Medieval Grimdark Role-Playing Experience

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 <-- <--
 +
 +--> Chapter III#
 +
 +As the Republic came to know the Resolve’s awesome and terrible power in defeating nearly two entire outfits of Church forces, the Ecclesial Authority would respond in kind; not only against that of the Resolve threat, but against any and all whom would dare even consider wielding the powers of magic and the arcane. On Paedrig’s Day of 1313, a formal decree issued by the Venerated Church’s Council of Bishops was made; magic was considered a blight against one’s own immortal soul, and any whom dared to practice it would be subjected to execution without trial or jury. In mere days, word of this decree traveled far and wide across the far reaches of Vitaveus. What would soon follow would be the literal slaughter of thousands of Republic citizens at the hands of both the Church, the Inquisition, and even the laypeople of the Republic itself. Those that were known to study the art of the arcane were slain in the streets and alleys of the Republic, often by the hands of their own neighbors. No consideration had been given to the fact that the average arcane user’s prowess over magic had been infantile at best; if one was known or even suspected of having dabbled in the arcane arts, their life was essentially forfeit. The Church, its’ Templar along with the fabled Inquisition Corps, now roiling with excitement and bloodlust over the declaration of a “crusade of this generation”, wasted no time in bringing forth “divine justice” to those that, only a week prior, had been the very people they had been oath-bound to protect and serve. Homes, farms, shops and property of suspected magic users, now simply referred to as “witches” by those of the Cloth, were burned to the ground. Those even thought to have been associated with witches – witchkindred – were often executed in the streets as well. Only when time would permit, these collaborators would be treated with what would become customary treatment of those suspected of witchcraft: crucifixion or being burned at the stake. Literature concerning the arcane had been further deemed illegal and immoral by the marauding Church forces, and it was burned in great pyres whenever and wherever it was found, with those found in possession of it suffering a similar fate. This frenzied Inquisition against magic and the arcane had reached across every corner of the Republic, lasting for nearly two months, and was punctuated in many areas with civil unrest, rioting, rampant property damage, and other collateral crimes against humanity. This period of unrest would be come to known as the “Purge of the Witchkin”.
 +
 +During the horrors inflicted upon Republic citizens during the Purge, the Resolve took a grand opportunity to make their intentions well known. In each city that the cabal had made their presence within during their trek across the kingdom a year prior, those supposedly blessed by their mysterious powers of Miracles had become stricken with misfortune. Those that the collective of warlocks and witches had healed of the turned feral and mindless. Grateful souls that were cured of blindness were stricken with horrifying visions of otherworldly creatures, speaking of dreadful sights of daemons and Ill. Those that were bestowed the gift of hearing were damned with voices beckoning them to commit atrocious deeds upon their fellow man.
 +
 +Yet it was the mute whom had been chosen to deliver the Resolve’s true message to the forsaken Republic. Across the Republic, thousands of the misfortunate whom were blessed with the supposed Miracle of Speech raised their voices in unholy unison, their cacophony revealing the true nature of the Resolve’s deceit:
 +
 + 
 +
 +“The End is Nigh for the Children of Decus; may their Torment sew the seeds of the New World”.
 +
 +
 +
 +
 +The Church, its’ Templar along with the fabled Inquisition Corps, now roiling with excitement and bloodlust over the declaration of a “crusade of this generation”, wasted no time in bringing forth “divine justice” to those that, only a week prior, had been the very people they had been oath-bound to protect and serve.
 +
 +Following the Church’s inquisition against witchcraft, a considerable void was left within the Republic. The Resolve, now having seemingly vanished into the frontier lands of the Western Territories, proved to have had been an unassailable force of unfathomable power. The Torment continued to ravage the Republic, with every alchemical and apothecarial treatment devised by the Foundry and Apothecary Corps proving to be ineffective. Magical practice and even research had been deemed wholly heretical, despite that the only known cures to the Torment had been that of the Resolve’s incantations of protection and magical spells of healing. With the Republic burning, it had become begrudgingly and painfully aware to the Ecclesial Authority that an understanding of magic was vital to the survival of the Decusian peoples, not simply for divining a cure to the Torment, but out of fear of the Resolve one day returning to conquer and subjugate an unprepared Republic with the super-weapon of magic, of which no match to existed within the armories of the Decusian war machine.
 +
 +While it was an inarguable fact that, surreptitiously, select Chapters of Templar and cloisters of those within the Authority had been engaging in the state-sponsored study, documentation and perpetuation of magical practice for countless centuries, their prowess over the mystic arts were but a fraction of that seen on display by the Resolve. Furthermore, such work towards the mastery of the arcane arts could not be relegated to the shadows if any true progress was to be made – only a minute portion of the population had appeared to be “attuned” to be able to practically use and harness the powers of magic. Thus, the Church had turned to the millions of laypersons whom, just months prior, they had hunted with impunity for the mere speculation of practicing magic. A new bureaucracy would be required – one under the purview of the Church, but seemingly independent from its influence. This bureaucracy would walk the fine line between seeking salvation of the Decusian peoples form the threat of the Torment and Resolve while also keeping ever-in mind the lessons learned from the Act of Blasphemy, the infamous event that had been responsible for deeming magic heretical and a threat to the eternal salvation of mankind in the first place. A new faction would be thus be birthed, under the close supervision of the College of Bishops; a collaborative of enlightened minds whom would research, develop and perfect the magical arts; this collaborative would be come to known formally as the Consortium of Mages.
 +
 +Magical practice and even research had been deemed wholly heretical, despite that the only known cures to the Torment had been that of the Resolve’s incantations of protection and magical spells of healing.
