Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Monastery

"Halt!"

Before the trio reached the Monastery gates, they were intercepted by a squad of paladin in full plate. Two were stationed by the entrance cradling Rosaries, the other three mounted on the stone wall. One of them was garbed in R12 power armor, an enormous minigun held at her waste.

"The Monastery is in lockdown, proselyte," one of the knights stepped forward and glared at Abel, "you are to return to your dormitory immediately." He looked at the two witches, the beginning of a snarl playing at his lips. "And by order of the Council of Masters, the Monastery is barred to visitors at this time. Only proselytes, church officials or those who have their silver may enter."
 
A certain blonde female caught the instant that the Caer assault had begun. Stationed on one of the Monastery's bell towers as per her instructions, this lady held a pair of binoculars in her left hand as she witnessed the full extent of the Monastery's three-tiered defense infrastructure of the Monastery being breached right from the front, two key gate pillars adjacent along the front entrance were swept aside into debris as though a titan itself had lead this assault.

"D7 to B1, this is Almagest Night Shift." She stopped speaking perceptibly early into her radio, releasing her finger from the transmission button and setting it in her offsight as she better peered into the Monastery's grounds. With her left ring finger, she tapped the bridge of her nose and tentatively pulled and rubbed the soft flesh under her eyes, shivering as her vision blurred and then lit up with the positing of radiance. Beneath her binoculars, her normally hazel eyes gained a disturbing half-coloring of crimson red while the other half of her irises became filmy or weaker in color.

"This is Omniscience home, Almagest." A brief pause. "Noted. Please respond."
"Almagest to B1, suspicious intruders have destroyed the front gate." With her right forefinger on the radio and her left hand attached succintly to her binoculars, Adeline's speech came out to the rhythm of morse code as her basal officers were re-receiving the information that she was witnessing. "Almagest, thank you for your report."

Another brief pause as the Paladin-in-training felt her eyes burning to discover which target the Caer held as their group motive. Thankfully, however, her radio buzzed with an alternate directive. "Initiating counter attack measures and lockdown procedures. Proceed to central gate and group with the rest of Almagest Night Shift." Upon internalizing the sound of the order, she blinked hard and placed her binoculars down, catching her breath as she suddenly saw the exact same gathering of lights which had bared Lutetia's surroundings and layout to her now gathered and shimmered on here, sparks flying as she started hurriedly down the bell tower's staircase, steadying her breath so as to steady the flow of lights threatening to bring her form to spontaneous combustion.
 
"Please, ser, I must speak to one of the masters, or even a cleric! These guests, they intend to train me in the arcane!" Abel blurted out. Arianne reached out to place a hand on Lachapelle's shoulder, though the other witch intercepted her hand, prompting the former to return it to her side.

"What he meant to say, was that we have discovered that Proselyte Lachapelle has an excellent affinity for magic, and we would hate to see that be ignored under the Monastery's curriculum," Tethys spoke up, glancing visibly down towards Abel as she spoke. "We will assure his safety, if we could simply have a confirmation from the Order to allow it." Whether or not they approved, they were likely to do so regardless, though it couldn't hurt to ask.
 
"Proselyte, this is literally the worst time to ask something like that," the paladin growled, "half the city is in flames. I'm under orders to lock down the Monastery and keep non-Monastic from entering." He took a step forward. "Now why don't you go to your room, and your friends can go back to their homes? Wherever that is."

"Is there a problem, Sir Caras?" Master Romstone came out from the gates. The burly cleric had his war maul strapped to his back. He recognized Abel immediately. "Ah! Proselyte Lachapelle. I'm pleased to see you safe." He looked at the witches. "...with some friends, I see."

"I was just telling the proselyte to return to his quarters, sir, and dismissing his comrades," Caras continued, "as per the instructions of the council."

"The council has a habit of making decisions without me," Romstone mused. "Proselyte! Introduce your friends - and explain why they are delivering you to the Monastery." He stroked his beard. "Have you come from Valentine Park?"
 
