Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Monastery

Noah almost managed to avoid the slight downward twitch of his mouth at being addressed as 'boy', keeping his face otherwise neutral. "He did not," he answered levelly. "No words were exchanged between myself and the creature. If it aids in his identification, he had lengthy black hair and was both extremely bulky and tall. The rest of his features were exaggerated in monstrosity, and thus difficult to describe as anything but."

At Kelve's words, he nodded and carefully lowered himself into the seat, wincing slightly despite his best efforts as the bending motion agitated his injuries. Once seated, he relaxed a touch, more relieved than he'd expected to be off of his feet again.

'So stubborn you don't even recognise your own fatigue...' Aurore muttered into his head. Noah had always found it uncanny how she managed to inject as much inflection into her telepathic communication as anyone else did into their voice. He wasn't sure he'd even know where to begin trying to internally mutter.

He took the tea with a murmured thanks, and sipped from it in expectant silence, waiting for the next question to come from the old paladins.
 
His wrinkled brow furrowed with exasperation. That wasn't much to go off of. If anything, it just sounded as if Nito walked once more. But that was impossible, even more so than another Caeruleum uprising. At least the Order had succeed in that much, knowing that nightmare would never lay eyes upon this city, nor its inhabitants, ever again. At least, not if Selene had any mercy for those who served her divine will.

A foolish notion. The Golden had lost his faith the same day he had 'earned' his title.

"A shame. I was hoping for confirmation on a long time fear." A sip from his own cup, his tea slightly darker, stronger in its odor. "Its a shame you won't be able to prove yourself against my star pupil. He was rather looking forward to trouncing you. But Izaic sends his best, and hopes for your quick recovery. And, when you're up to it, he wants to set a sparring date. That's hardly here or there however! Kelve, get on with it, before Sparklepants here collapses on us."

Again, the condescending words would flow. Partially the fault of his drink, partially the hazing that was common amongst warriors who had shared a common foe. Kurtrin had a lot of respect for Noah, considering what he had done. It was the only reason he had agreed to Kelve's proposal in the end.
 
"Indeed," Kelve nodding, sipping his own tea, "thank you, Warden. Even this small bit of information does us a great service - to say nothing of the service you've already given us, both in helping Sir Arodring and Sir Lacroix, as well as saving Sir Durandet's life. I can name a few paladins who would have hesitated to rush into a Caer's path, alone, without promise of back up. Your courage does your order credit."

He nodded at Kurtrin. "Of course, none of this is why Kurtrin and I wished to speak with you. Truthfully, I've been meaning to have this conversation ever since your mission in the catacombs, pursuing Atano. I've read Robert's report." The old paladin reached under the table, removing a metal case with a thick, fiberglass top. He offered it to Noah.

"Do you recognize this, Warden?"

It was a shard of clean steel - humming through the box with a strange energy. Words were inscribed on the metal: "TH - SACRIFI-"
 
Noah kept his expression largely under control this time, though he almost did a spit-take at the term 'sparklepants'. Clearly, old age had eroded Sir Hayes' attachment to formality... if he'd ever had one. It wasn't altogether objectionable, albeit surprising. It was something he might have expected from Perrin, rather than a Paladin of such prestigious repute.

At Kelve's request, he took the proffered box and looked down to examine it. Even had he intended to hide it, his expression would have made clear his answer. His eyes widened with surprised recognition.

'Deliverance...'

"Deliverance..." He spoke at the same time as Aurore's voice echoed in his mind, momentarily reverent before he remembered himself, clearing his throat and regaining his composure. "I ... yes, I do," he answered honestly. There was no point in prevaricating at this point. "It's from Deliverance, one of the nine Oathbound blades." A fact that he had only learned of an hour ago, but explaining that would lead to explaining why ... and he was probably going to have to do that anyway, wasn't he?

'I imagine that they suspect, Noah. You are an animancer, after all. Many things they may be, but Kelve and Kurtrin are not fools.'

He gave a small sigh. "I expect you would like to know why that is, correct?"
 