 +
 +]As 1313 came to a close, a new day and age of the Republic had come to pass. A kingdom divided, both literally and figuratively, constituted the New Republic. With the western half of Vitaveus considered Blacklands, the Eastern Baronies were but a shadow of their former self. The Church, whose favor and power had never been so solidified since the days of Old, reigned over every aspect of life with an air of authoritarianism never before witnessed. Following the Darkest Dawn, a tentative sense of order had been regained, paid for in the blood of tens of thousands of citizens. All across Vitaveus, even the most progressive Decusian reverted to their faith; for if such a thing as Magic existed, undoubtedly the other stories of Old were not folklore, but accounts of reality in the flesh.
 +
 +And thus, the word of the Church had now been unquestionable. And it was with this unquestionable word that the Church did rebuild the ailing Republic, solidifying its’ control over the Eastern Baronies, shoring up the borders of the Midlands, and in but a few short years, setting its sights farther. By 1315, with the Baronies under firm martial control, the Church now focused its attention to reclaiming control over the entirety of the Midlands, intent on reclaiming absolute control over the continent by any means necessary.
 +
 +<--
 +
 +--> Chapter IV#
 +
 +Blood streamed down her face, yet she did not seem to notice. The heavy golden armor, boasting proudly the embossed emblem of the Decusian Holy Legion, protested against her fatigued body. Her arm writhed in excruciating pain, undoubtedly broken in more than two separate places. Her body pleaded with her to yield, yet her mind knew better than to concede; to stop was to die, die like the others, die like everyone else in this god forsaken world called Eden…She would survive, however she could. It was her will.
 +
 +The midnight storm poured rain down upon her that had blurred her vision, yet what lay ahead of her was unmistakable. Billowing flames reached high into the heavens, licking the storm clouds in defiance, resembling an insolent child in midst of a tantrum. Despite the disturbing scene, she felt relief; for escape from this gauntlet of horrors lay just within reach. She staggered, tripped, and hobbled, nearly losing her footing in the soft mud beneath her.
 +
 +Various buildings and charred rubble lay in a small meadow no more than a half mile away. What was once a small village was now engulfed in flames, the heavy downpour having little effect on the raging inferno. The scattered buildings had been nothing more than hovels and shanties, a collection of shacks that comprised one of the many humble farming communities that littered the Midlands’ rolling countryside. Now, it was naught but a graveyard; a place where the dying had bid their final farewell to the cruel land of Eden and went on to the worlds that lay ahead.
 +
 +She knew this to be fact, for Legionnaire Alana Morgan, Twelfth Battalion of the Twenty Fourth Vesica Brigade, had been personally responsible in helping assemble that graveyard. For this particular village had been situated upon a stretch of land on the wrong side of the Badlands line, and thus, anything found breathing was to be considered a threat.
 +
 +Considered…afflicted.
 +
 +Suddenly, the screams erupted behind her again. The familiar feeling of adrenaline flooding her body returned, and she managed to increase her pace. Her legs burned with pain and her arm exploded in writhing agony, yet she continued on, for the sounds of screams quickly turned into the sounds of footfalls; footfalls closing in behind her. Terror filled her heart and soul, daring not to look back. Her entire Company had been decimated in this god-forsaken shithole, and undoubtedly, they were now behind her amongst the undying…the unliving. The cold midnight air burned her lungs, pleading her to stop.
 +
 +More voices joined the unholy screams as Alana pawed at her armor, attempting to loosen it from her person. Only through her ragged gasps of breath had she begun to realize that her own guttural screams had joined the choir of voices that pursued her. Just as a frantic set of footsteps grew in volume over her right shoulder, she managed to jostle free the buckles holding her pauldrons in place; plates of tempered steel slid free from her shoulders and arms, tumbling into the soft mud below. Her pace quickened as she heard the clatter of the armor make contact with one of her pursuers, the footfalls turning to a loud tumble and labored scream of anger.
 +
 +Her entire Company had been decimated in this god-forsaken shithole, and undoubtedly, they were now behind her amongst the undying…the unliving.
 +
 +Sensing a momentary second of reprieve, Alana worked to manipulate the leather bindings that held her cuirass firmly to her chest, and allowed herself a quick glance behind…
 +
 +Seven figures gave chase to her, sprinting at full speed. They were no more than fifty yards behind her and were gaining quickly. The moonlight did little more than illuminate their silhouettes due to the storm churning above, yet the visage was enough of a sight to strike fear into the deepest recesses of her soul. With trembling hands, Alana loosened the cuirass from her chest, shedding it off like a discarded shirt. A hopeless scream erupted from deep inside her, and somewhere, she found the strength to run even faster.
 +
 +Rounding the village, she could now feel the heat of the raging fires upon her blood-soaked face, and, distantly, a sound that graced her ears like nothing else could. Approximately fifteen horses had been tethered to a large Yew tree upon the northern outskirts of the former village, and now they stood no more than a hundred yards away. One in particular had caught her eye; a sorrel stallion neighing in angered protest of the storm above. It was her Company commandant who thought it to be wise to scout the village and farm on foot, mostly as to avoid getting a mare’s foot stuck in a rabbit hole or soft patch of mud. Consequently, it was a tactical mistake that lead to the ambush and subsequent deaths of her entire company. Ironically, it may be the one thing that could save her yet.
 +
 +She quickened her pace. She passed burning embers and the ruins of what were once homes. The scent of burning flesh pierced her nostrils, yet she paid little attention to it. Her voice was coarse, and her legs burned. Escape lay just in reach, and as she reached the Yew tree, her eyes locked upon a silhouette sitting with its back against the tree’s trunk. She recognized the figure as the young recruit they had picked up back in Taltha, a young teen with strawberry blonde hair and freckles lining his nose. He was assigned sentry duty in order to keep an eye on the mounts while the others scouted the meadow and farmland for the afflicted. Upon hearing Alana’s labored approached, the teen suddenly stirred to his feet. It had not taken long for him to make out the half-dozen or more figures giving her chase, and the teen stammered impotently about, his legs paralyzed in fear.
