The flickering orange hue of the candlelight bathed the room in otherworldly illumination. Shadows danced in the darkness at the edge of the light, but the silence was the first thing that Xanthus noticed. Elsewhere in the temple of the Last Redoubt, there was often an endless faint ringing of steel against steel as holy warriors trained day and night tirelessly, interspersed only with fervent and fanatical chanting of prayer. But here, in the catacombs beneath the Temple, there was nothing but silence and darkness in the endless cold tunnels. Sometimes, Creek had wondered how many other acolytes like himself had become lost in the subterranean maze, forever. It was a thought he did not care to dwell on.
He spared another apprehensive gaze around the large chamber that he had been instructed to arrive in. The candlelight revealed macabre and gruesome carvings upon the walls - grinning visages of skulls and human skeletons, carved into the dark granite. Creek had been told that the ornamentation was a remnant of the Eternal Order, who had constructed the Temple before Bastion Raines had seized control of it. Seeing it with his own eyes made him think of the Order in Karg. There, it was powerful, respected, and commanded authority from both the citizenry and law enforcement alike - out of fear of the dead, if nothing else. Here, it was nothing but remnants of a past age, who’s time had been and gone. It had been replaced. The world had changed.
Ever since Il Aluk. Creek reflected. Everything has changed. Not for the first time, in his mind’s eye he once again saw the monstrous figure leaping at him with fangs bared and bloody claws ready to strike. He once again saw the dark void in it’s eyes, a creature that was driven to exist entirely by hate and unnatural hunger. He shuddered involuntarily.
“Blessings of Our Guardian be upon you, Acolyte Creek.”
Xanthus had not heard the figure approach. He spun around startled, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as the shape of a slim figure came into view. The slender figure was dressed in ceremonial wrappings, a tunic depicting the holy symbol of Ezra and a long flowing cloak that fell from his shoulders that seemed to flicker with the shadows. His face was obscured by a heavy hood that hung low over his face. Two slender hands pressed themselves together as he bowed gracefully.
“My apologies.” Xanthus caught himself after a moment. “I… was instructed to attend here at this hour.”
The man slid down the hood, revealing the strikingly angular features of an elf. His skin was pale, his hair a golden blonde that was tied back in a ponytail. Across his face was a vicious scar, the only mark on otherwise handsome features.
“I am Toret Fenmarel.” The elf’s voice commanded - no, demanded - respect. “I am to be your martial instructor. You shall listen, you shall obey, and you shall learn.” The toret paused for a moment, his gaze seeming to fix upon Creek with a focused intensity. Creek had the definite impression that he was not the elf’s first student. “If you fail to do any of those things, you shall be punished. Do you understand, acolyte?”
“I understand, Toret.” Creek replied, attempting to hide the apprehension in his voice. He did not think he succeeded.
“Very well.” Toret Fenmarel reached for the hilts of two swords that he drew from his back in a swift, elegant motion. The candlelight reflected off the finely crafted steel. “Let us begin.”
Creek reached for his own blade far, far too late. Fenmarel’s twin silver swords had swept around in a wide arc, ceasing their arc immediately against the young human’s flesh. A trickle of blood ran down Creek’s neck.
“Lesson one.” The elf admonished him. “You are to be vigilant.”
As he felt the warm sting in his neck, Creek realised he was unprepared for this. He was a homeless boy from Karg, a young thug and thief. It suddenly felt a world away. He had never even wielded a sword before. He awkwardly swung the sword in a weak attempt to strike the elf, but the toret was too agile, too swift. He was suddenly where the blade was not. Before Creek could react, he felt the elf ram the pommel of one of the swords into his ribs. He gasped for breath, falling to a knee as pain coursed through him. He only looked up when the toret gripped his chin and lifted his head.
“Pathetic.” Fenmarel grunted. There was a clear look of disdain and disappointment in his bright blue eyes. “Lesson two. Our Guardian does not tolerate weakness. Again.”
Creek grunted as he rose from his knee, clutching his sword tightly in both hands. He circled Fenmarel, narrowing his eyes as he studied the movement of the elf’s swords intently. He chose his moment, leaping forward with an overhead lunge. The elf easily read the movement. Fenmarel stepped to one side and swiftly delivered a well placed kick to the back of the young man’s legs. Creek let out a shout of pain and fell once again to his knees.
“Lesson three. Let pain be a teacher, Acolyte Creek.” Fenmarel’s voice rang out in the dim chamber. “Again.”
Once again Creek lashed out wildly with his blade. Once again he missed. Once again Fenmarel rewarded his efforts with a painful blow to the sternum. “Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The scars were painful but it was the burning humiliation that lingered longer.
