The capital of the Lorian Empire; Loria is glorious in every aspect. Loria, home to hundreds of thousands, is the largest city on Talmus, only rivaled by Dolmas on the southern continent of Aldorria. The limestone buildings rise high throughout the three ringed city, shale rooftops remain covered in a thin layer of snow. The innermost ring houses the most important buildings within the capital. The Sun Temple, one of those buildings, sits near the center of the tiered city. Beside the temple, in the center of the city is the Imperial Palace which towers above all other buildings. Not even the towers built by the noble families in Loria can match the imposing nature of the palace.
La’an had been commanded to appear at the Sun Temple by his master, Highmage Drustus. Over the years, the number of high priests and priests at the temple had grown thin, in part due to their aging numbers and in part due to their own self interests. While the Sun Temple is one of the most powerful and wealthiest orders of the Faith, it has always worked towards its own goals. Even if those goals are not in line with those of the gods they serve.
The meeting had barely begun before La’an became weary from the droning high priests around him. He leans his back against the parapet, the pigeons below him coo happily in the courtyard. Pigeons. He loathes the creatures, but they had their use. As long as something has a use, La’an can find a way to exploit it. It is a talent of his, one that he’s mastered during his tenure as Drustus’ assistant.
The priests from the temple remind La’an of the pigeons, foolish gits, but ones who can easily be used. La’an pushes himself from the parapet and shuffles before them, grabbing hold of his lengthy black braid. Thaddeus, a high priest from the temple, clears his throat and stares at La’an. It is always the same. Every time he had to appear at these meetings, there was discourse between the Imperial Palace and the temple. This time is no different and with each of his words, he watches Thekla’s lips thin to nothing. Observing the lupo matriarchal figure in dismay brings a fleeting sense of joy. His lips quiver with his growing smile.
“Is something funny!?” The high priestess demands.
La’an sighs under his breath, “Nothing. Nothing is funny, Thekla.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the courier takes enjoyment in seeing you pertur–”
“Enough!” Thekla cuts in, her black ears standing on point.
La’an leans against the stone wall, “So…you understand Drustus’ concern?” He asks with raised brows.
“No,” Thaddeus chuckles over his steepled fingers. “If Drustus IS concerned, then why doesn’t Drustus handle the situation?”
La’an rolls his eyes, “I believe I’ve already told you—”
Thekla interrupts, clearing her throat. Burnished orange eyes pierce La’an while she continues, “La’an, do the mages of the court understand our position? Drustus is better suited for the task.”
La’an fiddles with the silk jacket emblazoned with the flower of Loria, a blooming white camellia. “Oh, I am certain they all understand. But I am also certain they don’t care. After all, it IS you lot who are borrowing their magick and claiming to be priests of the Faith.”
Thaddeus looks taken aback, rubbing his bald head in disbelief, “So Drustus thinks he’s more important than us?”
“Drustus is more important,” La’an snickers, tossing his lengthy braid over his shoulders.
“Silence,” Thekla snaps. “Tell Drustus we’ll look into it. Despite the fact that we have missing members and other issues at hand.”
La’an nods slowly, “I’ll tell him, though I suggest you get a handle on the situation. Emperor Julius seems to have plans for the Sun Temple.”
“Is that so?” Thaddeus asks, crossing his arms. “And how would Drustus have us handle it?”
La’an chuckles, buckling over in laughter. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from the order that has killed their chosen[1] time and time again,” he says, a curt smile cutting across his features, “how about an assassin? Send for a summons to the temple?”
La’an finally regains his composure and stifles a sigh. He watches Thaddeus’s cheeks redden. Anger showing on the older man’s face, glaring back at him with obvious disapproval. The other high priests shake their heads at Thaddeus’s display, sighing or covering their eyes.
Thekla places a hand on La’an’s shoulder. “You can go now. Thank you for the information.”
La’an rubs his finger along the lobe of his lengthy elven ear and smiles back at Thekla with a look of reproach. “Who said I was finished?” He asks, looking at the group before turning back to look at the temple below. “I suppose I can let your order come up with their own solutions,” he says softly, his words barely audible.