 +
 +Yet Alana wasted no time. Her shaking hands grasped the leather tether of the sorrel stallion that caught her eye moments before, straining to untie it. The horse neighed and snorted, as if as desperate as Alana to leave as well. The young sentry was still petrified, unsure as to what to do. He rushed to the Alana’s side, only to be answered with incomprehensible babble and a sharp push, sending him to the soft ground below. It was only when Alana’s pursuers wailed their ungodly screams that the teen realize what was truly at hand. He scrambled madly for the nearest tethered mount, clawing at the hemp bindings with shaking hands.
 +
 +A sheer sense of terror filled Alana as she manipulated the rope from the stallion’s neck, scurrying to mount the steed. To her right, the sentry fumbled with his own attempts, yet to no avail; his shaking hands had naught the dexterity to unfasten such knots in haste. The afflicted that had given her chase for more than a mile now were no more than fifteen yards away, parting the high grasses of the meadow in pursuit of the injured Legionnaire, the scent of blood filling their nostrils and frenzied lust driving their every move.
 +
 +Consequently, it was a tactical mistake that lead to the ambush and subsequent deaths of her entire company. Ironically, it may be the one thing that could save her yet.
 +
 +The sentry screamed, looking to Alana. He turned on his heel, making a sprint towards her, his arms outstretched in pleading terror. The grasses surrounding the Yew tree parted, and from within came spewing forth the afflicted ones; her former comrades, now mindless husks driven by one simple emotion;
 +
 +Rage.
 +
 +Without thinking, Alana whipped the steed to the left, striking off in a gallop. In one moment of sublime chaos, the scene had all came to a crashing climax. The sorrel stallion Alana sat upon neighed in both fright and surprise as the sky above cracked with ear-shattering thunder, all the while the screams of her former brethren coalesced into a blood-curdling rapture. Yet despite the cacophony of madness that filled her ears, Alana could make out one last distinct sound above the rest of the chaos; a gurgling, wet cry that that she would never forget for the rest of her tortured life. It was the sound of blood racing into the undeveloped lungs of a young man that would never see the age of fifteen; one that would never lay with a woman, or lay claim to his own land. It was the sound of surprise, terror, and agony.
 +
 +It was the sound of death; it was the sound of abandonment.
 +
 +<--
 +
 +--> Chapter V#
 +
 +By 1320, the continent known as Vitaveus, home of the Venerated Republic, had been divided. Maps of the continent pre-dating the Torment displayed, quite proudly, a single unified nation of numerous territories and states that had stretched across one mighty landmass. By early 1320, however, cartographers had begun to paint a new picture of the Republic, a land divided not by war or political agendas, but by famine and death. Upon this map had been three boundaries, each with its own story to tell.Upon the eastern side of the continent lay what was known as the Eastern Baronies. This collection of states and territories represented the culmination of the Republic’s culture, faith, and technology, and it was from here where the roots in which the kingdom grew from centuries ago. The eldest and most influential cities in the Republic had been located on the eastern side of the continent, branching outwards from the Republic's former capitol of Tor, known colloquially as the First City.
 +
 +The Eastern Baronies had been rendered relatively safe as early as 1315 by the combined efforts of the Church, Legion and Inquisition. Before the Torment, the cities of the Baronies were strong and powerful in their own rights and, for the most part, were able to contain the Torment during the early months of 1313 as well as the events following the Darkest Dawn and the Witchkin Purge. Coupled with support from the Church and Legion, the Baronies were spared much of the horror witnessed in other parts of the Republic. By 1320, life had been tolerable in these areas of the Republic, if not for suffering the authoritarian rule of the Church, overcrowding in most all of the larger Municipalities and city-states, and the occasional food shortage due to disruptions in the supply lines from the Midlands.
 +
 +Most of the eldest cities in the Republic had been located on the eastern side of the continent, branching outwards from the coastal capitol of Tor, known colloquially as the First City.
 +
 +Somewhere between the Western Territories and Eastern Baronies laid thin designation of land that had stretched many thousands of miles, reaching from the northern mountains to the southern coasts of the continent. This area was known as the Midlands, and it was here that the first efforts in retaking the lost lands of the Republic took place. By 1320, the Midlands were still a chaotic and dangerous place, serving as the veritable border between the civilized and safe sections of the Republic, and the Western Territories that had been hit the hardest by the Torment. Most all military units in the Republic that were not tasked with peacekeeping in the Baronies had been commissioned to the Midlands to secure a foothold. This foothold would serve as a base of operations for the grand task of exploring the Blacklands of the Western Territories, both in an attempt to recover the lost portions of the Republic as well as to hunt down the Resolve. Additionally, the Midlands served as an imperative strategical asset to the Republic, for without their workable arable land and the significant amount of agricultural products it produced, the Baronies would collapse under it's own unsustainable needs of food.
 +
 +As for father west, little information concerning the fate of the Western Territories was available in 1320. Handfuls of refugees had occasionally made their way into Midlands between 1315 to 1320, harboring tales of horror and madness; where the Torment hadn’t claimed lives, lawlessness and civil unrest had. What little presence the Church and Legion had in the Western Territories prior to the onset of the Torment and the horrors that followed had been futile, as most battalions had been cut off from orders, supplies and reinforcements since the middle of 1313. The Western Territories were, essentially, a no-man’s land, a portion of the civilized world that had succumbed to anarchy, plague and chaos. Where little bastions of order did remain, they operated without the official guidance or procedure from the Church proper.
 +
 +By 1320, the Midlands were still a chaotic and dangerous place, serving as the veritable border between the civilized and safe sections of the Republic, and the Western Territories that had been hit the hardest by the Torment
 +
 +When asked of the Resolve, the only answer refugees of the Western Territories could ever give had been that they had gone west, farther and farther into the horizon, leaving a trail of misery and destruction behind.
