“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.
Chapter Two
As the door gently comes to a close behind him, Hakon walks down the steep stone steps that lead deep into the ground beneath the Spire. The air is dank, stale and coupled with a lingering scent of mildew, there is no light save for a single torch on the wall which Hakon takes and carries with him as he carefully places his feet on the unsuitably short steps now slick with water leaking in from the ceiling. Hakon makes his way further down, slowly but steadfastly. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs he enters a small square room with a single round table in the corner and two Praesidian Knights on guard, both playing cards and drinking, the faint smell of ale mingles with the other insufferable scents hanging in the air.
Both guards wearing armour for combat with their helmets on the table, the guard on the left wearing thick, heavy plate armour above a thick gambeson designed to take a beating, his helmet is designed with similar intent featuring a beautiful purple plume extending from the back of the helmet across the top to the front above the eyes, he has a face typical of an Avarican, his hair is as black as coal, short and fine, he has small facial features yet a square jawline and bony cheeks, golden yellow eyes and thin nose, his skin seems unburdened by the common marks of combat, soft and unmarked, unlike the other guard who is clearly his senior. The second guard, wearing armour mixed with heavy and light, metal layered with leather elements maintaining a balance between sustainability and flexibility, is clearly much older, long yet grey hair, a short grey beard covers his chin and lower cheeks, dulled golden-yellow eyes and a face the opposite of his comrades, marked with the scars of combat and the ageing of time. Hakon, still wearing his dark, unremarkable cloak, his visage hidden beneath the hood enters the room and places the torch on a free sconce on the wall and simply stands in the centre of the room watching the Knights who speak to him without making the effort to raise their heads to look at him.
"Do not stand there awkwardly stranger, we will not serve you like some tavern wench, state your business or go away" orders the Knight on the left of the table with the soft yet stern voice of a young man with a level of authority that he has let get to his head, as he flippantly throws cards on the table causing the guard on the right to fling all his cards in rage, sending them flying across the table.
"Oh just fuck off will you Velitus, cheating bastard!" he exclaims with a gruff voice, as he drops his head and sighs like a man fed up of losing not just the game, but his money as he hands over a small purse of coin to the other guard. A slight jingle of coin bounces around the room as Velitus chuckles at the older guards' expense. As the older guard sinks back into his chair, he looks at Velitus and casually asks;
"Is that creepy fucker still stood there like some sort of garden ornament?"
"It appears that way Loriannus, perhaps he's shocked at your sheer level of incompetence at cards?" says Velitus as he smiles at Loriannus wryfully.
"Right" says Loriannus as he slams his hands on the table and pushes himself up, causing the chair to scrape along the floor as he slowly stands and takes a step towards Hakon, turning to face him, without realising who the hooded man is. Before he speaks he places his hands on his somewhat wide waistline. "The fuck you after cunt? speak, before I throw you and that filthy cloak of yours in a cell with the rest of the vagrant scum who piss me off!" Loriannus speaks like a man with a lifetime of rage to let loose, his face a permanent expression of hate and anger as he speaks. Velitus behind him, drinks from a tankard of ale with a slightly sheepish look on his face.
Hakon turns his face to look at Loriannus, his entire body remains hidden by the cloak, his right hand now free from the burden of holding the torch now hidden as he crossed his arms. His face remains hidden as he speaks.
"My intent was to speak to a prisoner-" Hakon doesn't even finish his sentence when his voice is instantaneously recognised by the two guards, Velitus spits out his ale and jumps to his feet and stands at attention, his face struck with fear, ale dribbling down his chin while Loriannus violently shudders as if Hakons voice pierced his very soul as he too stands at attention, his skin covered in goose bumps and shivering slightly.
"Perhaps first I shall end something other than your game" Hakon gently turns his head, the dark void within his hood now facing Velitus as his deep, dark voice reverberates around the room. "Thirsty, Velitus?"
Hakon suddenly moves across the room towards Velitus moving at an unsettling pace, with his feet hidden beneath his cloak he seemingly floats across the room brushing past Loriannus who quickly scampers out the way. As he moves closer to Velitus his arms emerge from beneath his cloak and as he moves next to Velitus he grabs the back of his head aggressively pulling it back forcing Velitus to look up at the ceiling. Velitus gasps in pain and shock, his eyes widen in distress yet he makes no attempt to fight back as Hakon grabs the metal tankard of ale with his free hand and begins to force the contents down Velitus' throat, the rim of the tankard bashing against his teeth.