La’an can hardly contain the malicious smile spreading across his cheeks. He looks down at the beauty of the temple. It had always brought him joy, bringing ill-tidings to these high priests. They operate in secret among the others at the temple, hiding in the shadows and secretly puppeteering the Faithful. When he compares his crimes to these high priests, La’an himself feels like an angel.
“We best not upset Drustus then…” Thekla murmurs. “What would the highmage have us do? We don’t even know if it is the Saint of Flames.”
“Oh, the Saint of Flames has appeared…there is no doubt in Drustus’ mind,” La’an says, leaning over the crenelations. “No doubt.”
Thaddeus scoffs, “Probably just some mage attempting forbidden magicks again.”
“Do you doubt my master, Thaddeus?” La’an questions with scorn in his voice. “There were symbols that did not go unnoticed.”
Thekla breathes a heavy sigh. “The arcane seals of the gods who rule light and fire?”
“Exactly,” La’an replies with a click of his tongue.
“Then that mea—” Another high priest begins before being cut off.
“The Saint of Flames may have actually appeared…”
Thaddeus snorts, “We’ve handled the last Saint of Flames…and the one prior to that.”
La’an tilts his head from side to side, “And how long do you think the gods will allow you to keep them mute to their congregation?”
“For an assistant you sure are mouthy,” Thaddeus breathes heavily, his cheeks puffed in anger.
“Perhaps we could foster them into the position? Certainly with our influence we could steer them on the right course?” One of the high priestesses says. “Maybe…killing them isn’t the best solution.”
Thekla looks over the side of the parapet, “Don’t ever make such a foolish notion again, Pallas. We have done everything in our power to preserve the nature of our order. That won’t change now.”
“But truly, does every Saint of Flames born into this cycle need to die?” The high priestess Pallas asks. “If we cou—”
“Do we need to question your loyalties, Pallas?” Thaddeus asks, crossing his arms over his bulky stomach. “Do we?!”
La’an glances back and watches the other high priests turn to Pallas with contempt. Ravenous beasts. The whole lot of them. The appearance of the Saint of Flames had roused them all into a frenzy, ready to pounce at the slightest notion.
“Now now,” La’an groans, “Pallas may be right, perhaps you could lure them here with honey…I am sure Drustus would love to meet the Saint of Flames.”
“Truly?” Pallas asks, a hopeful look in her eyes.
“No, Drustus wants the chosen dead. We cannot have anyone question who the future Saint of Flames will be,” La’an says hurriedly before he claps his hand over his mouth with a playful motion.
“W-What?” Thekla growls. “Spit it out, mage! What do you know?”
La’an knows the truth of the situation would only serve to frustrate the high priests further, so in his usual style, he lies. “Drustus plans to use one of you as the chosen…”
The elderly high priest, Kairos, looks away from Pallas, “A false saint? Is that wise? The other saints of the Faith will be able to discern the truth quickly. Lest you forget…this has been played out before.”
Thekla turns to La’an, her sharp features aimed at the young mage. “Does Drustus have any idea what he’s doing?”
La’an stifles a laugh. “Again, you question the highmage. Perhaps I should inform him of the temple’s skepticism?”
Pallas looks up thoughtfully. “Perhaps…if we were to be told more? Kairos speaks the truth…the temple has claimed a false saint in the past,” she begins meekly. “It did not go over well for anyone. As history states it, the populace began to lose its faith and Loria experienced an age of despondency.”
Thekla releases a low hmm, before turning to La’an, “Pallas is right…our history on the subject sugges—”
“Do you think this will just go away, Thekla?” Thaddeus interrupts, “Do you intend to anger Emperor Julius and just let the chosen travel the realm freely?”
Thekla’s hand is quick, quicker than La’an thought possible. The small group of high priests jump. Her hand squeezes Thaddeus’s jowls with her sharp nails tight enough to draw blood. “Don’t. Ever. Question my judgment, Thaddeus.”
Blood trickles from the hefty man’s cheeks while he nods slowly, his mouth covered by the lupo’s palm.
“Drustus and Julius will wait until I’ve made my decision. There are always rumors every few years that the Saint of Flames has appeared…this is very likely another fake story,” she mutters. “We’ve gathered too long.” She pushes Thaddeus from her grip. “La’an, a word.”