 +
 +Intent on both re-securing the lost territories of the Republic and to track down the insidious cult, the Church and Legion worked diligently to fortify their positions in the Midlands, and to prepare to embark on a crusade unlike the continent had seen since the ancient days of the Reclamation. By 1324, the first expeditions were made into the Blacklands of the Western Territories by battalions of both Church Templar and Legionnaires. These expeditions would continue for nearly an entire decade, yielding little gains and offering even more losses. Yet there had been some headway; for with passing year, a scant few towns and territories were retaken, the veritable frontlines slowly moved farther and farther west. Slowly but surely the campaign to reclaim Vitaveus sauntered forth, deeper into the ruined lands of the Western Territories and in to the unknown. By 1322, it had even been believed that one day Republic forces may even reach Angelspire herself; a monolithic construction seated in some of the farthest reaches of Collatia, a territory deep into the Western Territories, and for many, represented the idea that the Republic could in fact reclaim order and reel back from the edge of anarchy.
 +
 +In the year of 1333, however, that belief had been crushed by a peculiar report from a collection of Republic colonies far to the east of the continent of Vitaveus, situated upon a chain of islands known colloquially as the End of the World…
 +
 +<--
 +
 +|   |
 +
 +====== Prelude Part: II ======
 +
 +-->  Chapter I#
 +
 +Nearly twenty years after the Torment had emerged within the territories of the Venerated Republic, scattered reports of curious happenings far to the east of had emerged. These reports originated from three distant territories set upon a collection of landmasses known simply as “The End of the World”, the farthest lands ever explored by Republic expeditions. Only three meager territories had been erected in these peculiar lands, mostly due to its inaccessibility from Republic forces proper. These holdings consisted of the small and humble island of New Dardain, the sprawling military territory of Ironhollow Downs, of which housed thousands of Legion soldiers, and the grand Municipality of MacArthur’s Gate, a clerical city- state that stood as the shining beacon and pinnacle of Decusian civilization within the End of the World. While seemingly irrelevant dots on a map compared to the sprawling might of the Republic’s presence on Vitaveues, the Decusian presence here in the End of the World still boasted a modest fifty thousand souls.
 +
 +Since the emergence of the Torment, these territories were considered a last option for a dying Republic, a contingency plan that the Ecclesial Authority it would use to evacuate the Bishop College and whatever prominent Prelacy families of the Republic they could cram into transports in the unlikely event the Baronies had ever begun a death spiral. These three bastions of hope had stood as a last-chance scenario for the Republic, as there had never been a report of the Torment crossing the vast stretches of ocean that separated Vitaveus from the End of the World. Many citizens had not even ever heard of the existence of these distant colonies, for Vitaveus had been so massive and so sprawling that many could not even conceive of lands existing outside of it. Suppression of lands outside that of Vitaveus had also been a policy of the Church and Authority, for the End of the World contained its own mysteries; people of different cultures and races, some friendly, some hostile, and all practicing beliefs and religions far from that of the Decusian faith. Most notably of these had been the curious Kingdom of Bhaskar, whose people had looked far different than any typical Decusian had.
 +
 +Many citizens had not even ever heard of the existence of these distant colonies, for Vitaveus had been so massive and so sprawling that many could not even conceive of lands existing outside of it.
 +
 +In 1333, reports of odd sightings had made its way from MacArthur’s Gate to the Grand Collegiate of Bishops in Tor. Reports of peculiar afflictions of both the mind and soul, odd sightings of errant mages, and tales of unexplained deaths began to fill the occasional status reports that were ferried across the Pearl Sea. Before long, the true severity of the situation had reared its ugly head; it was believed that the Resolve, the mysterious cult that had not been seen nor heard from in almost twenty years, had returned in force, and in one of the most unlikely places in all of Eden.
 +
 +The Venerated Church, facing an impossible situation upon the mainland, had come to a hasty decision concerning these newfound reports; a surge of support, comprised of the Legion, the Church Templar, the Foundry, and even the Consortium would be sent to solidify the Republic holdings of New Dardain, the Gate, and Ironhollow Downs. Thousands of faithful Decusians had been shipped across the great sea, their perilous journey marking the first days of what would later be known as the fall of the Republic.
 +
 +Before long, the true severity of the situation had reared its ugly head; it was believed that the Resolve, the mysterious cult that had not been seen nor heard from in almost twenty years, had returned in force, and in one of the most unlikely places in all of Eden.
 +
 +Upon their arrival in these Old Colonies, as they were colloquially referred to as by the first wave of military reinforcement send to the End of the World, the Republic forces had found themselves braving the unknowns of a land unfamiliar to them. Dozens upon dozens of Clerical and Legion Chapters, infused and supported with the magical support of the Consortium, had been sent immediately eastward from the Decusian port of entry in New Dardain and towards the fabled MacArthur’s Gate, to reinforce and hold the city-state from the rumors of a trifling Resolve threat.
 +
 +What these fresh reinforcements had found there, however, was something they had surely not expected…
 +
 +The reports of the Resolve had indeed been true; the cultists had re-emerged in the world of Eden, and with them, an old reign of terror had been unleashed upon a new land. Yet this time, the Resolve had seemingly grown from a simple cult into a veritable army. MacArthur’s Gate had been a literal war zone, besieged by not only the Resolve warlocks, but by the fury of Hell itself. Countless thousands of Legionnaires and Templars had fallen in their efforts to hold the Gate from the Resolve’s new unholy army, of which had been populated with mind-melting horrors of daemonic taint. These horrifying creatures of both man and beast laid a never-ending assault upon MacArthur’s Gate, nearly taking the city-state if not for the sudden influx of new reinforcements sent from Vitaveus.
 +
 +<--
 +
 +--> Chapter II#
 +
 +News of the findings within the End of the World had been sent immediately back to Vitaveus, directly to the Ecclesial Authroity, and with the utmost secrecy the Republic could muster. Abhorred by the new situation, a bold decision had been enacted by the Authority; an overwhelming surge of forces would be sent to the End of the World, to aid in the task of securing the Republic’s holdings there and to face the Resolve thread head-on. In mere weeks, numerous thousands of the Republic war-machine, consisting of everything from Templar, Legionnaires, Inquisitors and Consortium Magi were shipped off to the Gate in dizzying numbers. Yet it was further reasoned that for every Clerical Chapter or Legion Cohort sent to the End of the World, countless hundreds of laymen would be needed to support their efforts within an untamed and unclaimed landmass that the Republic held such a meager hold over.