Velitus gags as he tries to swallow as much as he can yet is unable to prevent the ale from filling his mouth and blocking his throat as the ale begins to overflow, flowing down his chin and neck, spilling onto the floor. As he struggles to breathe he starts to claw at Hakon, first at his hands, then further up his arms then attempts to reach his face and neck, in doing so he looks up in distress into the blank darkness within the hooded cloak where there should be a face, but instead he sees in place of eyes are two icy blue lights glowing gently and in the corner of his eye he notices a ring on Hakons right middle finger, a simple silver ring with several red gems dotted along the top also glowing gently.
Suddenly his attention is brought back to the tankard as he realises an impossible barrage of ale continues streaming from the tankard, distress sets in as he understands the finality of the situation and as he continues to struggle, albeit in vain, Loriannus stands in the centre of the room with a look of horror on his face, as if despite all his experience of war he has never seen an act of such cruelty.
Hakon continues forcing ale down Velitus' throat, he makes no sound and seems to be putting very little effort into the act as it seems an eternity passes by for Velitus who is now violently convulsing and coughing attempting to clear his throat of the overwhelming amount of ale as Hakon begins violently forcing the tankard into his teeth causing them to tear away from his gums, blood pours out mixing with the ale, his clothes drenched, the floor soaked as his body slowly begins to sink into the chair, his hands gently release their grip from Hakons arms as his own arms begin to drop by his side. His eyes, not so long ago a vibrant golden yellow colour now begin to fade as his head dips slightly to the side, seconds more pass and Velitus' body, after a few final convulsions, goes entirely limp as his eyes close shut.
Seeing Velitus pass Hakon simply lets go of the tankard, letting it crash down onto the floor and as it comes to a stop Loriannus notices the flow of ale ceases entirely and can't decide what is more shocking, the death of Velitus or the tankard and the sheer impossible flow of ale. Hakons ring seemingly stops glowing as does his eyes as he straightens himself, rising up from the now lifeless body below him. As he stands straight he turns around to look at a cowering Lorennius, his hands return beneath the cloak from whence they came and he walks forward coming within breathing distance of Lorennius who at this point is stricken with terror barely able to control his body from quaking in fear.
"The Novitiate from Mag Luachmhar, take me to him" orders Hakon as Lorennius can only uncontrollably nod his head in response before promptly grabbing a set of iron keys hanging on the wall near a gate opposite the flight of stairs Hakon came down earlier. Lorennius attempts to slot a key inside the lock of the gate yet struggles to control his now shaking hand as the key clumsily clatters against the bars of the gate as Hakon stands behind him, waiting. Eventually and with a concerted effort, Lorennius regains some form of control over his hand and unlocks the gate, gently pushing it forward and quickly taking a step back as the gate comes to a stop against the stone wall.
Hakon continues facing Lorennius and without a word turns to walk further into the dungeon, leaving Lorennius alone with Velitus' lifeless, ale soaked corpse. As he walks down the hallway there are several gaps in the wall on either side, all of which are about five feet apart and three feet wide, these gaps have lit torches on the wall, the oil from which dropping onto the floor where instead of stone are these thick metal grates that are seemingly impossible to remove. Hakon simply walks past these odd gaps without a second thought, yet upon passing some of them, whimpering voices begging from below call out, some for mercy or food, others simply sobbing quietly.
Hakon reaches the end of the hallway and enters a larger room with four sizeable cells, two on his left and two on his right, he walks to the centre of the room and inspects each chamber, all of which seemingly full of generic prisoners apart from one, the furthest cell on his right only has the one prisoner, quietly sat in the centre of the cell clutching a small flower. This man seems drastically underfed, his body deteriorated and bones threatening to pierce his flesh, he wears nothing save for a pair of torn and badly worn cloth trousers, his ribcage and collar bones protrude outwards, cheeks and his pale yellow eyes sunken, his brown hair is patchy and receding revealing much of his head. This man looks like death itself yet he sits peacefully, as if in a moment of peaceful bliss as his focus remains with this blue petaled flower almost entirely unbothered by his situation.
