[The Witch Hunter's Handbook]

The Witch Hunter's Handbook

Detailing the organization, methodology, holy scriptures and structure of The Ancient Covian Templar Order of St. Celestine and its enemies

By Steiner Von Feuerad

Sosaria is a world fraught with danger. It is said that the very origins of our plane of existence are born from witchcraft, and corruption seeps from every pore of the planet. For centuries, there has been only one line of defence which has secured humanity's continued survival in this perilous world. That thin line has come to be known as the Templi, and their many associates. Thus when I was tasked with writing this guide some three summers ago, I knew it was both a great and terrible quest. Every word found within these pages has been sculpted as to give the reader the ultimate advantage over the Guardian's taint. Yet, even after eighty of the Lord's righteous years, as my eyes dim, I can say I have only seen a fraction of the evil that we face. It will require more than a mere book to drive back the evil hordes, yet it is my hope that this manuscript shall go someway in combating the taint.

Chapter I: Concerning the Order

The Order is a vast sprawling subject, and I am old now. I have not the time to write everything on the matter. Indeed, there are many things preventing me from writing as much as I would like. I cannot recall when I last slept, or rather I would rather not, as the dreams have become so foul it is better to stay awake. I am kept in a constant state of mind by the brews of the monks, but I believe they are plotting to poison me. They hide behind their guise of faith to commit their deeds of evil. It is transparent. I spied the apothecary's bald grinning head in the window this morning, it is clear he is in league with the Guardian. The sister-aids, too, are rife with witchery. The one which brought my morning sentience had filthy long hair. 'Twas clearly heresy of the highest order. If I was not confined to this bed, I would have them all on the pyre before dawn. Yet I digress. I shall begin with a little history.

History:

Cove has always housed a chapel to Avatar. The first brave souls to arrive in Cove were rightly Avatarian, and thus their temple reflected this. The leader of the group, Keldor, was a devout and pious man who did envisage Cove as a bastion which would stand against the sea of depravity that washed the land. Cove grew over time, as it attracted many people of all races. These races were bound by the principles of Avatar, and peace prevailed. Suddenly however, a new race appeared. They had black skin and white hair and called themselves "Drow". They sought sanctuary in Cove, and Keldor did allow them to exist there. Yet the heart of a drow is as black as its skin, and it did lust after the items of others. The drows proved to be lazy leeches, adding little to the work of Covians. They concerned themselves with fornication and thievery. Eventually, a prominent drow decided that they should have dominion over everything and killed Keldor, burning down the Covian chapel and almost obliterating the town.

Organization:

The Order has endured much. We have felt the betrayal of drows, the age of heresy, and the constant scheming of those who follow the false Gods. There have been constant reforms, reorganizations and eliminations that have turned the hierarchy of the Order into an almost incomprehensible mess. There are many offices and positions within the Order that are so secret, that even I myself am unaware of their existence. Therefore, I shall present a simplified overview of affairs:

Avatar
|
Bishop of Cove
|
Templar Preceptor/Witch Finder General
|
Templars/Witch hunters/Monks
|
Craftsmen, Servants, Disciples, Animal trainers, etc.
|
Flagellants, Zealots and other assorted followers

Templar principles:

Templars give their life to Avatar, and Avatar alone. They shall follow no other Gods and shall obey the orders of their superiors without question. They shall renounce their own free will and surrender all of their property to the Order. Lands, titles, inheritances and possessions will all be the Order's by right.

Templars shall suppress mercy, for it is a weakness which has been created by the Guardian to allow his minions to continue. Those who are deemed guilty are not worthy of such an emotion.

Templars shall always wear plain garments of a simple hue. Garish clothing should be shunned as an expression of personal wealth above the importance of Avatar. A Templar should always aim to be dressed in clean garments too, free of blood, mud, ash and other sullying substances.

Templars shall not accept challenges. They are always right, and have no need to prove themselves. This also means that they are correct in any argument by default. Additionally, they shall not give their word. They are unaware of Avatar's ultimate plans, and therefore cannot be sure of what tomorrow will bring. Avatar does not give his word, and nor do his servants.

Templars shall always strive to instill fear by using public execution and trials by ordeal. Fear is a tool with which you may keep the population faithful, and there is no clearer display of what will happen to those who follow the ruinous powers.

Templars will always fight for what is just and good. They will defend the poor and strive to commit good deeds. They shall also remain a Templar for the rest of their lives. None may simply 'leave' the Order.

Rites of Induction: Training, and conditions of membership

All those wishing to join the ancient Covian Templí Order must first endure a series of trials, designed to test both mind and body. The valour and mental resolve of a novice can be quickly assessed by these trials. They are undertaken in the great church of Cove. If the inductee survives the process, he may rise within the hierarchy. Yet it shall be a very different person who progresses, they will have undergone a profound spiritual and mental transformation.