 +
 +Lotteries were soon held in the major cities of the Eastern Baronies, specifically those suffering from overcrowding and scarcity in resources. Presented with an opportunity to leave the overcrowded cities of the Baronies, countless men and women jumped at the offer to serve the Republic by making the exodus to the End of the World.  Under the guise they would be assisting in the establishment of several new agricultural colonies upon island holdings in the Pearl Sea, these unknowing souls were shuttled to the Old Colonies by the thousand, only to land upon the docks of New Dardain, and forced to face the grim truth of the reality that laid before them…
 +
 +Presented with an opportunity to leave the overcrowded cities of the Baronies, countless men and women jumped at the offer to serve the Republic by making the exodus to the End of the World.
 +
 +…they were but cogs in a great machine, serving to stave off the inevitable slaughter of their countrymen in lands foreign and hostile through all manner of servitude and support.
 +
 +It was a task that had truly been futile from its inception, and in the following months of the ill-fated colonial surge, these Forsaken Souls had become keenly aware of their predicament. Slowly but surely, the situation within the colonies had begun to come to light to the citizens who were unceremoniously dumped upon the shores of the End of the World. Those that had been sold on the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to help develop new agricultural colonies for the ailing Republic quickly became aware that there was much more going on in the End of the World than a simple colonization; a new war against the Resolve was being fought, one that the Republic was losing sorely – and one they had been unknowingly and unwillingly been conscripted to.
 +
 +Yet despite such deception, many brave souls answered the call of their Decusian brethren. While MacArthur’s Gate held out against the seemingly endless siege of Resolve forces, the colonist forces worked to support the Republic war-efforts in every way they could. In early 1334, after having been besieged for 324 days straight, the battle for MacArthur’s Gate had experienced it is first day of reprieve. The combined efforts of the Church, Legion, Consortium and the colonial forces had succeeded in supporting a force within the Old Colonies strong enough to resist the efforts of the Resolve – for the Republic, now enforced with magical practitioners of their own, had been able to prove far greater of a match for the cabal of warlocks than they had thirty years prior. With continued support from Vitaveus, it had seemed that victory was even possible, as with every passing day, the forces of the Resolve were beaten back, albeit sometimes merely by feet, further into the unknown lands of the End of the World.
 +
 +Those that had been sold on the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to help develop new agricultural colonies for the ailing Republic quickly became aware that there was much more going on in the End of the World than a simple colonization; a new war against the Resolve was being fought, one that the Republic was losing sorely – and one they had been unknowingly and unwillingly been conscripted to.
 +
 +But before absolute victory could truly be achieved or even hinted at, a cataclysmic shift of power within the Republic clergy had occurred, one that served to stop the Colonial success dead in its’ tracks. A new Archbishop had been declared by the Ecclesial Authority, and with him, a new era of misery would be birthed. Capitalizing upon the fears and doubts of many within the Church, the new Archbishop had been able to assume control of the Bishop College, the hearts and minds of many influential Prelacy families, and a large majority of the Ecclesial Authority.
 +
 +And so it came to pass that Archbishop Karl Anslem’s first executive decision as the Venerated Republic’s newest Archbishop was to immediately suspend all support efforts to the End of the World. Dissenters within the Authority and all four Factions of the Republic were numerous but were quickly quelled through the application of the Authority’s Diaconate Templar, the clergy’s personal army of specialized shock-troops. With the stroke of a quill, thousands of Republic military along with the supporting Colonial effort had been left to fend for themselves – cut off from any future reinforcement or aid from Vitveus.
 +
 +Thus began the era of the Great Abandonment.
 +
 +<--
 +
 +--> Chapter III#
 +
 +<fc #ffffff>**“The Legionnaires went ahead, first breaching the exterior gate, then climbing over the rock, rubble, fallen trees and charred bodies that had served to block the main roadway into the town proper. I along with half of the remaining forces of the three-hundred and fifth Templar stayed behind as to ensure they were not flanked while making their way into the town. From the exterior, Subodh looked ghastly; fires ravished the rooftops of nearly all the huts and shanties, and the big cherry trees that lined the north and east sides of the settlement were up strung with the corpses of the fallen – hundreds by my count. It looked like Hel on earth.”**</fc>
 +
 +**“We held our ground as the Legionnaires cleared the way. There wasn’t any resistance. The Colonial cohort followed them. You could say by this point we were desperate for help, and those colonists had some mettle to them, and with the majority of our forces re-assigned to MacArthur’s Gate, we didn’t have a lot of options left. Once the Colonial forces made their way in to the village safely, I and the 305th followed up the rear, ensuring that we were not attacked from behind.”**
 +
 +**“I first noticed the construct I have been tasked to write this statement about immediately after making my way into the center of the city from the western gate. From the horizon, it was impossible to see – at the time, I thought it was just due to smoke obscuring its view. Now, looking back, I am sure it was witchery cloaking it from view outside of being directly atop it. The constructs themselves towered a good three, perhaps four stories above the tallest building in the village, and they appeared to be crafted from a dark stone that looked unfamiliar and ancient. The construction took the form of a pair of towers, with an open space between them large enough to fit three wagons wide. At the base of each tower was amassed the remains of dozens, if not hundreds, of both Bhaskarians and Decusians. They looked fresh – perhaps only days old, but they were in bad sorts; many appeared to have been in various states of dismemberment and mutilation.”**
 +