Hakon takes a moment and steadily examines the Novitiate, a little time passes as the Novitiate quickly chuckles to himself and smiles gently. An air of quiet innocence lingers around him, like a child blissfully unaware of the cruelty of the world around them, one cannot help but find beauty in their ignorance. As the Novitiate remains lost in his own world, his face lights up in shock as the plant he so gracefully handles goes up in flames, he looks up startled to find a tall, huge, cloaked figure standing on the other side of the gate, two strange blue lights fading away where the figures face should be. The Novitiate passes from shock to misery as he begins to sob as his hands open up, the ashes of his beloved plant falling to the floor as he exclaims;
"That's all I had left of her!" his voice deep and garbled from the sobbing as he looks up at Hakon wide eyed, before he looks back down at his hands and cries at the small dark grey mound of ashes on the floor.
"Tell me of Mag Luachmhar, why did you fail your charge?" orders Hakon, utterly devoid of any emotion toward the Novitiate. The Novitiates face turns from sadness to confusion and then to anger.
"Fuck you! Fuck you for burning my flower! That was all I had left of her! The Novitiate stands and steps closer to the bars of the gate that are now the only thing separating him from Hakon who remains still. Seconds pass as the Novitiate hits the bars of the gate with the palms of his hands before turning away from Hakon, stepping further into his cell and tilting his head back, letting out a long sigh and dropping his tensed shoulders, before dropping his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose in melancholy. Still turned away from Hakon he resumes talking this time with passion, as if speaking from the heart.
"That village is beautiful, it is peaceful and calm and innocent, its people are at one with the world around them and I found it all so beautifully intoxicating" He turns to face Hakon once more, this time a smile has returned to his face, his eyes glistening from the tears forming over them as he composes himself once more. "I was dispatched with my fellow Novitiates and our Orderly Knight to investigate claims of Daemonic influence which might explain why the village has escaped the famine and disease ravaging the Gallian lands, except The Order got it all wrong. There is nothing wrong with the village, no Daemonic influence, no corruption, nothing"
As the Novitiate continues to speak he almost seems to be pleading with Hakon, "It is just an isolated, secluded village, nothing more, its only contact with the outside world is from travelling merchants and overzealous warriors from the Order"
Hakon scoffs a quiet laugh through his nose in disbelief.
"Daemon poison pours from your mouth Novitiate, whatever dark corruption has spread throughout Mag Luachmhar has clearly taken a hold of you too"
"Believe what you want Hakon, I know what I saw, I know what I felt"
"Corruption or not, why do I find you here, languishing in misery?"
The Praesidian Knights showed up" The Novitiates face turns to a grimace as he continues speaking, "They were as disinterested in the truth as you are, threatened to start killing the children if the village elders didn't admit to Daemonic worship, my fellow Novitiates, myself and our Orderly Knight stood in defence of the village but the Praesidian Knights took this as blasphemy and ordered our immediate execution, the villagers joined us as we fought them, the fight was less a battle and more a desperate brawl in the mud but we overwhelmed them, but it took the lives of my Orderly Knight and fellow Novitiates as well as a few villagers, including the woman I had fallen in love with" He looks down at the pile of ashes sorrowfully.
"I told the villagers I would return to The Order in the hopes that I could fool the Council into believing the village had been pacified at great cost. Bloody stupid of me, as soon as I arrived here I was dragged to the feet of Grand Archon Vacellus who saw straight through my lies, laughed at me, claimed I had been forced into loving plants by Daemons and threw me in here. Now here you stand, Hakon, surely you will ignore all reason and allow your blind faith to dictate your judgement as you have been doing for decades and condemn those innocent villagers to death!"
Hakon begins to chuckle while the Novitiate continues speaking, this time with a rage, one built up over years coupled with great exhaustion.
"I am done with the Order! I am done with the Gods! For a brief moment I had found true peace and love after years of torment at the hands of The Order and you took it all away!" The Novitiate again walks up to the bars of his cell and clasps his hands around the bars, squeezing his head between them and continues speaking with a maddened hatred.
"Do me a favour yeah? Go get yourself and everyone within this fucking Spire buried in a pile of Daemon shit, suffocate in it and fuck off to hell!" Spit gets sent all over the bars of the cell as The Novitiate can barely contain his rage as Hakon ceases his laughter and retorts, his speech deep, reverberating around the stone dungeon.
