To Catch a Wytch:

[Octiovus]

[All content within this post is OOC unless revealed to your character]

Purity's hooves sped Sir Hugo towards the high castle of the Order with all speed. A series of dire reports from Initiate Danaeyl had pressed the urgency of the quest before him. It was obvious to the Preceptor that the dark tides of conspiracies and corruption were beginning to overwhelm the younger knight. But events would soon come to a dramatic head. The Order could offer little in the way of immediate support - they released only one Templar, Ulrich Malberg, from his service in the Colonies to aid in the struggle. Yet even one true man of faith was worth a dozen of the faithless. The tide was already beginning to turn.

****

The construction of the chapel had acted as a beacon - its holy light drew in believers, yet like moths to a flame it also was an alluring challenge to the malcontents, the corrupted, the heretics. Mutterings began to circulate of dark deeds and secret plots. Unspecified evil was moving, that much was obvious. The Church was in grave danger.

The Initiate was freshly arrived and still getting his bearings when quite by chance he stumbled upon it. Invited on a curious expedition by several members of the Army, even in his raw state he began to realise that something was very, very wrong. No ordinary hunt had taken place here.

As the Initiate delivered his report, the two knights looked on, ashen faced and stern. Ulrich paced around the chapel, the floor boards creaking under the weight of his armour. Hugo stood stoically, eventually nodding in grim acknowledgement. It was not yet clear what the goal of the conspirators was - but it was obvious that the Arcanists in conjunction with elements of the Army were plotting to tamper with dark magics; with the very fabric of reality itself. Their reasons to engage in such madness remained incomprehensible - but the Guardian's evil seduction could not be known to men of faith. Information nevertheless had to be sought. There was only one who could give the help they needed.

****

Rotting and forgotten in the dank, festering cells was the sad figure of former Arcanist Corporal, Veldrin Ni'harel. She had been charged with a crime she didn't commit, but that was the nature of the uncaring 'justice' of the city of Cove. Her case was far from unusual. The party descended upon her cell with grim purpose. "How would you like to live, Drowling?" Sir Hugo opened, with a thin smirk present under his heavy plate helm.

The charges before the Drow would certainly guarantee her death. But she held too many secrets to be committed to the flames just yet. Despite her innate evil, she had always understood how Cove worked. Fear motivated her actions. Undoubtedly she was a heretic at heart, but she would never allow it to show. She wanted to live. The trio whisked her to the interrogation cells though there was little need -- she gave up the information with barely a finger lain on her.

The deal was brokered. The ex-Arcanist leader would give the Templars access to the tower, and testify against her former comrades in arms when the time came. In the meanwhile, she was to infiltrate their ranks - to gain their trust, and to uncover the true nature of the plot. Of course, if she was released from the cells without some much as a scratch suspicion would be rife. It fell to the Initiate to choose the method of mutilation - a simple slash to the cheek would fit their purposes for now. To insure her compliance, the Drow offered her spellbook with a mournful glint in her eyes. Truly, she was broken. The urge to live was overriding every other consideration. Pathetic - but for one of her ilk, understandable.

Casting her into the dirt outside the barracks, the on-going sentry quickly took the bait. Gathering around her she told them wild tales of brutality and assault. The ever indignant guardsmen quickly lapped up the lies, Captain Morana in particular was aghast and most taken in - the ease with which the Army could be deceived was a salient warning to the trio. The deed was done.

****

Many days elapsed without incident. Until she arrived. The Arcanist known as Illyana Drachen, former Commander and avowed enemy of the Church. The circumstances of her return were shrouded in mystery - time in the Colonies, perhaps? For now, the origins were irrelevant. It was clear however, that the plotters had gained another powerful ally - one who was hellbent on undoing the Church. She had barely returned before she began her efforts. Hugo once more had left to the Orders stronghold to lobby for reinforcements now the scale of the plot was beginning to become apparent. In his absence - she struck. Mocking and attacking the Initiate, she sought to openly challenge the authority of the Church. She had instead set her downfall in motion.

The charcoal raven reached Sir Hugo en route to the sanctuary of the stronghold. He slowed Purity, quickly scanning the contents. The Initiate assaulted - in broad daylight? He crushed the parchment in a heavy iron gauntlet, righteous fury filling every fiber of his body. Tugging the reins quickly, Purity spun a quick arc. There was no time to gather reinforcements. This challenge had answered NOW.