Fanatic to Zealot: Trials of the mundane.

The trials of the mundane are menial tasks designed to clear the mind in preparation for the true work of spiritual transformation. Fanatics will be assigned a relentless series of pointless and futile endeavours to test their resolve. Upon completion of these petty acts, they shall be interrogated to ensure their mental state. If mental collapse has not occurred, then they shall continue with the rites of induction and progress to the next stage.

Zealot to Templar: Trials of steel.

The trials of steel are a series of faith tests and periods of martial training. The candidate must master many forms of defence in the fight against the Guardian. Strength of spirit alone will not be enough. A Templar of Avatar usually travels alone, without the large numbers of foot soldiers that accompany other "so-called" knights. Therefore he must be prepared to fight all manner of unimaginable tainted corruptions with merely his sword and his wits.

Equipment:

The lone nature of Templar's and church agents means that you shall require a large arsenal of weapons and tools to survive the onslaught of evil. You should succeed in your task by employing whatever means are necessary to overcome your foe. A Templar must not become overly proud in his struggle against blasphemy and heresy. Therefore standard equipment should include:

~ Warhounds (large, vicious hounds, bred specifically for the subjugation of heretics).
~ Poison
~ Rondel (a small, flat knife, useful for finding gaps in armour)
~ Poniard (a slender bladed knife)
~ Faith weapon (warhammer, longsword, etc)

A Templar may also harbour a number of devices and concealed weapon about his person. The artisans of the church constantly work on new works to confound the Guardian, but I list a few current pieces:

The leaded cloak: The distinctive black cloaks of Templars are feared throughout the length and breadth of Sosaria. Along with their chains,branding irons, and helms the long flowing cloaks of Avatarian Templars demand respect for those who are unfortunate enough to behold them at close quarters. Sewn into the lining is a number of lead balls, useful for lashing out at heretics when unarmed. Many a recalcitrant heretic has been thrashed to an inch of his life (or beyond) by a Templar wielding nothing more than his own clothes.

The spring-heeled boot knife: Within the genteel mansions and public buildings of Cove, Templars are sometimes called upon to use discreetion when dealing with suspected heretics and sorcerers (especially those whose public execution could cause political embarrassment). In these instances, they may decide to use tiny, spring-loaded blades concealed within their knee-length boots. The blade is barely larger than a darning needle and its prick would be barely noticed (or mistaken for an insect bite). But the lethal poison coating the blade is a slow and sure death sentence to the recipient.*

*I once spent several awkward minutes attached to Commander Shadwell after attempting to assassinate him in this manner at the freedom festival. My informants failed to warn me of his wooden leg.

[H]

Heresy hath been noted within the ranks of Covians. Like a woodrot it doth begin to infest the core of Cove. Long hath the church been dormant, but they hath not been idle. Heretics and infidels hath been noted. Watch your steps Covians, lest you find Avatar is displeased with you. He doth demand justice for crimes committed and justice shall be dispensed.

HERESY SHALL BE MET WITH DEATH.

*Stampled with the templi seal*

Sir Hugo.

[Reason:]

Reason: Disrespect to a member of the Avatarian church.

Punishment to be issued: Knock him to the ground and paint a picture of the scene; this shall ensure he remembers who he is speaking to next time he meets a member of the Clergy. Make sure you declare you are doing the will of the Covian church.

Deus Vult.

*Signed*

Sir Hugo.

[Deus Vult.]

My Brothers ...

I hath grave news. It would seem there hath been a great disturbance in our fair township; the one calling himself 'The Black Wizard' hath returned to plague our town once more. I was awoke this Sunday eve' by a guardsman who didst inform me of a madness taking over the officers of the army. At first I doubted such a claim, it didst seem to me to be a false assumption. Upon my arrival at the barracks I was met by a ruckus and mayhem, one man had fallen to the ground under the grip of the taint and others were frantic, many accounts were given yet 'tis clear that what caused this disturbance was of witch ilk. In defense of our town, there can be one weapon we wield in abundance - that of faith. My brothers, we must be strong in our task of repelling this threat. I quote the Malleus Maleficarum:

Page 71:

"...Avatar doth justify the destruction of witches and wytchery craft by all means necessary. Those who come into contact with one practicing witchcraft should be isolated and monitored for signs of their own taint and corruption..."

Remain vigilant, remain strong.

Deus Vult.

*Stamped with the Templi seal.*

[This story is OOC information and would not be known unless you were involved]

The Templar led in his cell, bound and gagged and still glancing around for some vague hope of escape although it was clearly impossible. Even if he could break free of the ropes that bound him, the heavy iron door would have halted his escape. The dank conditions aggravated his numerous wounds, and he winced; he would have cried out but was stopped by his burning desire not to show weakness in front of the men he would have formerly called his allies and congregation.