The prayer room was illuminated only by the shaft of light that was cast through the stained glass window that dominated one wall. It depicted Ezra, Her bloodied hands outstretched while looking down mournfully. Creek had been told that it represented Ezra’s disdain and sorrow for the people that she had sacrificed Herself to protect. People like himself.
Pathetic. He heard Fenmarel’s disdainful voice in his head. I was told you had promise. How disappointing.
He had failed himself, he had failed the toret, but most importantly he had failed Her.
His legs felt on fire as he lowered himself to his knees. He bowed his head in supplication. He prayed for forgiveness.
“Are you well, brother?”
The voice brought his thoughts back to the present. He opened his eyes. Beside him was knelt a young woman, roughly his age, dressed like him in acolyte’s robes. She was looking at him with concern.
“Yes.” Creek replied. “I am fine.”
“You are bleeding.” She frowned, reaching out a hand to his arm. A dirty crimson patch was immediately noticeable on the sleeve of his forearm.
He grunted, but did not say anything further. The girl sighed. “Toret Fenmarel, right?”
“I was weak.” Creek said. “I am not good enough.”
“Is that not the purpose of training?” The girl made a wan smile towards him. “To improve?”
“I do not know if I am capable.”
“They told me I was not capable.” The girl added. “They were wrong. Prove them wrong.”
Creek nodded. He lowered his head in a gesture of thanks. “My name is Xanthus Creek.”
“Lynei Rosini.” The girl replied. “Well met, acolyte Creek.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Irredeemable.”
The footsteps of the elf’s boots upon the cold flagstone floor echoed throughout the antechamber. Despite the elf’s short stature, every pair of eyes of the assembled acolytes were upon him. The slim figure commanded respect and awe, not the least for the reputation that preceded him. The elf took his time, patiently biding his time as he sought the correct words. He paused and turned to face the gathered acolytes.
“Irredeemable,” He repeated in a soft, yet authoriative voice that nonetheless was heard by all in the chamber, “beyond any hope of saving. Beyond any hope of changing. This is what you all must understand."
Even in the dim light Xanthus could make out the scars that criss crossed Toret Fenmarel’s face. Since his training session, he had heard varying rumours from fellow acolytes concerning the origin of those scars. Some said the elf had obtained them from vengeful Eternal Order priests. Others had said he had gained them from battling half-man, half-bat creatures high in the Mountains of Misery. The scars did little to lessen the strikingly handsome features of the elf.
“The Stealer of Breaths, the Beast that Rends, the Drinker of Blood - all are beyond saving, beyond redemption. Compassion is a weakness that they will use against you.” The elf clasped his hands behind his back. “Evil should be granted no mercy. So Ezra decrees.”
The toret’s words swallowed up the silence that followed. The toret took a breath to continue speaking, before he was interrupted by a soft voice from behind Xanthus.
“But how are we to know who is evil, Toret? Who is of the Legion of the Night and who is innocent?”
Xanthus glanced back, his eyes falling upon the speaker. Acolyte Rosini watched the toret with a questioning gaze.
Toret Fenmarel’s gaze was intense as he placed it upon the young female acolyte, taking a few steps closer. “No one is innocent, acolyte. There are only degrees of guilt.”
The toret’s gaze appeared to burn itself into the young acolyte’s, before he turned away. “You are dismissed, acolytes. Acolyte Rosini, remain behind.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Xanthus was knelt in solitary silent reflection in the prayer room when he heard the door open behind him. He turned to see the slim form of Acolyte Rosini slide in quietly in an attempt to not draw any attention to herself. Her eyes were rimmed with red, the long hair that Xanthus had noted before now haphazardly strewn untidily around her face.
“Acolyte Rosini.” Xanthus said quietly, after a moment’s silence.
The girl avoided his gaze. She ran a hand through her messy hair as she turned to face him. “Acolyte Creek… I did not expect anyone to still be here…”
Xanthus cast an appraising glance over her. “Are you well?”
The girl dropped down onto a prayer mat that was lay upon the floor, her head in her hands. “Not really. Toret Fenmarel, he… he punished me for speaking out of turn and interrupting the lesson.”
Xanthus nodded, averting his gaze from her. He looked to the ground instead. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
In the dim candlelight, Xanthus thought he could see the sheen of tears on the girl’s face. She remained silent for a while, perhaps struggling for something to say. Eventually she nodded slowly. “You are right, I should not have.” She paused. “Xanthus, do you ever wonder why you are here?”
Xanthus was momentarily taken aback by the question. “Because I want to serve Ezra. She saved me, so serving Her is the only way I could ever repay Her. Is that not why we are all here?” He turned his gaze back to her. “You are one of the finest acolytes here, Lynei. They all speak highly of your combat ability and theological knowledge…”
She nodded. “Thank you, Xanthus.” He thought he saw a brief glimmer of a smile in the dim light. “Let us pray.”