Museum of Grimoire - 4.1 - Early Access (Patreon)

Her transport rolled on regardless of those thoughts, moving away from the crowd and continuing on to its destination. Florence risked a look out a side window and caught sight of an awe-inspiring monument coming up. It was none other than the legendary grand cathedral, that towering, antique bastion of the faith that she had always heard whispers about back at the academy. No matter what fantastical gossip was spread about its visage, the actual article dwarfed imagination as they drew near.

Then the carriage rolled on past the headquarters of the faith, making the warlock’s brow furrow slightly. So she wasn’t going to go immediately to the courts, which made sense. The lead paladin, upon reflection, had hinted as such with his careful phrasing. But that was assuming she trusted his word, which was still suspect. Especially when it looked like his own subordinates had varying opposing opinions.

Something was definitely going on, and Florence could recognize when she was being swept up as a collateral chess piece. Maybe even a sacrificial one, which made her hand clench. An explanation would be hopefully forthcoming soon.

For the moment, the mystery briefly deepened when the carriage finally came to a halt in front of a gate. The door swung open and Florence cautiously climbed out, checking where she was. It was definitely still the old capital’s religious district, but this looked specifically like a residential neighborhood than a street lined with preachers and minstrels. One such manor now rested beyond her, clearly their intended arrival point.

Hm, come to think of it, was this perhaps where said individuals lived instead? That made sense, as a priest did need to sleep somewhere.

But why bring her here instead of someplace more secure? Not that she was going to voice that question, lest the escorting paladins interpret that as a wish to stay in whatever holding cell they might possess. So Florence purposefully kept quiet, simply following along their leader with a wary gait.

They passed through the front entrance and entered the building properly. Here in the lobby, the leader of the holy knights turned and gestured to his followers. “You are now dismissed to your duties.” He glowered at a few specific few. “Keep your schedules open though. I may require your attendance or time if the spirits deem it so.”

Florence mentally translated that as some of them getting a ‘talk’ about their behavior while they stiffly saluted and dispersed. Now it was just her and the head paladin, who gestured for her to come along. He guided her through the residence, now more like a personal escort than a jailer. “I expect that you have many questions. Forgive me, as my vows strictly forbid me from speaking so openly of what troubles plague us all. It is imperative that the faith present a united front to the people at all times.”

“Your subordinates don’t seem to feel the same way,” remarked the apprentice, just a little snide. “But I suppose that it’s because you took such vows that you hold your position, and they clearly do not.”

“Their own action will likely cost them,” he declared with total confidence and surety. “If not in the eyes of the spirits, then in the eyes of the faithful. I myself will see to it if nothing else.”

“And you specifically are?”

“Ah, it is a late introduction. I am Photios, ordained hand to the saint. I serve her will at the bequest of the spirits.”

Now that was a title that got Florence to perk up quite a bit. But before she could begin to even press him on what that job entailed, they entered a room with a very familiar face in it. One that immediately ripped the warlock’s eyes off the man and towards her charge. “Miss Noire!”

“Ah, excellent, you’ve arrived in one piece.” Said woman was currently examining a vase with no small amount of interest. “Come, Florence, have a look at this. It’s pottery from the Fourth Age, how incredible! The durability spell cast upon its creation has lost most of its potency since, so do be careful.”

The rather nonchalant greeting was… expected, really, she recognized with slight exasperation. Of course she could find being swept up in some sort of religious schism as being less engaging than whatever interesting artifacts they could have in their possession. “Um. It looks interesting, but I’m more glad that you’re okay too.”

“We always were, so long as I made sure to inform the saint about our presence,” Noire calmly explained, rising up from her study and nodding to another figure. “I wouldn’t say that we’re out of danger yet, but the more extreme factions haven’t the power go against their most venerated member. Quite literally so.”

“Oh, stop that. You’re making me blush! Though honestly?” The saint grinned with visible jagged teeth. “I’d welcome the challenge if the spirits deem it so.”

Having spent plenty of time around the famed archmage of the hero’s party, Florence initially wasn’t so fazed by meeting another member of that group which saved the world. But Tillith possessed a sort of presence that went beyond just the stoic and collected visage of Milan, a sort of regal yet ferocious spirit which surely couldn’t just be her beastkin lineage. Perhaps in a way, that rumor of her possessing a lineage that could trace back to the lost bloodlines of the dragon princes that had once ruled the old empire had more to them than simple wagging tongues.

Or perhaps, as the clergy claimed, she was simply blessed by the spirits. It was hard to say which was true, if either.

Regardless, it was clear that she was whom Noire and Florence could thank for protection. For the time being, that is. “The demon lord falls, the people celebrate- and the spirits plot more mischief,” mused the saint, tapping her lips with a finger. “Or is it simply in the nature of us mortals to stir up more trouble, even when the world is brought from the brink? I suppose dear Iris would have strong words for it.”