Abel breathed a sigh of relief as Romstone emerged from the monastery. The Master that dedicated his time to the forge was one of the few that had more than 'no' in his vocabulary, and as such was beloved by the proselytes, at least the majority of them.

"Oh, Master Romstone," Lachapelle's tone brightened as he spoke, "I was at Valentine Park. These two, they," he glanced up at them, continuing when he received a nod from both witches,"Arianne and Tethys Fabre, saved me and the young Lady Duval."

Once Abel finished, Tethys was next to speak. "I have also noticed proselyte Lachapelle's affinity and study of the arcane, and would request the opportunity to mentor him in said arts."
 
"Fabrs..." Romstone's brows knit. He knew the name well - an old and respected bloodline of witches. Some of their writings on magical theory were a part of the academy's curriculum. "They saved you? Well then, we owe them our gratitude." He nodded to them both. "And we certainly won't leave them in the streets while the servants of the Wyrm roam the city. Sir Caras, let them inside."

The knight stiffened. "But sir-"

"Don't be a fool, Jenin," Romstone quipped, his voice stern but not unkind, "you and I know very well that these old stone walls aren't protecting anyone. If anything, they'd be less of a threat inside the Monastery, under our surveillance." He touched two fingers to his lips, gesturing for Abel and the witches to pass through the walls.
 
In his dream, Savien Durandet was already dead. His body lay on a pyre of wood and stone in the Monastery courtyard, shattered sword propped across his chest. A handful of paladins and clerics were gathered in procession. It was a small service - Madison and Leon, Crista, Pandora... Arianne, interestingly enough, and Aderyn. The witches stood apart from the Monastics, heads bowed.

Leon was closest to him, holding a torch and saying something, Savien couldn't hear what. With a bow, the knight touched the flame to the pyre. The wood caught quickly and smoldered with a bright, crimson heat. As one, the Monastics recited the Orison du'Requi.

"From Light we are born, to Light we shall return. May our souls shine with the Wick and burn eternal in the undying Dark..."

"And the Wyrm shall fester in the Void," a beastly voice rose above the holy chorus, choked in malice, in patronizing hate. The sound was ice water in Savien's veins, freezing steel against his heart. It was the voice of Nox Caeruleum, Lord of the Caer.

"And the Sons of the Light shall look upon the Dark and despair." The corpse on the pyre began to rise. "For the Doom of Man is written in the endless Void, and that Doom is Wynter." It sat up - what had been Savien's body - charred flesh sloughing of his bones, scorched teeth drawn into a jubilant rictus grin. His eyes glowed with pale, unholy frost.

"The Wyrm shall fester," his mouth moved. Then, he leapt - broken sword whirring through the wind, cutting Leon's throat before he could draw his blade. "The Wick shall fade..." He gutted Crista. Decapitated Arianne. Stabbed Madison through the heart while she wept his name. "And all that you have loved and fought for..." Nox was beside him, beaming like a proud father. The bodies of his friends lay before him in pools of freezing blood.

"Welcome home," the Caer lord cooed.

Savien smiled, gore flecked across his smoldering jaw.

"...will die."

---

He woke screaming.
 
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Madison felt like it had taken hours to bring Savien back from the brink of death. He was broken in so many places it seemed like there wasn't enough salve in the world to heal his wounds. Somehow she had managed it and the color was coming back into his face. She was relieved. She had many others to tend to, but she was most worried for Sir Durandet. Night had already fallen, but Madison found that she could not sleep. She tried to wash away the marks left by the battle but in her mind they lingered.

She walked among the beds of the wounded paladins, proselytes and civilians. Then she heard a scream. It sent a chill through her body before she ran towards its origin, shocked to find Savien already awake.

"Sir Durandet. It's alright. You're alright."

She she place her hand on his and knelt beside his bed, looking into his eyes with great concern.
 
