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.
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.
“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.”
“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.