Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Monastery

Stephan chuckled, hiding his nervousness as he clasped arms with Casten.

"I'll see you soon."

He watched Casten depart from the room before turning his attention back to the clerics. Took up the sword he himself had made and felt its weight in his hands. He did not yet know the true weight that it carried. Stephan strapped the belt around his waist leaving his sword to hang at his right. Taking another deep breath Stephan strode out of the room and down the hall to the elevator that awaited him. Upon stepping inside he was carried upwards and the momentum of the ascension made him realize how weightless he felt in the anticipation of this moment. The doors opened in front of him and he stepped out, look straight ahead.
 
The Sanctum​

Light bathed him - nine fingers of radiant light beaming through nine stained-glass windows, filtered in the golds and reds and blues of their art. Each window bore the image of one of the nine prime saints, and beneath each window was mounted a great throne wrought of iron and oak and stone. They encircled the room on a floor of solid marble, such that no seat was elevated above another, each facing the center of the room. There, etched into the stone in shades of blood, lay the Evequec Raven - sigil of the Monastic Order.

Upon each seat was one of the masters - save the ninth, brooding beneath the golden visage of Saint Selene - which was bare. As Stephan entered, each master rose as one and drew their blades, holding their swords upright near their faces in salute. Though obscured beneath the shadow of great crimson robes which hooded their eyes, Stephan might have recognized one or two of them; there was Master Dufort, her breastplate glittering in the fiery glow of Saint Valentine’s hair - and there was Romstone hulking under the green shimmer of Saint Jerome’s cloak, the great bear of a man almost too big for his chair.

“Proselyte Certas,” the deep, crinkled voice of Master Kelve carried across the stone, echoing into the vaulted ceiling. “Step forward and present your blade.” He stood near the center, awash in the blues and reds of Saint Lemeux’s armor. He was the only master not holding his sword, rather standing with a hand extended to receive Stephan’s weapon. The other hand, Stephan would know, was a stump of bone and skin.
 
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Stephan stepped forward into the center of the Sanctum to meet Master Kelve. His back was rigidly straight and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. he had to remind himself to breath. As he extended his hand Stephan unsheathed his sword, which glimmered in the light of the stained glass windows, before placing it in Master Kelve's hand.
 
Kelve took the blade with a strength belying his age. The inspection was largely ceremonial - Stephan’s weapon would have been approved by Romstone long before his graduation - but the old master made a dutiful examination of the sword nonetheless. Nodding his approval, Kelve lay the blade across his arm and locked eyes with Stephan.

“Proselyte,” he began, “why have you come here?”
 
Stephan knew what to answer but he still felt nervous none the less and hoped he wouldn't stumble over his words.

"To serve her will."
 
Kelve reached into his robe and produced a glittering necklace, the medallion forged in the likeness of the raven. He extended it for Stephan to take. A flush of warmth shot through his arm the moment he touched it. Sacred steel - the silver.

“What,” Kelve asked, “is your oath?”
 
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Stephan held the necklace firmly in his hand and felt the warmth travel up his arm . He had studied and memorized the oath for years and so he spoke it with confidence.

"With Sacred Steel in hand,
I swear service unending to the Light,
To the One, Holy Evêquist Church
And to the people of Lutetia,
That I might defend them from evil and injustice
From darkness, death, the Hungering Wyrm itself,
Through the strength of my sword
The keen of my mind
The fire of my faith
And the weight of my blood

With Sacred Steel in hand I swear,
To take no spouse, rear no children
Own no lands and hold no wealth
To be honest, generous and courteous to all
To defend the weak, protect the innocent
To bear their burdens, their pains,
And daily offer my life in their stead.

With sacred steel in hand,
I swear upon the name of Selene Evêquec and the Ever-Burning Wick,
To devote my life, my body, my soul to this single purpose -
The destruction of evil, the preservation of good,
The liberation of humanity."
 
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“Kneel.” Kelve took up Stephan’s blade. “Masters of the Council-” his voice lifted, “-who among you would call this man ‘brother’?”

The response was unanimous. ”He is our brother.”

“Then by the right of the council,” he touched the flat end of Stephan’s sword to one of his pauldron, “and by the Light of the Wick-“ he touched the other “-I dub you Sir Stephan Certas, Paladin of the Order.”

As one, each master thrust their swords into the ground and fell to a knee, bowing before Stephan. Kelve, bending at the waist, offered the blade.

“Rise a knight.”
 
Stephan was holding back a smile, trying to retain the formality of the ceremony as he rose and took up his sword. He felt the weight in his hands once again and was beaming with pride. The moment he had been working towards his whole life was here. He was finally a paladin.
 
