Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Monastery Courtyard

"What we can do," a smooth, oiled voice interjected, "well-spoken, Sir Nuvellon."

It was then that Sir Jonas Virn approached the group, his helmet removed, flax-blonde hair windswept above blue eyes. His armor was bruised and scuffed, his sword naked across his arm as he wiped black blood from the blade with a silk cloth.

"It is not our place to brood on failures already suffered," he continued, "Winter has come, and it comes with vengeance. We must not allow ourselves to fail as miserably as the early church did in the first years of the Skirmishes. The Caer must be stopped immediately."
He took a final pass over his sword with the cloth. The Ramson-steel blade gleamed, then whipped through the air, returning to its sheath with a metallic clk.

"It is for this reason that I am submitting my candidacy as a master of the Monastic Council," Virn said, "the church's leniency and complacency is what allowed the Caer to reach the strength they have. I intend to check their power." He looked at Leon, then at Kurtrin. "I hope that I can trust the both of you for your support, Sir Nuvellon and Sir Hayes. Dufort's loss was a crushing blow, but we cannot allow it to stagger us. We must act."
 
"To be sure, Brother Jonas. But forgive this old man for disappointing you. I plan to take no part in the politics of the Order. My place is on the front line, or training our brothers and sisters and proselytes for what they are about to face. Unlike the rest of you whelps, I've fought these demons before. My time cannot be wasted on such trivial matters as the Council and who holds which seats." His old eyes had narrowed. Others seemed to be drawn to Sir Jonas like moths to a flame. The lad was handsome. And distinguished. Gifted and ambitious. Which was exactly why Kurtrin didn't hold a high opinion of the younger Paladin, other than a respect for his skill at arms.

He was correct though. About the Caer, and the Church, and the utter freedom It had been given to operate, seemingly without impunity. Who knew how many lives it had taken in the fifty years since the fall of Its family. For all they knew, this had been but a glimpse of the forces this monster had at its disposal. What if there were more? What if it had bred, had children? What if there was a whole other family, waiting in this wings? Who was to say that this was even the true leader of this foul resurgence? There were far too many questions, and no where near enough answers.

"And if I may be so bold...The actions you wish to take will provide us with nothing. It will do nothing. By seeking to curb there power, you risk sacrificing whatever pretense of unity we may have. Now is not the time to be pushing blame, as easy as it may come. Myself included. Forgive an old man for venting his frustrations, but thats all it was. If we have to make a move, it should be to consolidate all of our resources, allies, and power we have. The covens, the Wardens, whatever necromancers may wish to join our cause, Hell's bells, even the bloody packs if thats what it takes. If we start bickering about who should have a seat where, and who should be convicted of whatever mistakes were made, we'll get no where. We'll lose ground. The city will bleed, Virn. In my opinion..."

The war hero from another era would take a moment, pausing to catch his breath, and wishing he hadn't given all his liquor to young Aaro. "We should disband the Council until this new Caeruleum is dealt with."
 
"Not in particularly, no, I only barely recognized some of the names. Do you remember Guy, the chef's kid? Apparently he's among the ones missing. Seen him, by chance?"
 
"Guy? No, I've not seen him." Peregrine frowned, feeling a little guilty for being relieved that Cam hadn't mentioned any names he was closer with. "I'll check with the clerics, though. Where are you right now? Somewhere safe?" The young paladin was somewhat distracted from Cam's following reply by Virn's entrance, and Kurtrin's subsequent rebuke, for a moment staring openly at the pair of them. Virn on the council? Kirtrin suggesting they had no council? Light, what was going on?

Aurelion was similarly shocked as the conversation unfolded. The idea of Virn on the council wasn't exactly a pleasant one. Whilst he respected the other man as a paladin, he couldn't say he was overly fond of him on a personal level. There was an arrogance to Virn's demeanor that rubbed him the wrong way. Still, that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't the right man for the job, and so Aurelion was ready to take a moment to give the idea fair consideration before Kurtrin spoke up. That took him entirely off-guard. "Disband it?" The younger paladin stared at Kurtrin, stunned, for a moment before he went on. "Forgive me, Sir Hayes, but to what end? The council's effectiveness might be in question, but the Order needs leadership. Are you suggesting an alternative? Something to replace the council?"

Inarin lapsed into silence while his brother spoke, wide-eyed. The discussion had taken a turn for the drastic. The notion of disbanding the council aside - Inarin wasn't sure what he thought of that - hearing Sir Hayes speak of involving the rest of the city's powers in protecting it was reassuring. It had always seemed like madness to him that they didn't seek (or in some cases, even accept) the help of the powerful magic-users and other factions of the city. Necromancers, witches, animancers - there were a lot of people out there who were just as invested in keeping Lutetia safe as they were, for whom the city was just as much their home as it was the order's. And they spurned them because of, what, superstition? Mistrust? It had never seemed right. Hopefully now that these points were being voiced by one of the order's heroes, something would be done about it.
 