"I think I'll send you there first, when you find your scum Gallian whore being passed around the endless horde of Daemons, give her my regards will you?" Hakon chuckles once more as The Novitiate quickly attempts to beg before his neck is suddenly and brutally snapped, the bones within protrude outwards as blood splatters the wall to his side as his lifeless body slumps to the floor in a heap. The other prisoners, likely rendered insane from years in the dungeon begin to laugh as Hakon coldly walks away, returning to the room with the now one live guard. There he finds Velitus' lifeless body lying down on the ground, his face covered by some sort of fabric and Loriannus quietly sobbing at the table. Hakon turns to him.
"You have a free cell" he says, void of any emotion whatsoever as Loriannus' woes worsen. Hakon turns away, grabs a torch from the wall and walks back up the stairs to the entrance emerging back out into the world. He slowly makes his way back into the Spire, entering the Grand Chamber and back up the stairs to the floor with the Grand Archons offices, this time he continues forward to another set of stairs leading to a second floor, here he finds several bedrooms, the doors of which specify whether a room is occupied or available. The décor of this floor is the same as the floor below, warm, dark coloured wood, the same red carpet along the floor, same floor plan as well.
Hakon finds himself an available room, removes the available sign on the door revealing a brass occupied sign behind it and shuts the door behind him.
Chapter Three
The early morning birdsong heralds the light of a new dawn, washing away the shadow of night. Avaricum and its many peoples wake to clear skies and the warm summer breeze as they begin their day. The famous Grand Harbour receives the city's many fisherman who return with their catch from before the dawn of day, the various marketplaces and forums dotted around the city fill with people eager for the days discussion and business and the famous impregnable city walls open their gates to the many travellers and merchants eager to conduct the days trade.
One of Avaricums busiest areas is at the base of the Seraphim Spire, many of the towns vagrants seek charity from the Order, the sick and injured also swell the ranks of those seeking aid, lining the round wall of the Spires outer Cloister, many members of the Orders priesthood attend to their various needs and trivialities, utilising their knowledge of magic and alchemy to heal festering wounds, on occasion however, certain priests seem to ignore the whimpering begging for help, instead choosing to assist those with simpler injuries.
The four gates of the Cloister remain open, each guarded by two Orderly knights with a constant wave of people flowing in and out of these gates, one of them being Hakon as he exits through the Southern Gate as the two guards thump their chests to salute him. He exits dressed in a style that offers comfort and flexibility for travelling yet also protection in combat, a thin off-white gambeson hugs his body beneath a thin but firm brigandine of dark brown leather reinforced with thin metal plates riveted in place behind the leather, the brass studs reflecting the morning sunlight. Thick, black quilted trousers protect his legs without hindering his movements and are tucked into sturdy leather boots which rise almost to his knees. Thin cords wrapped around his sleeves to keep them in place while his large, rough hands remain bare, on his left arm rests a large round shield of wooden construction covered in a thin sheet of bronze, its so large that it spans from his knees at its bottom to his shoulders at its top and is wider than he is with room to spare, with his left arm holding the shield up from its straps, his left hand clutches a long wooden spear with its steel pointed butt-spike barely off the ground and the tip of its angular shaped steel head pointing to the sky, the spear is taller than Hakon by a good foot or so and strapped to his waist on his right hip is a dagger hidden in its sheath. His right hand is unburdened save for the magical ring on his middle finger.
As he exits the gate he walks with purpose, his footfalls land heavy on the stone floor yet he moves at pace, his face a picture of fervent intent as he paces towards a large stables across the path from the Southern Gate which is used to house the horses owned by elite members of the Order. Hakon briskly walks past the pens towards a teenage boy shovelling horse manure in to a bucket as he can be heard mumbling to himself.
"Boy" Hakon barks, causing the stablehand to jolt upwards, dropping the shovel and causing the handle to dip into the now manure filled bucket, as he turns he reveals the facade of a boy not 18 summers old, his features are small and soft, pale blue eyes, his hair not too dissimilar to the colour of the manure he was shovelling and he wears a simple woven tunic and thin cloth trousers, his shoes a simple cowhide make. As he turns to look at the man demanding his attention, he almost jolts from shock again as he realises who approaches him, before smiling with a friendly warmth as if Hakons ghastly reputation doesn't bother him, quickly greeting him with a delicate bow.
"Ah, good morning ser Hakon, 'tis a pleasure to see you, no doubt you have come for your horse. He's saddled, fed and ready to go" The boy speaks with a friendly warmth and finishes speaking with a genuine smile.