 +**“As we stood in awe of the sight before us, we were set upon by the enemy unprepared. I personally witnessed four Templar fall to the hands of the Resolve’s foot-soldiery in under a blink of an eye. Whatever obscuring magic had kept us from being able to observe the towering monolith had seemingly also concealed the Resolvist swordsmen. More than five dozen of the ambushers had been lying in wait for us, and even with our numbers of more than a hundred, we were sorely outmatched. Despite this, we managed to hold our own through the intial ambush and managed some semblance of a defensive line, no less than fifty feet from the base of the construct. As we tried to fight our way out of the square and retreat, I bore witness to the construct reacting to the scene at hand – for every Decusian whom fell, activity began to stir between the two towers of the construct – as if a fierce wind began to pick up, isolated solely between the two towers. As more of our Colonials, Templars and Legionnaires fell, the swirling activity between the towers grew with intensity, until light and colors materialized out of thin air.”**
 +
 +**“I had then managed to make out the visage of a hooded figure at the foot of the tower, coalescing from within the swirling wind and materializing colors. Behind the figure, the outline of a beast – of whose size and proportions that I still to this day dare not fathom more than a glancing thought of – began to take shape. It was then that I had come to realize the purpose of the tower constructs – it was undoubtedly a magical gateway of some sort, not unlike those I once observed a Consortium Arcanist summon, only much, much larger. Yet where the gateway led, I dare not venture a guess, lest I may lose whatever vestiges of sanity I have left within my shattered psyche.”**
 +
 +**“Before I could even utter a word of warning to the others around me, Seraph Landcaster and a dozen of the 305th sprung into action. I recognized a few of them from around Ironhollow – they had been following around the Seraph for weeks prior, ever since his arrival in the Downs, and they revered him like the second coming of Decus. They moved with purpose, making a hole through the Resolve swordsmen and toward the construct. Somehow, against all odds, they made it to the foot of the gate, and without a moment’s hesitation, threw themselves into the maw.”**
 +
 +**“Immediately after the Seraph and his men breached the gate from our side, I, along with many, had been knocked to the ground in a gust of wind and blinding light emanating from the construct. It was then I heard it. We all did – the howl of the beast. It was unnatural, feral, and overtaken with rage. It is my solemn duty to attest that I believe the being to have been Daemonic in nature, and that it had been the Resolve’s intention to lead us into the village to help facilitate the creature’s entry into our realm through the slaughter of wholesale slaighter of faithful Decusians. If it were not for the actions of the Seraph and his brave fellows, I cannot fathom what may have happened if the beast were to have had walked through the gate.”**
 +
 +**“Under pain of death, I admit to the council that I, High Inquisitor Aeneas Eleutherios’, had then led a full-scale retreat from the village of Subodh. Moments after our remaining forces had made their way out of the village, what felt like a massive earthquake shook the entire peninsula. In the calamity of the situation, I was knocked unconscious. I awoke hours later to my brethren pulling me through a meadow surrounding the outskirts of Niranjan, which we had later found to be completely abandoned…”**
 +
 +**“…and so on and so forth.”**
 +
 +The Consul raised his head up from the statement before him, casting his gaze upon the assembled souls with a callous, cold look. Methodically, he folded his hands over the yellowed parchment, awaiting a response. He cast a harsh look upon the assembled two hundred or so Bishops in attendance, seated upon ascending concentric rows of thrones in a semi-circle around the dais he stood upon. The Consul's gray eyes moved to each one of them for a fleeting moment, as if challenging them to speak up. Satisfied with the assembled silence, the Consul took the Inquisitor’s report had had been reading from, folded it once, and returned it to the brass strongbox that had been used to transport it to the Ecclesial Council for dissemination.
 +
 +After a long moment of stunned silence, a wavering voice reverberated through the Eccesial chamber. Bishop Erasmus’ accent bore a thick Volgen slur, the words emanating from his weathered lips shaky and unsure.
 +
 +**“A Daemon then. Is this what the Inquisitor claims in his statement, Consul? Can it be true?”**
 +
 +The Consul adjusted his monocle and stole a look to the far end of the auditorium chamber – to the general direction of the elder Bishop’s throne arrangement - before speaking.
 +
 +**“The only Seraph known to have been physically present for the events in Subdoh was that of Seraph Landcaster. As the Authority dictates, the testament of an ordained Seraph is needed when concerning such sensitive matters – the word of a simple Inquisitor is not sufficient evidence to make a ruling in this matter. And for good cause, my excellency - I've no reason to believe the ravings of an obvious madman.”**
 +
 +Bishop Erasmus nodded politely, lowering his gaze.
 +
 +**“Whatever “beast” was witnessed by our forces in the old colonies was no doubt parlor tricks. Smoke and mirrors by the Resolve – or even more likely, at the hands of Consortium Apostates breaking rank the moment they tasted a bit of freedom from Republic rule.”
 +**
 +
 +A voice from one of the lower seated rows, this time delicate and refined, broke the momentary silence. A Bishop from Nemus, by the name of Aristarchus.
 +
 +**“And only twenty-seven souls of this Inquisitor's patron Clergy are accounted for, Consul?”
 +**
 +
 +What could be interpreted only as a stifled sneer appeared briefly across the Consul’s chiseled face. He drew a long breath, and then submitted his reply.
 +
 +**“Twenty-seven, aye your excellence. Of which eighteen remain alive as of today. All of them properly incarcerated for the time being, as mentioned in my brief prior to the Inquisitor’s read testimony. As I explained earlier, it is the will of the Archbishop himself that these fellows are inspected by the Diaconate, and perhaps even the Garden, for fear of heretical thought and tainted souls. No doubt these men, including the Inquisitor, have been through much in their time in the Old Colonies, yet such incoherent and false ramblings concerning Daemons and the occult simply -cannot- be excused, even when made by those suffering from the mental traumas of war.”**
 +
 +Aristarchus brought a slender hand to his bottom lip, running the tip of his thumb across it. The bishop’s eyes darted to and fro, a nervous look filling them. A few long moments of silence filled the chambers. After what seemed like an eternity, the Consul nodded to himself, gathering his assembled materials. Standing from the throne he had been situated upon, he had looked upon the assembled bishops with little sign of reverence. He spoke yet again, this time with forcefulness.