Like a flock of startled fowl, the high priests scatter from the parapet and into the temple. La’an stays behind, his hand rests on the limestone while he surveys the temple grounds. The daylight just begins to fall behind the walls of the city, the acolytes run about the temple lighting lamps and braziers with haste. Thekla stands beside him, a dreary and annoyed expression on her face.
“What you said, is the saint of flames truly reborn? This information could have been contained to a few choice individuals…now the order will be in a panic.”
“From what Drustus said, it is more than plausible. There were sightings in the Golden Isles, and there were signs during divinations from other…trustworthy allies. The sun sigil formed in the sand…one of the many symbols of your temple. There is more…but it is better that you trust me.”
Thekla glances down at him from the corner of her eyes, “I will send members of our order to investigate the matter…but I will not suffer being admonished.”
La’an smiles yet his eyes remain expressionless, “Perhaps it’s best you learn your place, Head Priestess Thekla,” he spits with vehemence.
“Our sway over the populace is far greater than that of the emperor or his council. If we hold onto that, our order will never truly lose power, La’an…we could turn the people on the highmage. It’s only a matter of words.”
La’an clicks his tongue, “A fair point, Thekla. But yet you still bend to the will of the emperor and his council.”
“I am sending my order out of my own curiosity not because of the whims of that occultist or the emperor.”
La’an tilts his head in a mocking curiosity, “And should your order find the saint? How will they be dealt with?”
Thekla rolls her eyes, “We will do what needs to be done.”
“Then they will die at the hands of those who claim to give them praise. Truly a fitting and tragic ending. Worthy of a minstrel’s tale…if I may say so myself,” La’an snips. “Might you give me coin to have such a song written?”
Thekla raises her brow, “I’ve had about enough of a lowly servant’s quips for one day,” she whispers, giving La’an a knowing look.
La’an adjusts his robes and gives his lengthy braid a hearty tug, “Who do you trust to handle the matter?”
“No one. But I will find, among our number, a soul who is willing to do what needs to be done.”
“Then I shall give Drustus the news. Glad tidings for all, it seems.”
Thekla closes her eyes, clasping her hands behind her back. “Yes, feed your master the news and leave my temple, worm,” she mutters with a scowl.
“Oh, Thekla…you’re such a peach,” La’an whispers. “How I cherish these little exchanges,” he grumbles, a teasing grin on his lips.
“Tell Drustus it will be handled, La’an,” Thekla growls, looking out over the capital. “Next time, tell him to just send a message you’re — superfluous.”
From their position, the city descends towards the great Lorian Lake. Ships and fishing vessels line the massive harbor. Lights gradually begin to appear once the darkness takes the city’s ringed tiers.
“Should this be a false saint…Drustus will know of my disappointment,” Thekla adds thoughtfully.
La’an pinches his lip with his thumb while he processes her words, “I’m sure you wouldn’t give up the opportunity to bring a false saint their punishment, would you?” He knows the truth of it, Thekla would relish the chance to bring a false saint to the sword before the eyes of the populace. Or a real saint for that matter.
“Right,” she mutters in response. “We will discern the truth about this saint.”
“Understood then, Head Priestess Thekla.”
Thekla smirks, “May the gods illuminate your path, La’an,” she says mockingly with a quick turn, the fur of her silky black tail swishing behind her. “Give Drustus my regards.”
La’an grit his teeth and bows deeply, “I shall…”
La’an releases a sigh the moment Thekla vanishes behind the stone wall. The sounds from the city echo up unto the Temple. The clopping of hooves over the cobbles, shouts from children playing, the ritualistic prayer from the acolytes.
Over the years, La’an had worked tirelessly, consumed in his efforts to further his personal goals. He had a desperate need for power, an inexplicable thirst for it. Despite his noble heritage, La’an had always wanted more power, more status. But for now, he would suffer through whatever challenges were thrown his way and slowly work his way up through the Imperial Palace, as he had been doing since his adolescence. These high priests are just stepping stones, ends to beget a means for the young mage. That is all they are, that is all anyone would ever be to La’an.
A cold smile forms on his lips. Watching from the parapets, his gaze set to the south. If you really have made your appearance, O’ Saint of Flames. Perhaps it’s best you die ‘fore your own kith have their hands at you.
[1] Chosen in this instance refers to the Saint of Flames. Many terms are used for saints. Voice, chosen, and divine are just a few.