****

If the Order wouldn't provide aid, it was up to the Holy alliance with Yew to be reforged. Sir Hugo dispatched his swiftest ravens to all available clerics and Friars; the Templar and Initiate polished their skills, praying and sword practicing all hours of the day. A local craftswoman reforged Hugo's armour, the plate gleaming all the brighter. The three knights discussed at length the plan. They were ready to strike. On the most holy day, a Sunday, the trap was sprung.

A crowd gathered in bemusement and expectation, cramming the pews of the Church summoned by the piercing tones of the bells. The Yewish contingent were already in place. The Templars stood vigilantly, though they were bound by their vows not to draw weapons in the chapel, they certainly had them close at hand. The hall was filled with murmuring and excited chatter. Then abruptly, the heavy oaken doors swung up. The wytch walked nervously in.

"YOU ARE CHARGED WITH HERESY!" bellowed the Preceptor, to the gasps of all gathered. The events that followed must have been a blur to the Arcanist. Her atonement was demanded, she was promptly forced to her knees, the Initiate preparing the red hot glowing brand which suddenly seared deep into her neck - marking her with the "H" of Heresy. The sizzling and smell of scorched flesh filled the church and made several weak stomached members of the congregation flee outside. The shameful robe of the Church servant was unfurled as Ilyana still reeled from her new wound. The fear, mixed with anger, in the eyes of the wytch was evident. Ulrich stood watchful, anticipating assassins and insurgents. None came. Clad in her robe, still shocked and dismayed, she slunk back to the pews. Sir Hugo raised his arms aloft. "THE AGE OF HERESY IS OVER!" The Templars ankhed in unison, the gathered monks of Yew began to chant a liturgy. The battle was won. Yet the war was only just beginning.

Ilyana's rode to repentance would be long and fraught with peril. Yet news was already reaching the Prceptor's ears of another wytch in town. He had one firmly in his grasp. Why did Avatar give a man two hands, if not to grasp two wytches? The hunt continues...

[Octiovus]

[All knowledge contained within this post is OOC unless revealed to your character]

Avatar giveth. Avatar taketh away.

Sir Hugo stared out across the Covian bay, the midday sun glimmering on the gently lapping waves. In just over a week, so much had changed. The Order had been faltering, teetering on the edge of total oblivion as it was assailed by what appeared to be innumerable enemies. Yet when the hour seemed most dark - Avatar had provided. The Church's ranks had been swelled by two new Sisters and a Squire, all in quick succession, barely time to induct one after the other. Ties with Yew had been strengthened also; both Churches now working together in a Holy symphony. Where once Hugo walked a solitary and dangerous road, all the Soldiers of Avatar now marched side by side in glorious lockstep.

The Avatari had struck many blows against the heretics. The Wytch, Ilyana Drachen had been publicly broken and humiliated, left to contemplate her sins in the sweltering heat. The murderous Nadia had been judged by the Church for all to see; and the net was closing in on the imprudent but persistent heretic known as Mischief.

Yet victory had come at a cost. In recent attack on the Chapel, Avalynn had been left hideously disfigured. She struggled to understand why Avatar would do this to her: Hugo could see that much in her eyes when he attended her bedside. Yet this was no freak accident. Days prior to the attack she had openly and unrepentantly defied His will. She had chosen to side with the elvish recruit above the sacred plan of the Higher Being. Her time in the army had made her petulant and she was falling into shadow. She began to value her rank and station above her divine mission. Even as she lay in bed she spoke foolishly of her wish to seek out a male companion.

She was not the only one to express the feverish energies of the Guardian. The Initiate had proven himself most capable when the weight of defending the church fell to him in the Preceptor's absence, yet his reckless nature was disturbing. In his eagerness to fight evil, he seemed ready to adopt any method. His burning zeal was chafing against one of the three eternal tenants of the Order: Chastity. Poverty. Obedience. He had had the impertinence to demand advancement; he considered himself ready to don the black cloak of a Templar. Avatar will be the judge of his readiness. Seven trials, each one relating to one of the true virtues were to be set. Would the Initiate survive what was to come? Hugo hoped most dearly that he did. But his fate was preordained.