Kelve gave a soft smile. "You needn't be alarmed, Warden. Your connection to this blade - to Aurore - is the reason Kurtrin and I have called you here." He pointed to the shard. "That is one of the twelve shards of Deliverance, blade of Dame Aurore Beaufort, Oathbound, Third of Nine." He reached behind his chair, retrieving a large double-handed longsword with a bronze crossguard and a ruby embedded in the pommel. "This is Solstice. Sixth of Nine. Once it was called 'Eskentru', in the Issune tongue of old." He would give Sir Kurtrin a moment to show his blade, if he wished.

"We have suspicions as to how you can manifest this sword," Kelve continued, "we know of your craft, Warden, though we do not practice it. Tell me ... is she with you?" He rested his stump hand on Solstice's scabbard. "You must be honest with us, warden."
 
Kurtrin himself replied in a similar manner, drawing forth his notched and beaten Vindicator. A ruined hand-and-a-half blade, edged only on a single side, and rectangular. Although it was obviously worn and damaged from years of conflict and training, it still shone bright, its metal the most dazzling of silver, its pommel and cross guard bronze and set with jet and jade. Even in its somewhat disastrous state, it still seemed a keen weapon, and marvelously crafted.

"Please. I cannot speak for Kelve, but as for myself, I merely wish to know that she...did not cease to exist, completely. That there is something of my Oath-sister left, other than horrible memories and the cruel fate inflicted on her by those demons.."
 
Noah was silent for a long moment, staring down at the fragment of the blade.

'Beaufort. My name.' Aurore's voice was quiet. 'It is strange, how familiar it sounds, and yet ... still distant. A memory that refuses to be grasped. How is it that I know these men, yet recall no details of their lives? Only an impression, solid and certain at a glance, yet looking closely... as vague as any other detail of my life.'

"She ... is, yes. But not whole." The warden looked up with a solemn expression. "Aurore came to me when I was thirteen. She knew her forename, and that she was a paladin, but little else. Her personality, her convictions... everything about her that makes her who she is, they were more or less intact. But her memories were fragmented and indistinct, like her soul had been damaged, somehow. I've been, for lack of a better term, a 'vessel' for her ever since. Her spirit was too weak to last on its own, and she did not want to pass on without remembering who she was in full. So I let her take refuge in me. Some of her memories have returned over the years, but ... sparingly. It wasn't until yesterday, confronting the Caer, that she remembered the term 'Oathbound' at all. This is the first time I've even heard her last name."

'What does Kurtrin speak of? Which of the Caer took me from this world? Perhaps knowing that will give some insight into why I remember so little.'

Noah glanced between the two paladins and their weapons, frowning. "May I ... May we ask how she died?"
 
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The furrowed brow turned into a full on pained grimace. His tired, weary eyes would glance to his Oath-brother and back to the Warden. Looking beyond him. Trying to catch any glimpse of Aurore that he could. Kurtrin could still see her, the way she had looked on the day they'd been given their blades, taken their vows, both the Silver and that of the Oathbound. "I..."

The tea would be finished, quickly, trying to buy time. Trying for more courage, of both the liquid and mental varieties.

"I did not...see her die. But I know how...On the day we chose to end the war for good...she was in the Vanguard. She was one of the first wave to storm Nito Caeruleum's underground throne. Aurore...she...Fell to his blade. That...cursed slab...Its said to damage the spirit as much as it does the body...When her body was recovered...she was found split in twain...from shoulder to opposite hip..."

Harbinger. Winter's Kiss. A two handed sword, taller than the creature that had wielded it. A foul, accursed blade unfit for mortal hands, and palpably vile. Before it had been handed over to the Inquisition, all attempts to destroy it, or free the supposed thousands of souls trapped inside had proven futile. Even the Order's strongest, those that had survived, hadn't been able to lift it by themselves, not without the assistance of power armor. It was a relic beyond the grasps of mortal men, and hopefully, it would be locked away for all time.

"I...imagine her other fragments are trapped there...held by whatever dark magic forged that blade, long before any of us were even conceived...I'm...sorry..."
 
