Chapter Fourteen:
The lush lands of the East had come into view, and the knight landed, knowing exactly where to go.
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Journal Entry – The Deceiver:
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I am told that the first Ætharch is a relatively cunning but cowardly man, thou shalt find them in Pheasantine. The Deceiver holds a seat in the upper house of the Republic's parliament: The Ubiqtorate.
An easy way to get his address would be to force it out of Abbot Felin Fallere, who presides over the Church of Celestial Grace in the city of Demos, it will be easy to find as bears a large star of Cerulea on its highest steeple (the East have always been big on symbolism).
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It’s important to note that this Ætharch, though influential, does not pose inherent danger and may be disposed of with relative ease. However, do not underestimate the first.
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The Ninth
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And the ninth was correct, Drakonsarius had no difficulty in finding and entering the Churc. A hymn was just finishing as he entered and sat down in the pews.
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The Abbot began to lead the worshipers in prayer.
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“Oh majestic celestial beings, whose essence transcends time and space, we bow before thee with hearts full of reverence and tongues ablaze with fervour. "
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"We beseech thee, O guardians of Empyrea, to uphold the fragile equilibrium of our world, harmonised by the four cardinal directions and the intercardinal points that interlace our reality. May Septentrionalis, Auster, Oriens, and Occidens stand as steadfast guides, leading us on the sacred pilgrimage of our celestial journey. And may Orientem, Meridiem, Africum, and Septentrionalem cast their divine energies upon us, bestowing fortitude and resolve in times of crisis.”
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“May the Star of Cerulea light thy way”
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The Church of Celestial Grace began to empty, Drakonsarius found himself lingering in the dimly lit sanctuary after the conclusion of Abbot Fallere’s sermon. The knight approached the robed figure of the abbot with measured steps.
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“An excellent sermon, though I only heard the ending.”
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Abbot Fallere offered a nod of acknowledgement. His features serene beneath the folds of his robes. “Thank thou, Gaurdian of Celestial Balance. I merely speak the truths that the Divine Light reveals to me.”
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Their conversation continued in a courteous manner, skirting around the edges of deeper inquiries, underscored by a deeper mean.
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“And what of those who cloak themselves in piety to serve a darker master?” Drakonsarius posed the question delicately, his gaze piercing beneath the surface. “Tell me, Abbot, what doth thou know of the Covenant of the Void?"
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Abbot Fallere’s facade faltered for a fleeting moment, his speech growing guarded. “The Faith of the Æbyss perversion of true faith, a horrific sect that seeks power through deception and manipulation.”
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Drakonsarius leaned in slightly, his voice lowered to a whisper dripping with accusatory tones. “Yet, they find sanctuary even within the holiest of places. Art thou not concerned, Abbot, that their influence may taint thy sacred halls?”
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The abbot’s response was terse, his words carefully chosen to deflect the subject. “The Church of Celestial Grace is a bastion of purity, Ser. We do not tolerate cultists within our walls.”
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Undeterred, Drakonsarius pressed on, gleefully aware that he was making the cultist uncomfortable. “Then perhaps thou can shed light on a matter of great importance. The Deceiver – the one that tells lies – do thou know whom that is?”
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Abbot Fallere’s expression tightened, his gaze shifting uneasily. “I know nothing of any Deceiver, Ser. Such accusations are baseless and unfounded.”
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Drakonsarius decided it was time to shatter the facade. “Cultist, do not lie to me again, or this shalt turn out badly.”
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After a moment’s hesitation, Abbot Fallere relented, visibly upset that he had been discovered. “The first Ætharch is a man named Mortimer E. Mendax, a member of the Ubiqtorate.”
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The Abbot gives the knight the Deceivers address.
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Abbot Fallere’s fingers also traced the ornate patterns etched into the leather cover of a hidden tome concealed beneath his robes. With a deft motion, he withdrew the book, its pages yellowed with age and tinged with an aura of malevolence.
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“Do you know what this is, Ser?” Fallere asked, his voice low and laced with a sinister edge.
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The knight’s brow furrowed as he regarded the mysterious volume. “No, I do not,” he replied, his gaze never wavering from the abbot’s.
