-Camoran, Capital City of Eastmarch-
-Grand Cathedral of Kaedmon-
-Council Chambers-
Silence filled the sacred Halls of Kaedmon’s Cathedral.
It was said that the great stained-glass windows bearing Krea’s likeness were the first ever depictions of the angel in this world, created by the finest craftsmen who had seen the angel Herself, back when the world teetered on the brink of complete annihilation.
High Cardinal Remiel watched the eyes of the angel as his guests filed into the council chamber and took their seats at the grand round table that dominated the room.
The air was thick, musky with incense, and as the hooded members of the council took their places with a regal bow, the High Cardinal allowed them a moment to breathe the purified air of their Lord’s domain.
Then he fixed them with serious eyes.
“The Lightborn is dead.”
He said it matter-of-fact. Little emotion beyond the need to relay the detail as quickly as possible. He allowed his guests to digest the information and the knowledge that right here, in this room, history was about to be made.
One by one, they all removed their hoods.
“So the Archon triumphs over Westerweald,” one man - grey haired, impossibly scarred, face dotted with varicose veins – declared. Remiel acknowledged him with a solemn nod. He was not shaken. Truth be told, he’d prepared for the worst.
As High Commander of the Greycloaks of Eastmarch, it was Garviel Artem’s job to be prepared for anything.
“I am only sorry I could not do more, sires,” the newest member of the group said – his voice barely a whisper in the dark confines of the chamber. He was the red-haired, fiery mage who had come to them from Westerweald itself, teleported by the desperate acting Viscount of Lucent.
“Your communication with us has been vital, Magister Raxel,” Remiel assured him. “Without you, we would not have been able to prepare as we have.”
“So you’re telling me we are prepared?”
This question came from the most jovial among them – a man who, it was said, had been born with a smile so wide it seemed like a permanent disfigurement.
“Because I’ve been itching for a challenge, Remy. And you know that I never miss.”
“You would do well to show some respect in these chambers, assassin.”
Garviel spat this at the man with spite, but Remiel simply eyed the rogue with curious eyes. He was the only man who would ever dare to address the High Cardinal in such a manner.
Inquisitor Garm – head of the Church’s most secretive cabal of assassins. The shadowy enforcers of Kaedmon’s Law in the East.
“You may yet have your greatest challenge yet, Garm,” Remiel replied coolly. “We shall all have a part to play in the war to come.”
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“Just point me at the target, Remy,” Garm replied, placing a thick cigar in his mouth and proceeding to light it nonchalantly.
Instead, a thin bolt of fire turned the cigar to ashes before it even entered his mouth.
The rogue turned to see the pale faced woman sitting across from him, pointing a black fingernail that was smoking with magical energy.
“Boys should not be given jobs fit for their betters,” she said. “Lord Remiel, I beg you, send me to Westerweald and I shall eradicate this menace once and for all.”
Before anyone could protest, Remiel raised a bony, withered hand.
“You would claim to do what the Lightborn could not, Cassandra?” he asked the only mage among them. “Your powers are significant. No greater mage exists within Argwyll. But the fact remains, the Archon and his band of Hybrids decimated the West. I will not risk the security of the East by sending all our forces against him.”
“Then what is our plan?”
Remiel turned his attention to the last speaker among them – the usually mute, pliable, and virtually nonexistent Cardinal Langley. His dumb blonde fringe almost covered his eyes, leading many to dub him ‘the Blind Cardinal’ these days.
But he was a sneaky one – he’d been spending a little too much time with the poor and downtrodden, becoming a favorite among the common people. That fact made him difficult to remove.
“That is what we are here to discuss, Cardinal Langley,” Remiel replied. “For in the coming months, a long battle will now have to be waged. One in which Keadmon shall ask more of us than He has ever asked before.”
Everyone leaned forward, hinging on the High Cardinal’s every word.
Everyone, it seemed, except young Langley.
“Forgive me, Sires,” he said. “But it seems to me that our position is becoming increasingly hopeless. The Archon is offering us reconciliation as opposed to war. Would it not be best to accept his terms, bring him to the negotiation table, and see that we cannot reform some of our policies to ensure less deaths from this seemingly inevitable conflict?”
Remiel leaned back in his chair, waiting for the response from the council. He knew that, when it came to this young upstarts idealistic policies, he barely had to say a thing.
“Bah!” Cassandra snapped, leveling her still flaming finger at him. “You would have us cavort with Hybrid scum, Langley? What next? Shall we mate with them too? Open our marriage ceremonies to their kind? Mark me, councilmen - we invite those vermin them into our homes and we shall receive but one thing in return: a knife in our backs.”
The rest of the council added their voices to Cassandra’s, each one of them berating Langley besides Garm, who just chuckled quietly to himself.
Remiel allowed this to go on for as long as he felt necessary, watching Langley increasingly sink into his chair, becoming smaller and smaller until he was barely noticeable.
Thus shall we deal with all voices of dissent, he thought. Including this upstart Archon and his merry little band.
“Enough,” he then said, and within a moment he had the attention of the council once more.
“I understand your reservations, Brother Langley. The death of the Lightborn places us at an unprecedented point in history. But it also presents us with the chance to show the world that it is the common man who our Lord works through.”
The councilmen leaned forward. Langley met the eyes of the High Cardinal.
“The Lightborn’s death is merely part of our Lord’s Grand Plan,” Remiel continued. “A plan in which we shall be of pivotal importance. Every single one of you here, today, shall be granted a task to complete. And this task may very well be the last one you undertake on this earth. Such is the nature of what the Lord asks of us.”
Remiel regarded the great stained-glass of Krea once more, feeling more in-tune with the spirit of the First Lightborn than he ever had before.
“We have a weapon,” he continued. “Something the Archon is not aware of. Soon, we shall launch our grand assault against him and his people. But first, we shall prepare. A great mustering will be called. A Conclave of the most powerful beings in all of Argwyll to fight the final conflict our world shall ever see. And in its end, my friends, we shall be all that remains.”
The Council were resolved. He could see it in all their faces. Whether through hatred, fear, or simply the desire for a worthy opponent, they were united now. More than they ever had been before.
That was the genius of Kaedmon. Even the Archon’s victory had happened exactly as it should have.
“The Archon believes this war is over,” Remiel told them. “But soon his premature celebration shall turn to ash within his mouth. For we are the chosen instruments of Kaedmon’s vengeance. And this – this shall be our moment to shine.”
(Poll below)
huge focus (though there's still plenty of them).
Iron Lung Writes
Which Book of Demon Hat has been your favorite so far?