Virn touched two fingers to his lips. "With respect, Sir Hayes, the Monastic Order hasn't done without a council since the first ten years of its existence, when Saint Lemeux was named the first grandmaster and declared its sole leader. I must echo Sir Nuvellon - the Order needs a council."

It would be common knowledge to anyone even vaguely familiar with monastic history. The Order was formed by Selene Evequec and led by Saint Lemeux until his death at Dawn's Breaking, the final battle against Tenebre's horde. It was reorganized by Jacques Eclaron who established the first monastic council: eight masters and one grandmaster, elected to leadership by the paladins and clerics of the Monastery. They served for life until their death or resignation.

Further common knowledge: the Order had been without a grandmaster since the Caer Skirmishes, over fifty years ago.
 
"The Order needs a Council like the brain needs a tumor." Kurtrin spat back. "If anything, we need a grandmaster, or at least some one to cut through the red tape and the bureaucracy and make the hard decisions that will be needed in the coming months. What we certainly don't mean, and I say this with all the respect I can muster, whelp, is another ambitious, self-serving glory monger paladin rising higher in the ranks. The Order is rife with enough of those as is. And deny it all you want, but that is you, to the letter."

Sir Hayes would fix Inarin with his steely gaze. "Proselyte. Gather all of your peers that can still find the strength and will to lift a sword. At first light, I mean to run training drills with all of you. Drills I should've been putting you all through since the days you first picked up sparring blades. Bring your heaviest gear, and bring weapons with a real edge. These will be live exercises, with naked steel. Do I make myself clear?" Without waiting to hear a response from the young boy, his brother, or Virn, the Golden would spin on his heels, marching towards the armory, snatching his flask back from Aaro as he went.
 
"I'm at home, so are Mom and Dad. I heard Aubert and Josephine are in good shape, but they've probably also called you. Oh also, you know Luci's coming to visit, right? She said she'd be here by boat a month or two ago, so she's probably already here. I haven't heard from her yet though," Camille shrugged, unsure if Perrin even heard that last note.
 
Aurelion frowned faintly, mulling over Kurtrin's words. It was drastic, but perhaps he was right. The council had, in parts, grown too focused on preserving the status quo of the Church and avoiding too much controversy in recent years. "I ... don't know if I'd put it quite as you do, Sir Hayes, but I agree with you on at the very least one point," he called after the already retreating old hero. "The Order needs a grandmaster. The rise of a new Caer calls for swift decision-making and action, not deliberation. The council has proven clear as day that it's too slow to move. We need a leader."

In response to Sir Hayes' instructions, Inarin nodded, wide-eyed like a rabbit in headlights. "Uh, y-yes sir!" he stammered, uncertainty plain in his words. He could only begin to imagine what sort of drills the Golden had in mind for them. Going off the steel in his gaze alone, it probably wasn't going to be much like their regular training. But then, hadn't he just made the point that things weren't going to go back to normal? Somehow he doubted there was going to _be_ any more 'regular' training.

As he was thinking on it, Aurelion stepped over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not sure what that's going to entail, In, but whatever it is, if I'm around I'll join you all to keep an eye on things. I don't doubt Sir Hayes has the right intent, but it'll do us no good for him to drive you all to breaking point the morning after all this."

"R-right," Inarin nodded. "Thanks. I'm sure it'll... it'll be fine."

Off to the side, Perrin shot the group another look - having kept track of about half of the conversation and being thoroughly confused by it. "Good, I'm glad you're safe. And yeah, I've been in touch with mom and dad. Look, Cam, I have to go - there's a lot going on here. Just, stay safe, okay? I'll be in touch again soon."
 
By midnight they erected the pyres, ten in all. Nine of these were makeshift - beds of wood on a ceramic platform - all surrounding the tenth in a wide circle. This last rose from a cold slab of grey stone jutting from the grass like the stump of an ancient, long-dead tree. The bodies of paladins and clerics had burned there for centuries, as was the tradition of the Monastery. No grave or sepulcher awaited those who took the silver; a Monastic's remains ended in holy flame.

Then came the corpses: seven knights, two proselytes and a master, all living not a day ago. Their bodies had been stitched and cleaned hours earlier, and what wounds were too grievous to repair were wrapped and hidden beneath crisp, pressed uniforms, high-collared, black with gold and red trimming. One by one the clerics lay them down on their pyres, locking their hands above their navels and threading silver pendants between cold, unfeeling fingers. The paladins were the exception, who slept on wicker boughs with naked swords lain across their chests.

