The Bishop spun to face the remaining assemblage. He was met with looks of bewilderment and outrage. He continued despite them.

“What has become of this kingdom? What does the Archbishop intend? The Exsequiae is real, as real as any of us here today. To dismiss it’s existence is blasphemy! We all know this, yet we remain silent!”

The counselor screamed, scrambling to his feet. Without another word, he escaped from the council chambers in a frantic run. The Bishop allowed him to take his leave. His point had been made.

“As I made my way through the crowd of colonists, I had witnessed Seraph Landcaster leading an assault against a Resolvist and a creature the colonists had dubbed a “raver”. I had personally witnessed four Inquisitors fall to the hands of the Resolvist before being able to fell the magi. I believe I had caught a vision of the creature which spawned forth from the construct in the moments before the mage had fallen and chaos was unleashed. It is my personal opinion that the Resolvist’s defeat at the hands of the Seraph’s men triggered the construct’s reaction.”

“It was made immediately obvious that the construction the Resolvist and its “raver” had been guarding was actually some sort of gateway. Immediately after the magi had been felled, a creature had stepped through the cavity between the towers, engulfed in a blinding light. I, along with many, had been knocked to the ground in a gust of wind emanating from the construct. Through the smoke and haze, I had caught a fleeting glance at the creature. It is my solemn duty to report that I believe the being to be Daemonic in nature.”

“Under pain of death, I admit to the council that I had then retreated from the village of Subodh with due haste. Moments after I had escaped from the village, what felt like a massive explosion shook the entire peninsula. In the calamity of the situation, I was knocked unconscious. I awoke a few minutes later to a pair of my brethren pulling me through the meadows surrounding Niranjan.”