And lastly, there was the matter of the Commander. His faith had always been questionable. Yet he was perhaps the one man who could seriously challenge the power of the Church. It had become clear that his personal loyalties to the Wytch were clouding his judgement. Though she had been released, for now, when the time of judgement comes would he stand with the Faithful? Or would he seek to excuse her heresy? Much in Avatar's plan remained unclear to Hugo.

Sir Hugo tugged at Purity's reins, spurring the horse onwards into the forest. There was no time for doubt. Only for the final destruction of the wytches.

Their end was soon at hand.

[Octiovus]

[All knowledge within this post is strictly OOC unless revealed to your character.]

Brothers. It is time.

The three knights uttered a short prayer as they departed from the chapel, shooting each other a final look of steely determination before they donned their imposing helms. Weeks had passed, nearly each day bringing fresh information on the activities of the heretical wytch known as 'Mischief' and her covenant of collaborators. Just the evening prior, the inn owner Carolin had visited the chapel, clearly ridden with guilt, her heart burdened by the evil deeds that had transpired under her own roof. In the presence of the newly made Squire Mordred, and the Initiate, her resolve had broken easily. The truth soon flowed.

The wytch, 'Mischief', who Corporal Sanderson had made known to Sir Hugo, had attempted to conspire with Carolin and force her into spreading vile and perverted rumours about the Initiate. This action was motivated by her unyielding hatred of the Church and the virtues. While the humble commoner attributed her actions to insanity, it was clear to the Preceptor what was at work here. It was the Guardian's touch - plain and simple. Her indiscretions had been her downfall. Not only had the Corporal and Carolin made her activities known to the Templar, but numerous church agents had corroborated these claims in detailed reports. The evidence was irrefutable. The time for action was at hand.

While a confrontation in the security of the chapel would have been preferable, its natural holiness would be repellent to any wytch. Therefore as afternoon merged into evening, the endlessly patient Templars strode out. With the owner Carolin confirming that Mischief was staying at the Cardinal Feather Inn, the Templars began their slow march to the inevitable reckoning.

The tavern was packed with patrons of all types, many taking cover from the recent incursions of the living dead. Amid the crowd the black clad figure of Mischief was sighted, the trio quickly moving to apprehend her. She offered no resistance, seized and denounced for all to see. The shocked patrons gasped and murmured among themselves, yet not one came to her aid. The faithful knew the fate of a heretic. The wytch offered protestations and began her charade of claiming to not know what could have possibly caused her arrest, but as the short walk to the barracks dungeons came to an end, it was clear that such a transparent tactic would have no effect on the course of justice.

The Inquisitor of Yew was swiftly summoned via raven to aid in the interrogation to come. While there was little need to prove the wytch's crimes to her, she harboured much information on her fellow conspirators. It was clear she would not give it up willingly, nor admit her crimes. The inn keeper was brought forth to confront her directly, in the hope that she would see reason and negotiate for her life. Sadly, the Guardian's rot was too deeply ingrained. Only a swift course of surgery could correct her now.

The screams of the wytch rang out throughout the barracks, finally alerting the arcanist corporal Elizabeth Martin who was swiftly found skulking around outside the heavy iron doors of the interrogation room. Her interest in the fate of the wytch was deemed to perhaps be more than simply an expression of the false virtue of compassion, and she too was subject to questioning. Her snake like attempts to cast doubt on the righteous judgement of a wytch came to nothing, and her activities will now be subject to the most intense scrutiny. The Inquisitor, in his wisdom, also enlightened the Order on the activities of her known associate, Leanne Melinor, the Scout Cadet. The arcanist was soon sent packing from the room, dispatched by the gauntleted hand of Preceptor. Perhaps she was wise enough to avoid the fate of the heretic, slumped near lifeless in the chair.

Despite the Initiate's attempt to rouse her, the heretic had succumbed to the methods of the interrogators. Limp and unresponsive, she was promptly searched and placed in the most secure cell of the dungeon, awaiting her trial. Doubtless her remaining conspirators would attempt to free her, but for now she remains firmly in the grasp of the Order. With the sinner Drachen in servitude, and the wytch Mischief in custody, a mortal blow had been struck against the forces of evil who oppose the holy might of the Order and Avatar. Much remains to be done, but Sir Hugo was content as he watched the robed figure of the Inquisitor depart.

He had set out to catch a wytch.

He had caught two.

Deus vult.