He pondered how he had gotten himself into this predicament; though, he never once questioned his faith. He rationalized it the same way he always did, that it was Avatar's will and a test of him. But this time, his eye was caught by a puddle. He could not help but stare intently at himself in the reflection with his one remaining eye in the small murky puddle in the corner of the cell. For the first time, he saw what he had become. His face was burnt and scarred, the right side had adopted the texture of melted candle wax, and he had only one eye remaining. An eye that once held zeal and a burning flame within it, was now just the same as all others.

He glanced down himself further, looking to his once proud tattered tunic and the numerous broken seals. They could barely even be called seals now, they were just dangling shreds of parchment attached by broken red blobs. These seals had warded off evil for so long.  His equally once proud armour was dented and rusted, coloured black in some places with ash and soot as well as now being laced with blood. He tried to avoid thinking of the ancestors who wore this armour, and how he was now failing them.

He freed his one remaining hand from the binds, and clenched the battered heavy oak ankh around his neck, before glancing back to the puddle. He stared at the reflection for a long time although no thoughts really went through his head. Suddenly the reflection was shattered by a thousand ripples. What was this; he started to question in his mind, and as the water became still and calm once more he saw a sight he had never seen. A droplet of moisture in his one eye. Could it be .. A tear?

Hugo dismissed the thought; if anyone else would have suggested such he would have surely had them burnt for heresy. As much as he struggled to deny it in his head, the man of unshakable faith was being pushed to the limit, and maybe even, beyond it.

Images of deeds past danced across his field of vision; he saw burnings and hangings; towns destroyed and children maimed. All these deeds which had at the time seemed so righteous and clear to him now tormented him, stabbing at his heart, deep to the core. The faces of dozens of frightened citizens flickered in his mind, and he struggled against the ropes that bound him, but it was no use. He suddenly felt so very cold. Was it a drop in temperature or did he .. Feel something?

He moved his one free hand down to his belt and looked to the Avatars scriptures. The tome was badly burnt and the pages blood splattered and torn. He opened it eagerly, looking to find reassurance, but there was none to be found. Just empty words. He began to read. "In the beginning, Avatar created man in his own image.." the zeal that usually filled his heart as he read these words was dispelled, and there was just nothing, but a dull pain growing ever and ever stronger.

A rat scurried across the floor, squeaking very quietly, almost so quietly it didn't break the silence of the cell. Hugo scoffed, and returned to his thoughts. Had Avatar really wanted him to be here..? Had Avatar really wanted him to be burned so badly? Had Avatar really willed those victims dead? What of the Order? Where were they now? He looked to the rat. Even the rat was free, Hugo was not.

His questions assumed a new form, he for the first time, tried to contemplate what life for them outside of the Order could have been. What they could have achieved for the people of Sosaria? Great deeds, perhaps? What could he himself done? His thoughts for the past months had been so clouded with his burning desire to subdue the people of Cove and kill the Baron and Commander he hadn't even the time to consider where they had gotten to.

He writhed, now in totally agony. The cutting of his knees, or the breaking of his foot he could deal with. Such injuries he had received a thousand times in the field of battle against Avatars foes. But the cutting and breaking of his heart? He could do nothing against this. And this was a wound, he felt, that was a mortal one indeed.

The cell began to spin, he could hear his own voice inside his head, a desperate defence against this onslaught from a new enemy inside himself. "Emotions are guises of the Guardian.." the voice rang out. "I am Sir Hugo, I am devoid of such things." He remembered saying these things, in days of old.

The pain in his heart intensified, the faces of his victims became more and more clear. The deeds he had done. The deeds of Avatar... The scripture he held in his hand, half fell, half dropped into the puddle; the murky water splattering everywhere.

He looked around the darkened room, even the rat had gone now. And for the first time in his life he finally felt, alone. Even though the room was devoid of light, it was getting darker and darker rapidly. An unnatural dark. A dimness within his very vision.

Was this.. Could it be... Death? Had the Templar finally fallen into the abyss he had preached so radically against..?

He extended a hand for the scripture but the room seemed to elongate and the tome remained out of his reach. He had reached for the stars, and he had fallen short. Avatar was too far away to help him now. Everything was just slightly out of his reach. He saw now for his entire life this had been the case. His quest had been as the tome, just a small distance too far.

He let out a silent sob, a cry of muffled agony. He extended a gauntleted hand upwards towards the celling of the cell, but it fell to the ground, clattering against the hard stone, muddy and mossy floor. His head fell back, smashing against the floor shortly after.

Had that reach for the celling been a final gesture by Avatars most loyal servant..?

On the eighth hour of the 23rd of September, we shalt go forth to the lands of Illshnear and destroy the vile forces lingering there. Rally outside the church at the said hour of the Lord, the bells shall toll for thee.