Noah was left staring in shocked silence by the time Kurtrin finished. Nito's blade itself? Of course, there had been stories about the weapon, but Noah hadn't realised how many of them were true. A souleater, as surely as its wielder had been.

'Then there is no hope?'

Aurore didn't sound as distraught as Noah might have expected her to. Her tone was obviously distressed, but strong all the same. She knew the answer, and had already resolved to accept it. Light, but he wished he was half as strong as she was, sometimes. But perhaps she was wrong. If the blade still existed, then her soul was still within it. Might still be freed, even if the previous generation had not been up to the task. 'No, there is hope.' He answered her in thought. 'As long as those fragments exist, there's hope, right? It might seem impossible, but...'

'Yes. Yes, you are quite right, Noah. Forgive me. I had hoped that all of my memories would return with time, and exposure to my former life. But just because there is another hurdle, does not mean hope ends. Phaw! Folly to the accursed blade that thinks it can come between me and my past.'

Noah couldn't help but smile to himself at the paladin's renewed resolve, before realising that the expression must have seemed wholly inappropriate in the circumstances. "Ah, I'm sorry. I ought not be smiling. Perhaps it is a futile hope, but knowing that the rest of her spirit is out there, not destroyed... Even if the chance of recovering it is slim, it is a chance. And... it is good to know for certain how she passed."

'It sounds like a good death, as far as they come. Quick, in the service of the Light, and laying the path for victory in my wake. A paladin can ask for little more.'
 
"I am happy she found someone like you to anchor herself in, warden," Dantion smiled, "my respect for your craft grows. You've been an enormous help to the Order this past month, and I feel you will be instrumental in holding back the coming winter." He drew a breath, sharing a glance with Kurtrin before pressing on.

"...which is why, if you are willing, we would like to offer you a gift that, to my knowledge, has never been given to a non-Monastic in the history of this city. We would like to offer you Sanctification in the Pleur - immunity to holy energy."
 
Noah stared in silence for the second time in as many minutes, blinking in surprise at the offer. He already suspected he'd developed a resistance to the energy from his exposure to its weakened, anima-projected form, but true sanctification? No matter his doubts about the church as a whole, it was not an offer to be sniffed at. The ability to wield the greatest weapons the church had to offer, to hold a blade like Deliverance had been before it had become a memory and not be burned. "I... am honoured, Master Kelve. Truly."

The implications of such a gift were numerous. He had to wonder how much of this was known to the other Masters, and the rest of the church. "I ... will accept. I feel I'll need every boon and ally I can get if I'm to face that creature again."

His eyes fell back to his lap, and the shard of Deliverance within it. He could faintly feel its thrum, even through the protective case. It was a soft and pleasant warmth, shielded as it was. Even had he not recognised the inscription, he was sure that he would have known it for what it was. Noah knew the blade as well as he did his own hand. Aurore's soul - and by association, his - was connected to it.

"What exactly does the process entail?"
 
Kelve laughed. "Well, it's extremely painful. You should know that. We give you special drugs then expose you to specific, concentrated amounts of the Pleur's energy until your body acclimates to the radiation. It's all rather scientific, actually. It's the tradition and mysticism surrounding the process which makes it... religious." He took a slow sip. "This will need to be kept a secret. Kurtrin and I have not advised the rest of the council on this matter. We know they would refuse. No person has ever been sanctified who did not immediately take the silver afterwards." He sighed. "But the council is... well. The council is wrong. They were wrong to hide the Caer from the Lutetian people. They were wrong to pin the blame on the Garoux. They were wrong to try and end this matter without seeking help from the other communities."

He looked down at his tea cup, now empty. "I bare a good deal of that blame, yes. I was unable to sway them to the Wick's will, and for that, I am sorry." He rose to his feet with his cane. "But in this, at least, I can do right. Give the defenders of this city more of a fighting chance. I believe that sanctification will help you immensely, warden. You will at last be able to wield Deliverance in all its glory." He smiled. "Nothing would make me happier than to know that Aurore will fight the Caer once again through you."
 