“If she could even spare a word in-between her quests,” Noire commented, briefly reflecting on recent events. “I believe she is quite preoccupied with matters of her own kingdom right now. So this power struggle within the church is one that cannot be simply solved by her blade.”

“No, and it would not be her place either. The Followers of the Divine are an independent authority, one that does not need obey the decrees of House Harten.” The saint hummed. “If anything, the historical case instead has been of them seeking to borrow the prestige of the faithful to establish their own piety among the masses. So I’m afraid the princess hero is unable to do much regarding recent developments.”

“And you are instead.”

“But of course,” expressed Tillith with mock surprise, placing a hand on her chest. “After all, they did crown me their saint. I do also believe that while they might not recognize Iris’ sword, they surely will recognize my mace.”

“Excuse me.” Florence raised her hand, interrupting the exchange between the two of them. “I’m still a little lost on what’s going on. Your man here simply barged in, told me to come with, and now I’m here after being publicly declared a blasphemer. I’m not even one of the faithful!”

“Indeed, it is quite foolish to try and impose the beliefs on the unwilling,” the saint muttered with a visible frown on her features. “Yet it is a growing faction within our echelons of leadership, that this perhaps new era upon us ought be characterized by a resurgence of our faith. To see the continent once again united, not necessarily by government- but by worship at least.”

“Which is incredibly hypocritical to say the least,” Noire mentioned with a slight curl to her lips. “How many denominations are there from this pantheon alone? How many truly subscribe to the mainstream preached in the old capital? The answer, I suspect, is far less than what these agitators would like to think.”

“I never did say they were particularly smart- just dedicated.” Tillith exhaled. “Which, unfortunately, does sometimes count for more. Zealotry and theology are but two sides of a scale, after all.”

“So we’re being targeted by fanatics?” Florence darkly muttered, slowly getting tired of these roundabout discussions. “And you can’t just tell them to… stop?”

“No more so than I can command the spirits of life and death to undo the world,” breezily told the saint, who then raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of which, I have been informed that you have a most curious arrangement. Fret not, I am a friend of Milan, so I surely shan’t exorcise you. But you are a warlock, one who communes with others for power?”

“In the simplest manner of speaking? Yes.” Said caster exhaled, her chosen profession bringing forth unexpected troubles even now. “I have formed a pact with a spirit of death with my regalia. It is… I don’t think destined is the right way to say it, but it feels just right. Like the partnership was meant to be.”

“It very well could be.” Tillith actually seemed to be intrigued now, studying Florence with an interested gaze. “The spirits are fickle beings, long-lived and all-knowing in legend. They are those who had given form to the world, shaped it in to their liking- then set us upon it to bear witness to whatever is to follow. It is why we believe them to be gods, divines to which our every passion is a reflection of their whim.

“Perhaps yours is a young spirit, recently born and seizing upon you like a newborn duck would to the first figure they see. Or they could be an ancient one, awaiting all this time for your lineage- then becoming something like a guardian friend to your bloodline.” She shrugged a moment later. “It is hard to say, and very rarely are such beings so forthcoming about their reasoning. To them, we are but toys to amuse themselves.”

That was quite frank. “You don’t sound all too reverent about them, despite your position.”

Tillith gave a small chuckle. “They are like old friends to me, companions to which I recognize, worship- and on occasion, chastise.” She shook her head. “At least they have the sense to perhaps listen and learn. The same cannot be said of those who move against us now.”

“When we entered the old capital, I noticed that their banners were overtaking the streets, compared to the other blocs of the faith,” Noire revealed, going into detail about her choice to separate from Florence. “While perhaps a paranoid assumption, I acted on caution and sought out my client first to secure protection.”

“Was leaving me behind necessary?”

“Better you remain in the markets, unaware and unknown to the faith if I happened to be intercepted and captured.” The historian paused. “I do recognize now that you would still perhaps be at risk, and I do apologize for that. But I believe that I am once again the primary target, and you a bonus addition.”

“Doesn’t sound like I’m just a side objective with what got announced,” grumbled Florence. “You didn’t get stones hurled at you.”

“No, I didn’t. Meaning that perhaps they are shifting their angle of attack.”

“Your origin is more… nebulous and hard to parse, much less parse to the average follower,” Tillith laid out, speculating on how the ebbs of political maneuvering were changing. “In comparison, it might be easier for the layman to grasp the wickedness of a warlock. One who binds a spirit in chains for servitude.”

Florence felt her face grow heated. “It’s not like that in the slightest!”

“You claim that so, but therein lies the challenge. It will be your solitary word against that of established community leaders, many of whom will be looking to prosecute you- and through it, the one whose existence truly offends.”

“I can’t very well account for my creation, can I?” Noire dryly said with a shake of the head. Then a sort of impish grin appeared on her face. “Very well, so if the evidence of today is worthless, we simply will have to make do with another. The proof of the past, is it not.”

The saint smiled. “What a coincidence that it happens to line up with the job I have for you, giving you perfect coverage against these nuisances until the formal trial.”