"Good, the Novitiate Allusa, she was instructed to meet me here, where is she?" Hakon asks with a slight hint of annoyance.
"OH YES, the Novitiate!" The boy exclaims. "She was here, actually she's the reason I'm shovelling all this shit, she literally scared the shit out of my mare here" The boy attempts to laugh off the inconvenience of the situation, however a quick glance of Hakons deadpan expression and the boy realises that he - unlike the mare - has no shits to give and so hastily provides an answer.
"I believe she said something about the Vagrants Tavern" He shrugs his shoulders as if to say he's not entirely sure.
"Fuck sake" Hakon exclaims, bothered about the inconvenience of the situation as he brushes past the boy towards the tavern. The boy doesn't seem too bothered about being brushed past, rather, he seems more concerned about making sure he wishes Hakon well.
"Have a good day ser, your horses will be waiting for you!" The boy continues to smile despite Hakon walking away as he seems genuinely happy to be of assistance.
Hakon walks past the stables and further down the Avarican street past several homes, villas and garden spaces, a strip of grass with trees line the centre of the wide stone path as people mull around and head to their destinations. Hakon draws attention from those around him, to those who recognise him they look upon him with a mix of reverence, respect and fear. Those who don't recognise him (which is far fewer than those who do) recognise him as an elite member of the Order and gaze upon him with fear, few are seen wandering the streets of Avaricum with weapon and shield in hand, protected in the finest armour, they either belong to the Legion, or The Order.
As he nears the shabby looking Vagrants Tavern, an overwhelming stench of ale and cheap wine fills the air, although it is the early morning and the day has barely started, the drinking never ceases. The sound of raucous singing mingles with the stench of alcohol and overloads the senses. Hakon nears the entrance of the dirty, off white coloured tavern, the tiles on the roof loose and falling off and the windows boarded up, the street around the tavern is muddied and littered with trash. As he enters the dank, candlelit tavern, the air full of smoke from candles and pipes, he finds the patrons all singing jovially, tankards in hand and on top of a table in the centre of the room stands a short yet loud, red headed woman leading the singing, her Northern Gallian accent marks her out from the other voices within. Despite the tavern being filled with large, bellowing men it is her voice that is heard above all, totally in her element her voice roars with boisterous fire, her feet bashing the tabletop in time with the song as she manages to steadily hold two full tankards of ale. Her bright green eyes pierce through the dank darkness of the tavern, her long, wavy red hair moves elegantly as she dances to the song, freckles dotted on her face and several small scars mark a face that has been through years of training at the Order. This woman is clearly the young Novitiate Hakon has been charged with mentoring. She wears armour that would only be worn by someone of the Order, while it is not of the highest quality (The Order would never waste money outfitting its Novitiates in high quality bespoke armour) it is clearly unique to her, primarily made of leather and hide with elements of fur, her armour is designed to be light and dark, ideal for someone who prefers to move swiftly and in the shadows, and her weapons, two shortswords lay carelessely beneath the table.
Hakon simply stands in the doorway as he watches events unfold in front of him, several patrons attempt to enter the tavern but immediately turn away upon seeing Hakons massive frame blocking the entrance and despite some clumsy drunk slipping on his own ale Hakons stare remains fixed on Allusa as she and everyone else continues bellowing out a tune.
Allusa finishes by flinging both tankards across the tavern, drenching several patrons as everyone else does the same, ale flying and soaking the taverns wooden furniture, adding to the now decorative stains of various origins around the tavern. Cheers fill the air as the raucous singing turns to idle chatter, Allusa confidently leaps off the table and grabs her gear.
"Good day fair people of Avaricum, may your tankards remain full and your voices loud!" The patrons respond with a cheer, many wave her off by name indicating she is well known and liked by the people who frequent this tavern. As she walks towards the door, sheathing her blades on her waist she casually walks past Hakon and acknowledges without a hint of care.
"Alright Hakon" she says as she slips past him with a rebellious skip in her step, not even bothering to look him in the face. She doesn't get far when Hakon raises his spear and gently beats its steel butt spike on the ground, his eyes pulse faintly as he turns away from the tavern, unblocking the doorway and towards Allusa who seems strangely stuck in place mid step, she sounds as if she is struggling, trying to force her body to move, her muscles gently twitching as Hakon steadily walks past and comes to a stop in front facing her.