 +
 +**“It is the conclusion of the Consul's office that the College disregards, in its entirety, Inquisitor Eleutherios’ sworn statement concerning the happenings in Subodh. He was obviously under significant duress during his time within the Old Colonies, and his testament is evident of such. Notwithstanding is he and his men’s disobedience in returning to Vitaveus after the Authority’s direct order of non-contact with the Republic proper. The Inquisitor is tainted with madness, as were his compatriots, and they were all driven to abandon their duties in the End of the World when word reached them of temporary suspension of Colonial support. Which I may remind you, has saved countless thousands of gold in the last month alone...”
 +**
 +
 +The assemblage responded with a few hushed whispers and ramblings. The Consul continued.
 +
 +**“It is the Consul's opinion, and coincidentally that of the Archbishop's office, that this Republic has lost sacrificed enough lives in the pursuit of fallacies and fairy tales. Whatever “beast” was witnessed by our forces in the old colonies was no doubt parlor tricks. Smoke and mirrors by the Resolve – or even more likely, at the hands of Consortium Apostates breaking rank the moment they tasted a bit of freedom from Republic rule. There is no proof that any arcanist upon the face of Eden, not even the Resolve cultists, possess the power to traverse realms and summon forth the Dae’. To even suggest that a mortal could hold such power is blasphemy! We have sacrificed far too much in the name of old superstitious tales of mystical artifacts that bend the powers of both Heaven and Hel - it is time that we put the Old Colonies behind us, once and for all.”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul looked across the College of Bishops once more, and without another word, turned towards the council exit. His footsteps reverberated upon the marble floor of the hall and across the sprawling center dais, accentuating the stammering point he had made moments prior. Making his way across to the other side of the auditorium, he continued his pointed remarks.
 +
 +**“Our work in the Old Colonies is over. It is time to focus on the wellbeing of our Republic rather than expending resources halfway across the world. MacArthur’s Gate has, and will always be, a fool’s errand, and -as- -we- -all- -know-, the Archbishop nor the Authority tolerate fools gladly. With that said, it is of the opinion of this Consul that any future returning members of the Colonial efforts in the End of the World are never given such a platform as we have been forced to entertain in this unsavory business with High Inquisitor Eleutherios.”
 +**
 +
 +More hushed whispers. The Consul craned his neck back towards the College of Bishops, as if challenging them to speak up in defiance. Satisfied that there was no argument, the Consul continued. As his free hand reached out towards the doors of the auditorium, a voice arose from the sea of silence. It was soft, yet rang of confidence, coming from somewhere far in the upper-echelons of the auditorium seats.
 +
 +**“Consul, I beg of thee, a final question?”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul stopped in his tracks, gritting his teeth. Taking a moment to adjust his monocle, he turned. Nearly in unison, the assembled Bishops followed suit, craning their necks to acknowledge the new voice. Far in the top rows of the auditorium, reserved for the lowliest and least important clergymen of the College, stood a middle-aged man of average height and import. From initial appearances, he bore the look of a humble man, foregoing many of the elaborate trappings, baubles, adornments, and jewelry of his brethren clergymen, and instead opting to ordain the simplest standard trappings of a Templar, save the identifying tunic and cape of his proper station of Bishop. He had undoubtedly been a serviceman once, his posture exuding a confidence that can only be earned in battle, complete with a stony expression that exuded humility but also demanded recognition.
 +
 +The Consul wavered slightly at the sight of the Bishop yet regained his composure quickly.
 +
 +**“Yes, my excellency?”
 +**
 +
 +The words were prompt and spat out quickly. The Bishop replied.
 +
 +**“The Seraph in the Inquisitor’s report. Is there any news concerning his fate?”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul shifted in place. His gaze averted towards the ground for a moment, attempting to stifle a sneer, at last recognizing the Bishop of whom had asked him the question.
 +
 +**“No, your excellency. Your so-…ahem…Seraph Landcaster remains absent without leave.”
 +**
 +
 +Bishop Johan Landcaster kept his stern, stoic expression. He had already known the answer the question he had posed – his own flesh and blood had been named in the Inquisitor’s report as being responsible for closing the Resolve’s summoning gate, no doubt sparing thousands a fate worse than death, and he no doubt met his untimely demise right there and then in Subdoh. Yet his question was not for his own sake, but more so for his assembled brethren – in the gathering of the hundreds of Bishops that now sat within the auditorium, he had wanted to pique every one’s attention to the fact that not only had his very own son had been regarded as a hero in the Inquisitor's sworn statement, but that a Seraph of the Decusian Church had still been unaccounted for. His strategy has worked; nearly all his fellow clergymen had now looked upon him with curiosity. Taking advantage of the moment, Bishop Landcaster moved towards the auditorium isle, and descended the stairs to the floor. He rubbed his chin pointedly, feigning a moment of pondering thought – in truth, he had rehearsed this moment for days, and rubbing his chin had helped calm his nerves.
 +
 +The Bishop paused for a moment as he approached the auditorium dais, looking upon the portrait that lined auditorium’s far wall. The scene depicted Archangel Decus extending his outstretched hands to a gathered assemblage of men and women. The scene dated back centuries, and this take upon it had been more than a hundred years old itself. It was truly a masterpiece in every sense of the word and looking upon it had always instilled within the Bishop a sense of reverence and spirituality. Prying his eyes away from the work of art, his eyes rested back upon the Consul. With renewed vigor, his next words came out as softly as his original inquiry, but with enough volume to ensure that not a single world was misunderstood by the assembled clergy.
 +
 +**“And of the Garden’s Assets, Consul? Did they return to Vitaveus with Inquisitor Eleutherios’ men? Have they reported their own findings as to what is happening in the Old Colonies?”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul physically reeled. A ruckus enveloped the chambers, the assembled Bishops surprised by the accusation.