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The paladin breathed heavily, sheaned in sweat and gripping the sheets of his mattress. He was re-bandaged, re-stitched, his arm once more in a cast. There was no gauze over the left half of his face and the stitched line of scar tissue ran from his upper brow down to his jaw.

"Madison..." he rasped. He looked at the cleric as if he hadn't seen her in years. "...where am I? What happened?"

He looked at her uniform. No blood, no puncture wound. He hadn't killed her. It was a dream. A dream and nothing more.
 
"We're back at the Monastery. The battle is over...for now. You...we almost lost you. Are you alright?"

Madison squeezed Savien's hand gently, trying to give him some comfort. She couldn't imagine the things he must have seen and done in Valentine Park today. She knew it had to be affecting his mind.
 
Savien took deep, slow breaths. The Monastery. He was home. Safe. Away from the Caer, from the monsters.

"I'm fine," Savien swallowed. He forced his frenzied heartbeat back into cadence. "Leon, Perrin, Robert, the Golden... are they alright? Has there been word?"
 
"I'm not sure about their conditions at the moment, sorry. Is there anything that you need?"

Madison was still kneeling by his bed watching his expressions and trying to assess his current state.
 
Savien looked around him. The room was dark. Evening sunlight streamed in through the blinds. Since Crista didn't yet know about the condition of his friends, he assumed it was still the same day as the attack. I've slept all day.

He looked at the IV bag next to him with disdain, the sac of nutrients effectively keeping him chained to the bed.

"...some water, if that's alright," he said, "real water. That I can swallow."
 
"Of course, just a moment."

Madison stood to retrieve a glass of what for Savien. She could tell from the expression he had when he looked at the IV bag that he was not pleased to be stuck in bed to heal, but he was in no state to be moving around. She would have to keep a close eye on Savien to make sure he didn't strain himself. She promptly returned, giving him the glass of water.

"Here you go."
 
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Savien cupped the glass and took large, wholesome gulps.

"Thank you," he said, and set it on the stand near his bed.

A short silence passed between them.

"...you're not going to let me leave this room, are you?"
 
"Of course not. Sir Durandet, we almost lost you. In the state you're in you can't survive another confrontation. I understand how badly you want to fight...but sometimes you have to think about your own health. If we lose you that's one less person we have to fight against the darkness. Please, listen to me and just stay and rest until you are fit to fight again..."

Madison was pleading to him to stay and recover. She knew the kind of person Savien was and she admired him for his zeal and his conviction, but he didn't know when to stop.
 
Savien drew a slow breath. She was right, of course - that was the damndest thing. Had he listened to medical professionals in the first place, Savien wouldn't be in the position he was now. He was only human after all. His body needed time to heal.

Only human... only mortal...

The knight shut the words from his mind and looked back to Madison.

"I understand," he said, "can you do me a favor, though? Bring the files from my desk down to me, and find Master Romatone and bring him to my room." He tugged disapprovingly at the IV in his arm. "I need to requisition some weapons."
 
"Of course. I'll be right back. Oh, and don't mess with the IV bag."

Madison smiled to him before turning to make her way to his office. She felt relieved knowing that he was alright. It helped that he had agreed to stay put as well. Now she could rest a bit more easily.
 
As soon as Madison left, a stranger brushed past her, a female cleric from the looks of their outfit, but the face was completely unfamiliar. Before she could inspect them much further or ask them a question, they had already hurried past. All she caught was the pale, unusually unmarred skin and almost featherlike raven hair that seemed to shimmer in the light. The cleric even entered Paladin Durandet's room.

Once inside, Arianne locked the door with a soft click and sat beside the paladin's bed.
 
Savien said nothing as the stranger entered his room, eyes closed, his bare chest rising and falling in a cadence with his breath. Only after the mysterious "cleric" sat beside him did he open his mouth to speak.

"This is becoming a bad habit," he murmured. His eyes, half-lidded with weariness, opened to survey Arianne Fabre dressed in the robes of a medicinal cleric.

"Please tell me you came by those clothes through legal means."
 
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