Pain flashed through her, body and soul. She'd been hurt pretty seriously, almost to a point where the recovery would've left something that simply wouldn't heal, but only almost. She'd been lucky to not pass that brink.

Another throb of pain. Why wouldn't it just go away already. She'd had to have spent years letting herself rest, hadn't she? But there were other feelings along with the pain. Something scratchy, lightly so, against her skin. All of her skin. And a pressure that, while not painful, was uncomfortable in her left arm. Instinct told her to flee, to hide and burrow, but as she went to touch the magic that would aid her, she felt an overwhelming wave of nausea. Fighting back the urge to vomit, she moved to pull her arms close to her chest from where they rested at her sides. The pressure in her arm grew as she pulled, then seemed to release, though it remained there regardless. She hadn't yet opened her eyes, but now the urge and curiosity she felt were too great.

As her eyelids moved aside, her vivid green eyes shimmering in the wan, constant light above her, she could see the top of a rolling stand holding an IV bag. She followed the line from the bag to her arm, where the needle rested in a vein of her left arm. Her eyes widened and she reached for it, but the rolling motion on her body caused the nausea to return, and in greater strength.

She let nature take its course, and promptly rolled enough to heave what little was in her stomach over the side of the small bed she was laying in.

As she recovered, so too did the pulsing pain in her head, a headache to rival the worst hangovers. She lay back, though she scooted such that she could sit somewhat upright in doing so, and realized that she was nude, save for some very chaste white undergarments. She smiled, weakly, at the thought that someone must've seen her naked. She could only wonder at who'd been so fortunate, despite the shape she was in.
 
"Glad to see you're feeling better."

Sir Savien Durandet entered just as Aoife emptied her stomach into the floor. He held a tray in his hands laden with food and a mug of steaming blue liquid. The knight was still in full plate, his helmet removed, his hair swept over in unruly black peaks.

He sat at the foot of her bed and offered her the mug. "Drink this, but first, give me your eyes." He unclipped a roundlight from his belt and checked both of her pupils. "Hm. Do you still feel nauseous after throwing up?"
 
As she was able to get a good look at the paladin, her smile gained just the smallest bit of warmth. She went to say something, but then one of his hands had her chin cupped firmly, turning her head from side to side. His skin was warm, comfortable on her own, and though she wasn't shy from nudity, she was aware that she was wearing very little. When he stepped back, her eyes having been fine and responding properly, she coughed ever somewhat, the acid from her stomach still irritating her throat.

"I've been better, but not nauseous. I don't know what that woman did to me, but whatever those chains were, they felt like they were flaying me alive. That's an experience I can stand to avoid having again, that's for sure." She reached out and grabbed the cup, setting it in her lap briefly. "By the way, do you ever take that shit off?"

She limply gestured at his torso and body, motioning as if to describe his whole body, but understandably only indicating his armor, then drank the liquid. She'd expected it to be strong and almost antiseptic in taste, but instead it tasted like a gentle tea. She relished the taste for a moment and swallowed, the liquid clearing her throat of the residual acid.

"So, where am I, and who was the lucky man who got to undress me, not that I'd been wearing much before?" she asked, looking up at him. She hadn't paid it much mind, but now she realized that they'd not only dressed her in new underwear, but they'd also bathed her, and her hair was silky and flowing straight, laying heavy over her shoulders and pooling arounds the top of her back where she was leaning on the wall.
 
”By the way, do you ever take that shit off?"

“Once a year, for my annual shower,” Savien replied, stone-faced, “other than that, it’s all but welded to my skin.” He spoke without any trace of humor, but the hint of a smile nearly ghosted his pale, downturned lips.

“As for who undressed you-“ He cleared his throat, “-that privilege went to demoiselle Madison Sinlendral, one of the finest clerics and doctors in service to the Order.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Kol would have liked to save her the trouble. The boy is waiting in the courtyard, by the way. He’ll be pleased to know you’re awake. Feels responsible for all this.” He grunted. “I’d wager there’s some truth to that.”
 
"Some, but it's mostly my fault." She'd started to chuckle at his witty response, but the sudden convulsions of her muscles had only resulted in pain, so she'd calmed herself down before talking, her abdomen aching somewhat. She hated getting injured, even if she would recover more swiftly than the average individual. She smiled again at the mental image of Kol arguing with a fussy woman.