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“This,” Fallere declared, his tone dripping with reverence, “is the scripture of the Covenant of the Void. The Book of the Æbyss."
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With a deliberate motion, Fallere opened the ancient tome, the parchment crackling softly beneath his touch. He flipped through its pages until he found the passage he sought, his eyes scanning the text with a mixture of reverence and dread.
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As the Abbot began to read, the wordsspiltd forth from the pages like a torrent of darkness, each syllable saturated with malice.
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“In the Æbyss where shadows writhe and whispers echo, there reigns the triumvirate of the Æbyss: Æonex, The Tormentor; Æraxis, The Great Maelstrom; and Æcordia, The Temptress.”
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“Amidst the endless expanse of darkness, their throne of bones and sinew towers, a monument to their insatiable hunger and boundless cruelty. They art the architects of annihilation, the bringers of chaos, and the heralds of despair. Their names art whispered in dread and reverence by those who hast glimpsed the true horror of the Æbyss.”
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“To the chosen few who dare to invoke their names, the Æbyssal Gods offer a blasphemous covenant forged in blood and pain. Immunity to the Æther Era, and the promise of dominion over the shattered remnants of a world cast into an enternal stranglehold. Power beyond mortal comprehension, wealth that flows like rivers of blood, and the ecstasy of darker impulses acted upon in servitude of a higher purpose await those who pledge their souls to the void.”
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“Only the strong and the merciless shall endure the trials, for the weak and the feeble-minded shalt be devoured by the insatiable hungering maw of the void, their souls torn asunder and cast into the Æbyss.”
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“In the end, there is naught but the embrace of the abyss, where mercy and salvation art but false. There, in the depths of eternal darkness, the damned shall languish in torment, their screams swallowed by the endless void. Embrace the triumvirate, or be consumed by the darkness that lurks within.”
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“May the shadows claim thee, and may the abyss swallow thy soul whole, for in the embrace of darkness lies true enlightenment.”
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Ser Drakonsarius of the Great Spire was sickened by the content of that book, his opinion of the Covenant of the Void somehow plunged downwards, spiralling uncontrollably all the way there. The Dragoon was tempted to strike down Abbot Felin Fallere, but he reeled in the impulse, as the Covenant would be likely to begin infighting after he eliminated the sole remaining Ætharch, and Falin would likely not come out on top. The knight left the Church of Celestial Grace without another word.
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The address he had been given turned out to be a mid sized house in a relatively unassuming neighbourhood. The door was open a crack.
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He quickly spots the Deceiver, his legs are twisted at unnatural angles. He appears to be in great pain.
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Ser Drakonsarius fixes the Deceiver with a steely gaze, his voice laced with righteous indignation. "What do you know of the Covenant's machinations?"
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The first Ætharch reacts with malicious amusement. "Thou think yourself wise, yet thou know naught of the true extent of our influence."
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"The Covenant of the Void has woven its tendrils into the very fabric of Empyrea since the dawn of the Great Age of Steam, and perhaps even before."
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Drakonsarius recoils at the revelation, his mind reeling at the implications of the Deceiver's words. Two hundred and seventy years!
“One of my High Priests had this done to me, that means that the other is dead. It also means that the Eighteen High Priests and Priestesses have been narrowed down to the nine who will become the seventy-seventh iteration of the Council of Ætharchs and this will be the seventh time that all the Ætharchs had been replaced at once.” Despite probably being crippled and in great pain, Mortimer Moraxis seems to be almost gleeful. “Three sevens means that the Æther Era is nearly upon us. It does not start when the Great Æther Wall is destroyed, it begins when the world begins to destroy it for us.”
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As the Deceiver utters his ominous words, a sudden disturbance ripples through the air, accompanied by a low, ominous sound. The knight's eyes widen in horror under his helm as jagged shards of obsidian-black crystal materialise out of thin air, piercing Mortimer Mendax with precision.
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Ser Drakonsarius of the Great Spire, Guardian of Celestial Balance, turns and runs.
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He does not look back until he arrives at the Dragon's Citadel.
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