"Belligerent child" Hakon says with disdain. "You were instructed to wait at the stables and yet I find you entertaining the locals like some common minstrel, drowning yourself in cheap ale and sullying the reputation and honour of the Order. You bring us shame"
Allusa rolls her eyes as she is released from her magical trap as Hakon once more taps his spear on the ground. Not even a second after her new found freedom Allusa tips her head back and looks to the heavens, drops her shoulders and releases a stubborn sigh.
"By the Gods! Why is everyone so serious!? It's all do this, do that, do as you're told, don't disobey, fun is BAD! -" As Allusa continues rambling, her speech and body language eccentrically emphasising each point, she begins to walk, continuing her protestations as she passes Hakon who seems to be struggling to keep up with her, his left eye lid visibly twitching and confusion etched on his face before he lets out an exasperated sigh.
"Oh Vemephrae give me strength" He begs, after five minutes with Allusa, Hakon already looks exhausted as he rubs his eyes and turns to follow Allusa who has made her way over to the stables and still persists with her ramblings.
"And THEN Praeceptor Aquilinus, who is 'apparently' one of the finest and most wise of teachers, said that if it were up to him, women wouldn't be allowed to become Knights of the Order as we are too 'fragile' and 'emotionally volatile' so I told him he could shove his dumb fucking opinion up his shit stained arse because he's too 'old' and 'fragile' to bend over and wipe it properly!" Allusa continues her expletive ridden ramblings, seemingly not aiming her monologue towards anyone, perhaps content with getting it all off her chest. Despite this, Hakon, by sheer proximity, has no choice but to overhear every word and attempts to get her attention.
"Child" He says calmly but far too quietly as Allusa continues.
"Oh Gods and despite the fact that I am clearly a better fighter than everyone in my group I need to spend more time studying the dusty old writings and teachings of some dead priest, isn't the whole point of being an Orderly Knight to fight shit!? to vanquish the 'never ending blight of the Daemons and their influence' as Praeceptor Gallienus likes to say, WHO, by the way, definitely sneaks whores into his chambers!"
"CHILD" Hakon raises his voice, again attempting to capture Allusa's attention and again fails.
"What even is The Choosing anyway? OH is it where Praeceptor Gallienus gets to choose his whores for the evening? And why does everyone keep saying I'll fail it? Fucking no chance of that! I'm the best Novitiate the Order has to offer! Would love to see Petrikus try and pass The Choosing, I swear he gets scared of his own shadow!"
"CHILD!!" This time Hakons voice booms as it can be heard travelling around them, a few bystanders can be seen stopping in their track and looking in the direction of the two as Allusa is startled into giving Hakon her attention.
"I have suffered your infernal ramblings for long enough! I did not choose your company nor will I waste my time educating one whom refuses to be educated! Now I will travel to Mag Luachmhar and investigate whatever Daemon influence lingers there, I care not for your education, as far as I am concerned you are a hinderance" Hakon coldly snaps at Allusa as he mounts his horse, a tall beautiful steed whose white coat gleams in the sunlight.
Allusa looks at Hakon as her face turns sour, despite her strong facade she struggles to hide a hint of sadness as she also mounts her horse which is far less prestigious than Hakons, most likely a runt handed to her by the Order for the purpose of this expedition.
"You're no different to the rest of them are you? I thought that maybe the legendary Hakon would be different, special. But no, you're just as uncaring and cold as everyone else. I suppose you'll abandon me like my parents or beat me like the Praeceptors or the Orderlies do whenever I frustrate you?" She asks rhetorically as she looks ahead, with her feet she gently encourages the horse to move.
"It is what it is, I'm done trying, fuck it" Allusa's spark seemingly vanishes, the young woman seen dancing and drinking with joy is quickly replaced by a deeply saddened and frustrated version of herself, her face is glum and defeated, her body language slumped and sluggish. Hakon doesn't respond, one might think he'd be overjoyed with Allusa's silence, instead he seems intrigued, he squints his eyes seemingly evaluating Allusa, something intrigues him.
On their horses they both depart from the stables, the young stable boy cleaning up the freshly delivered shit from behind Hakons horse, still steaming as he scoops it into a bucket. Hakon leads slightly ahead of Allusa as the horses walk down the main street through Avaricum, Via Diu.
Via Diu is the longest street in Avaricum, leading from the main gate straight through the city to the forum at the city centre