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Noah nodded along as Kelve gave his explanation. It was as he'd suspected - the two paladins were going behind their order's back. Little wonder, then, that they had been so understanding of his situation with Aurore. They were obviously a shade more pragmatic and open-minded than their council and doctrine would have preferred. To think that he might hold Deliverance's true self in his hands... he had never imagined it possible. Since he'd first brought its memory into being five years prior, he'd wondered what it would be like. "Thank you, Master Kelve. Of course, you have my word that I will hold my silence. It is a boon to know that there are those in the Monastic Order's upper echelons that can see reason."

When Kelve rose, so too did Noah, with some effort. He set the box down on the table. "I know that my order will be willing to lend you their aid, should it be called upon. Master Devereaux and the other Wardens have already called for action, after ..." he grimaced. "I suppose you are aware that the monster has been destroying the souls of some of his victims. Consuming them, I would assume. We animancers feel every one keenly, and since the first ... our council are at times slow to act, but in this, I would hope the decision will be swift and unanimous. He must be stopped."
 
"I know he must, Warden. He and his entire ilk must be stopped. Properly this time. No more half measures, no more assumptions. The Caeruleum nearly pulled this city into endless winter. But that was when they were many. Now, I hope, there is only this rogue remnant of Nito's loins remains in our path. And that he hasn't fathered any children." How an unholy undead managed to breed like the living, the Church never figured out. And those poor women...It had been better that burned with the rest of that accursed manor...Another travesty of a terrible war, one that no one wanted to talk about.

This time there was no subtle sneaking of his hidden liquor. This time The Golden openly drank. It eased the pain of years gone by.

Out of the three, Kurtrin chose not to rise. Here was better. Sipping away at spirits, to help quell those that screamed in his mind. "The next time...you feel his presence...Come and find me. There is no greater wish this old fool has, Noah, than to die fighting those ice demons. Light go with you..."
 
"That he must, proselyte. And all who stand with him." The older master sighed. "Try not to think too poorly of both our councils. They are good people - but most of them did not witness what Kurtrin and I witnessed. They have lived their lives in peace and prosperity. They are hesitant to acknowledge the fact that anything in the world could pose a threat to that. Such is youth. Death is never real until you've looked into the mouth of a lion." He smiled, gentle and knowing. "But I have faith. In them. In you. 'The Light Shall Overcome', as our creed says. And it shall."

He wrapped his cane on Kurtrin's armored calf. "Come along, Kurt, you old dog. You know we need at least two people to work the machine." He began moving - Hayes and Noah in tow. "I would ordinarily want you to rest and heal before sanctification, warden, but we have little time as is. Tonight may be the only chance we have to do this without the rest of the council finding out. We need to act now."
 
Noah nodded his head stiffly as he followed. "I'll be fine," he said, waving off Kelve's concerns as to his condition. "My wounds are inconvenient, but not crippling." He glanced down at the shard of Deliverance, that he'd retrieved from the table before they left. "Who will reforge it? Deliverance, I mean."
 
Kurtrin rose from his seat with an aggravated 'tsk'. He got enough of other people referring to him as a "dog of the church". Even if it was in jest, he didn't appreciate that coming from his fellow brother. Especially not from a fellow survivor. There were so few of them left now. So few.

Grunting, he would follow after the two, "Honestly, I don't know who we could trust to do the forging. Its not so simple as remaking the sword. Our Oathsworn blades have far more meaning behind them, physically and spiritually, if you follow my line of thought. Asking someone within the order might prove...Well, I imagine we want to keep that as much a secret as the rest of this whole scheme. As far as I know...and I could be wrong about this...but no one even knows you took the fragment, do they, Kelve?"

It wasn't so much an accusation as it was a simple guess. It was a holy relic, after all.
 
"I was thinking about that myself," Kelve mused. He led them down the stairs back into the courtyard. "I'd ask Romstone ordinarily, but he's a master. I don't know how well he'd take to it." He chuckled. "If only Aurore were still among us. She forged the sword to begin with. Was one of the best blacksmiths of our generation." He looked over his shoulder at Kurtrin. "And. Ah. No. No on knows yet. I had proselytes Trent and Palos forge replica shards and switched them out last night. Should fool anyone who doesn't know what they look like - which is most people who didn't live through the Winter."