"I want to say I'm sorry, Sir Durandet. I let Arianne's comments get under my skin. Hopefully the pillar I forced from the ground in that cafe is enough to pay for the damages. After all, it's threads of gold and silver sealed inside a pillar of smoky quartz. I imagine the metals, if nothing else, are still worth something." She grew a bit sheepish and embarrassed, her pale skin flushing with pale color in response.

"And while I find your wit entertaining, surely you walk around some days without it. I cannot imagine anyone who would so fully seal themselves off from Nature around them." She let herself grow quiet, looking out the window, through a set of sheer white curtains. There was life outside the window, but it was cultivated nature, not the wilds she's grown up in.

"I suppose you're probably wondering why the hell I'm in such terrible condition, right?"
 
“Why do I have to do make all of her social appointments now? Damn witches, their antisocial habits put my own to shame.”

Proselyte Abel trudged along the long hallways into the infirmary. Unlike how he was mere weeks before, Lachapelle stood a little taller and his appearance was better kept, and he smelled distinctly of lavender and alchemy instead of dust and books. He also wore almost half a dozen magically-tinged accessories including bangles on his wrists, carved totems on necklaces, and a featureless ring hewn from opal.

A few minutes spent asking clerics for directions and he let himself into the ward that paladin Durandet was visiting. Noticing someone that matched the description of the ‘upstart’ that had confronted Arianne, Abel sighed. At least it meant he could complete both errands, he reasoned.

“Ser Durandet?” The Proselyte cleared his throat.
 
Savien was quiet and thoughtful as Aoife made her apology. The pillar of jewels and metals certainly hadn’t upset the shop’s owners - it should more than make up for the loss in clientele the cafe would suffer following the incident. Still, Savien could tell Aoife was apologizing for more than just the trouble she’d caused the restaurant.

“Perhaps,” he spoke slowly and without inflection, “the way you grew up, your abilities were a normal and natural part of your life. Like breathing or eating. Here, among normal humans, you should be aware that most consider you to wield incredible power.” He lifted a finger. “You used those powers twice today; first, in defense of the weak against the cruel and the strong. You saved Kol from death, or worse. That was nobly done.” The second metalclad finger rose. “Then, you used your powers to threaten someone who, as you say, ‘got under your skin’. That... was not so noble.” His pale lips twitched a small smile. “I do not say this to lecture you, demoiselle - but your powers, by virtue of their existence, endow you with duty. You know this, I am sure, which is why I’m not worried.” He gave a nod - firm and resolute. “When the time comes, when you are tested again, I know you will do what’s right.”

He followed her eyes out the window. “As for the state of your condition... I could hazard a guess. Freeway smog and cityscape probably aren’t the best things for treehugger like yourself.”

It was then that proselyte Abel entered the room, decked out in the Fabre’s latest line of fashion accessories. He almost winced. Good God, what had those insufferable sisters done to the poor boy? Abel’s affiliation with the Fabres was well known around the Monastery, and in a rare fit of tolerance, was accepted by the Council, albeit reluctantly. Savien supposed the rampaging vampires haunting their streets had something to do with that. Still, the girls could have at least made a small effort to help their newest apprentice fit in among his Monastic peers.

“Abel.” He motioned him forward. “You have a message, I assume?”
 
Aoife watched him, a small smile gracing her lips as he spoke. He understood to some degree, but there was so much more that it seemed they'd forgotten. Perhaps she'd been wrong about the Church after all. Maybe they had left behind the ways of destroying all that was without the faith. She rolled her eyes ever so slightly at how his understanding became slightly more preachy towards the end, and then ever harder at his treehugger comment.

She was about to speak when Abel entered. For a moment, she paused, unsure of how to continue forward, but rather than speak, she rested back some, letting her sore muscles and battered body relax a bit more. After all, it wasn't that she distrusted the Church, but the man dressed similarly to the witch who'd hurt her, so she wasn't exactly about to speak up about just what those chains had done to her.
 
"It appears Master Arianne wanted me to come harass you in her stead, as she couldn't find the motivation to actually do so herself. That, and she wanted me to make sure the -her words not mine- cantankerous upstart had not perished. Something about that being a pain in the ass if she'd 'withered away'." Abel shrugged and briefly glanced over Aoife. She seemed alive enough. "I also did need to ask you to help me find something on this shopping list they gave me, but that can wait for now." The proselyte could only imagine how amused his tutor would be at the idea of having her plaything help run errands. It did make him curious whether the other Masters of the coven were as fickle and at times sadistic as Arianne. He didn't get that impression, but perhaps there was more to them that they hadn't yet shown the boy.

"I'll wait outside until you two are done, I apologize for the intrusion," Abel nodded and excused himself out of the infirmary room to lean against one of the walls outside of it.
 
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