The living surrounded the dead - a hushed crowd of knights, clerics and proselytes who watched the procession by torchlight. Aaro was among them, a blade buckled to his hip. Mia's shattered body had been too broken for even the clerics to repair. In her place lay her uniform and locks of her hair, a fresh amulet glittering beneath the collar. Hearing of her bravery at Valentine, the masters had granted Mia posthumous knighthood. She would burn with the rest as a paladin.

All were in place. Master Dantion Kelve approached the circle holding a torch. Without his cane he moved slowly. He passed the dead face of a knight he had known since she was eight years old. He stopped, lay the stump of his right hand on her cheek, bowed, and walked on. Master Estelle Dufort lay in the center stone, her hands closed tight around the grip of her blade. Dantion stopped at the foot of her pyre. He bowed low, limped to her side, looked into her face a final time.

Drawing a breath, Master Kelve turned to address the congregation. His voice, old as it was, carried through the crowd like a wind - strong without force.

"From Ashes we are born, to Ashes we return," he began the orision du'requi, "may you find peace in death and Light in Darkness. Lutai arun iomortu Tenebro."

Every living soul gathered answered in unison. "Ash to ash. We pray to the Wick."

"Trembling we enter the world, despairing we leave it behind. May you face the Undying Dark without fear and find the Light. Tu kaimas mil Elue."

"Fear not the Dark. We pray to the Wick."

Kelve held his torch forward. "Shivering we walk the earth, unfeeling we abandon it. May this flame be a light to you in the Dark, that you may find your way." He touched the fire to the bed of oil beneath the wood, igniting the pyre. Fire flickered in his eyes. "Peret Lutai, tu navum facen purum."

"By fire be guided. We pray to the Wick."

Torch-bearing paladins stepped forward to ignite the other pyres. They lit quickly, fueled by oil and infused with herbs and charcoal to dull the scent of burning flesh. In seconds, the courtyard was alight in ten pillars of flame.

Dantion stepped back, brows knit. "Justice above All."

"Justice above Duty.

"Duty above Order.

"Order above Honor."

"Honor above Self."

And all as one:

"The Light Shall Overcome."
 
Crista had to rush back to the Monastery after visiting Luca at John's home to avoid anyone getting suspicious. She watched on as the clerics and her fellow paladins who had fallen were burnt on their pyres and embers were sent flying into the darkness of the night. She felt a deep sympathy for the proselytes who had fallen. She would have told them to leave while they could if she had known this would happen, which brought to mind another issue. Would Crista stay in Lutetia and continue to fight with her fellow paladins or would she abandon her city and take Luca somewhere safe? She was still seriously debating what she would do after should found the paladin who murdered John, but that decision would be made when the time came.

Madison was starring at the pyre, her eyes filled with tears which she wiped away on the sleeves of her robes. Her mind was burdened with so many things. She wished she could have done more, saved more people. Savien had disappeared from his hospital bed and Madison had spent the entire evening running through the monastery trying to find him before another cleric got her to settle down and held stitch up the bodies for the funeral. The funeral pyres brought to mind he late brother Mistigun. His funeral had only been a little over a month ago and Morden, the one responsible for it, was still locked away here in the monastery. She didn't know where to focus her thoughts or her feels. She was simply overwhelmed.

All the while, Stephan, a young paladin who had just recently taken the silver, was standing alongside the other armored figures. He had been lucky that he was still at the monastery when the attack occurred and was thus left unscathed. He was dumbstruck at the amount of damage and the death toll the caer had caused across the city. Stephan would not deny that he was fearful of this enemy that raised it's head against the Order, but he still had a powerful desire to fight. He may have been absent from the battle today, but he was determined to prove his worth and protect Lutetia and it's people. It was what he had come here to do.

As the pyres continued to blaze and crackle, these three figures all stood apart across the courtyard, all wondering the same thing.

"What will come next?"
 
Jimmy stood silently beside Aaro, hand gently resting upon his friend’s shoulder, squeezing it momentarily before dropping the hand back to his side. He stared silently at the corpses, knowing that there were going to be a lot more deaths before the Caer were defeated. He was struggling to remain positive regarding the defeat of the Caer, but it was better than the alternative. Eyes closed for a moment and he said his own silent prayers before he slid his eyes back open, glancing towards Mia. She was just one more person that he failed to protect. Why hadn’t he seen her out first? Shaking his head, he sighed softly, eyes remaining on Mia even as Master Kelve addressed those gathered.

“I’m sorry, Mia…” Jimmy whispered as the pyres were lit on fire. Shaking his head, Jimmy pushed through the crowd, starting to feel sick to his stomach.
 
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