The trio eventually came to a large stairwell leading underground. "Our academy, hospitals and dormitories are above ground," the master explained, "but the majority of the Monastery is below. Our vaults were chiseled out of the catacombs seven hundred years ago. They're twice the size of what you see in Lemeux."

Two enormous steel doors stood before them, armored paladins to either side, cradling Rosaries.

"Master, Sir Hayes," one of them brought two metal fingers to the bottom half of his full-face helmet.

"Sir Castien," Kelve smiled, "would you mind bringing down the shield? I'm going to take the warden into the vaults to consult an old text we have locked away in the archive." He held up his silver for inspection.

The knight gave a suspicious look at Noah. He reached forward, pressed the raven pendant between his fingers, and nodded. "Very well, sir." His hand came up to his ear as he channeled the comms. "Bring them down, west entrance. Visitor with masters."

Kelve turned back to Noah. "It's our surest defense mechanism - a 'ring' of holy energy surrounds the entire perimeter of the vaults beyond the first wall. Burns anyone who gets too close."

A moment later, the massive titanium doors lurched open. Dim lights lit a somber glow into a wide, iron corridor running deep into the earth. The paladins and the warden passed into it like ants into the maw of a dragon.
 
Noah had stayed silent for much of their descent, running through the dilemma of the forging in his mind. Turning the question over, and consulting with Aurore. 'Do you think you could do it, now? Do you remember your smithing?'

'Phaw! Do I remember my smithing, he asks. Does a raven remember how to fly? Details, memories, names ... they may be gone, but I'll be dragged to the wyrm before I forsake my craft. I'd wager on my hammer-arm before I did so on my sword-arm, child.'

The Warden resumed focus on his surroundings in time to meet Sir Castien's searching look with a level stare, his expression unflinching - though he had to disguise a sigh of relief when the paladin accepted Kelve's story without question. Only once they passed inside, and were out of earshot, did he speak again.

"She might be," he stated, then quickly remembered himself. "Aurore, that is. I ... think I could pass enough control to her for her to use me to forge it."

Voluntary possession wasn't unheard of amongst the Order of the White, but it was a heavily disapproved-of practice. Not for any cruelty or disrespect to spirits, but for its risk. Spirits were not always keen to relinquish control of a body once they had it, and were once more close enough to life to feel its warmth. Noah trusted Aurore, though. After this long together, it would be easy.
 
"Could she? Curious..." Kelve mused, "...if that's possible, then I should say it's the best course of action. Not even a master could come half as close to reforging Deliverance as the one who made it in the first place." They passed under low-hanging LED lamps, faces blinking in and out of the darkness. "I'll see about finding you a private forge, warden." A bright light greeted them at the end of the tunnel. Noises echoed around them, hard and hollow. "But enough - we'll talk of this more later." The light surrounded them, blinding, before they acclimated.

"We've reached the armory."

The trio entered into a balcony within an enormous metal dome alive with color and sound - every shade of fire and steel, scored with tomes of ringing iron and belching exhaust. Everywhere people were working. Clerics soldered slabs of titanium onto the skeletons of power armor. Paladins beat superheated blades into shape across anvils or cleaned their weapons at workbenches. Monastics traversed the armory in a maze of ramparts and walkways, the sounds of their labor and conversation echoing across the metallic walls. Looking over the railing, Noah would see the web of platforms continuing, deep, deep into the earth. Those walking the ground floor of the armory were like insects.

Kelve led them along a walkway spanning the middle of the dome. "I hope you aren't scared of heights, warden!" A massive ore refiner jutted from a platform to their far left. Molten rock spewed from its funnel into wide, lead barrels. "It can be easy to mistake the Monastery as a quiet place from the surface. Above ground is where our training happens. Our studying, our prayer, our spirituality. Here..." He gestured to a team of clerics hardwiring circuitry into a suit of R12 power armor, eight feet tall. Its helmet gazed into the passing trio menacingly. "...here is our industry."
 
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