 +
 +**“Wh..what are you talking abo-…”
 +**
 +
 +``Before I could even utter a word of warning to the others around me, Seraph Landcaster and a dozen of the 305th sprung into action. I recognized a few of them from around Ironhollow – they had been following around the Seraph for weeks prior, ever since his arrival in the Downs, and they revered him like the second coming of Decus.``
 +
 +The Bishop interrupted, bridging the gap between he and the Consul across the dais. He gave the Consul no time to think, hammering him with another question, his tone of voice now becoming louder and more accusatory.
 +
 +**“There are still those that serve the Church without question, Consul – those that would report when even the Authority steps outside of its’ purview. ”
 +**
 +
 +The Bishop clenched his fist, now standing face to face with the Consul.
 +
 +**“Answer the question. Has the Garden been opened without the College’s knowledge? Has a Tender been commissioned without approval? Have we turned so far from Decus that we now openly wield the tools of the enemy without so much as an acknowledgement given to the ruling council of this very Authority we claim to hold over this Republic!?”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul fumbled with his materials, parchments spilling to the floor. He turned quickly on his heel, moving towards the auditorium exit, intent on escaping…
 +
 +…only to be brought to his knees with a swift elbow to the kidney by Bishop Landcaster. Surprised gasps filled the chambers as the Bishop grabbed the back of the Consul’s crushed velvet tunic, pulling his slack, lithe body up from the marble floor, turning him to face his brethren Bishops. The clamoring of plate mail and the unsheathing of swords reverberated through the auditorium as four heavily armored Diaconate Templar rushed forth from their guard positions on either side of the auditorium, moving in to intervene. Unphased, Landcaster unsheathed a stiletto from beneath his own chainmail tunic, placing the tip beneath the Consul’s chin – the Templar guards stopped in their tracks, uncertain of their next move.
 +
 +**“Answer me, Consul. Answer the College. In the name of your savior, in the name of the Archangel, speak truth, lest I bloody the floors of this Chamber, so help me Decus.”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul shrieked, kicking his feet about. Cowardice consumed him, and he began stammering.
 +
 +**“U..Uh…Unaccounted for! The Tender is presumed dead…lost with the others!”
 +**
 +
 +The Bishop at last pushed the Consul away, sneering in disgust. Clamoring outrage washed over the auditorium as the assembled Bishops reacted to the outrageous news. The four Diocanate Templar rushed over the Consul’s aid, blades drawn and pointed in the direction of Bishop Landcaster. Two of the Templar had even made steps towards Landcaster in an ill-conceived notion of attempting to arrest him – which they had immediately reconsidered as the assembled College of Bishops shouted them down in anger.
 +
 +**“It is not the right Archbishop to authorize the release of a Tender upon any lands of Eden without express approval of the College, Consul! You would have us believe that the Archbishop is convinced that MacArthur’s Gate is a worthless stack of stone and mortar in the ass-end of the world, yet he sends a certified Diabolist and a coven of Witches half-way across the world there for no apparent reason!?”
 +**
 +
 +The Consul squealed as the Diaconate Templar ushered him to the exit. His voice came out in a scratchy squeak, barely audible over the roaring clamor of the auditorium chambers.
 +
 +**“You question the Archbishop, Landcaster!?”
 +**
 +
 +The audacity of the Consul, even when faced with the chaotic and dangerous situation before him had somehow emboldened the Bishop. Taking an armored fist to his chain-mail tunic, he pounded his chest three times in a traditional Templar "psych-up" technique and then raised his voice to near shouting-levels, making his final enamored plea to the assembled clergy.
 +
 +**“My brethren, I ask of thee: why has the Garden been commissioned by the Archbishop without regard to our Holy Sacrament? The Garden Tenders and their accursed progeny have always been, and shall always be, options of -absolute- last resort. To use them with such blatant disregard to our own moral convictions and Ecclesial rules is nigh blasphemy. And I ask further, my brethren, why are we so hasty to dismiss the word of an Inquisitor of our Faith – the very vanguard of our Republic against the taint of heresy and evil? Why have we have abandoned our forces in the End of the World just when they had begun making progress against the forces of the Resolve, all under the guise of our efforts being misguided and futile? No less than a year ago, we assembled here in this very chamber to send thousands of our brothers and sisters to face to keep our mortal enemies from obtaining the Relic enshrined within MacArthur’ Gate. We have sacrificed thousands in the name of the Old Texts, out of fear of what may become of us all if our enemies acquire the Doctrine. I ask of thee, my brethren, when did we lose our faith in the founding principles of what makes us Decusians? When did we turn from the lessons of the One True God!?”
 +**
 +
 +The roaring clamor of the auditorium was now at a fever-pitch. Bishops young and old joined in on the fervent cries that carried forth within the hall – cries of blasphemy, treason, heresy intertwined with shouts of honor, duty, sacrifice and diligence. Dissenting voices screamed at one another, some citing Decusian scripture while others called them superstitious fools. While the assembled College was far from a unanimous voice, Landcaster had accomplished more than he had possibly hoped for. Doubt had been cast upon the actions of the new Archbishop, and from this doubt, opportunity for change would soon blossom. For many within the Authority had been opposed to the Archbishop’s decisions, yet few dared speak out for fear of retribution. Finding the opportunity to cast doubt upon the Archbishop’s intentions with his anonymously received tip about the Garden had been Landcaster’s original plan, yet once he began talking, he could not help himself to go further. Reminding the College of the Doctrine had been hasty and reckless and would undoubtedly label him as a zealot – none the less, it had incensed the College to a fervor that he had not witnessed in years.
 +
 +
 +Bearing witness to the chaos erupting around him, the Consul scrambled to the auditorium exit, Diaconate Templar at his side. Bishop Landcaster allowed him to take his leave, for his point had been made – there were those that had questioned the Archbishops motivations as of late, and they would not go quietly into the dark of night.
 +
 +<--
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 +(work in progress - bunny)