Chapter Text
Above the tall trees of the Great Marsh, past the water of its many winding rivers, right by the sprawling metropolis of Kurast, rose the terraces and pyramids of the city’s holiest site. Travincal, it was called - the grand temple, perhaps the largest in the known world. It was a monument to the eastern Empire’s power and devotion, visited by kings and prophets alike, for almost a millennium now. Though the Emperor dwelled not within it, the common folk looked upon the temple as if they looked on the balcony of his palace. As one walked throughout its wide alleys, monumental stairways, and orderly canals, they would feel the presence of divine authority within Travincal that spread throughout the civilized world.
The temple grounds were crowded with men dressed in white and black, looking upon the main temple in the center, towering over the rest of the structure. At the very top of the stairway was the entrance to the building’s interior, where six people, also dressed in black and white, sat in a semi-circle of chairs. In the center, stood a single man, wearing a white robe decorated with gilded swirls, and a tall headpiece made out of black cloth. They called him Sankekur, the Que-Hegan - the political and spiritual leader of the religion of Light, to whom priests answered, and kings bowed down to. Some would say they stood in the presence of the most powerful man in the whole world, and, in many ways, they would be correct. It was roughly the middle of a special service, hosted by the Supreme Patriarch himself, and directed to the people of Kurast.
“Brothers and sisters”, he began, “It is a dark time indeed for the Church.”
The crowd gathered below the temple was, for the most part, alert and attentive to Sankekur’s words. Very few seemed to look elsewhere in lack of interest or conviction.
“In today’s scriptures, we heard the words of Akarat’s followers, as they bore gifts to the poor and downtrodden people, ruled by a cruel king. These people had served the Light, for it is the Light that directs us to serve one another, and strengthen the bonds of the community. The king was without Light, and sought to amass power all to himself - harming his people, and community alike.”
A family of three - father, mother, and their young girl - were present in the very back, looking up at the gathered congregation with unease.
“It is a fundamental fact of our world that the Zakarum Faith is the foundation of civilization. Without it, we lie and we steal! Without it, we persecute and tear each other apart! Without it, a kingdom cannot stand!”
The Que-Hegan lowered his hands and looked down at the gathered people.
“We are surrounded on all sides by those that would see our Church undone. Those who, like that tyrant, wish to destroy all that we hold sacred - our leaders, our families, our neighborhoods. Those who spread their blasphemous ways to the most defenseless and vulnerable among us.”
Sankekur raised his head again, his brow furrowed, and fists clenched.
“And now, we lost one of our closest friends to them!”
He paused for a while.
“I remember when I first met his majesty, Leoric. He was the nicest, most devoted, generous man I’ve met in my whole life. I asked for the greatest blessings upon him, to bring the lands of the West into the Light. This man gave me hope - the kind I haven’t felt in all of my life… and now he is gone. Murdered at the hands of conspirators in contempt of us, Children of Zakarum!”
Some of the members of the High Council, seated around Sankekur, could see his eyes twitch.
“Since Zakarum’s inception, we have stood against the encroaching tides of darkness that wished to swallow us all. It’s a familiar tale, for this battle of our community’s very survival takes place right here and right now! Think about how many of those you think are your loved ones are your enemies - murderers, thieves, demon-worshippers, servants of false gods, those who would spit poison upon the concepts of family and civil society! Now, they can be everywhere! Everywhere, you hear me!?”
Sankekur’s body was shaking. The parents of the girl in the crowd tried to drag her away from it, as they began to hurry back to the causeway.
“Travincal and Kurast find itself as a shining fortress on top of a hill, in the center of this battle for our very souls. I see the tides of darkness close upon us once again, and I fear they might rise above the walls this time, but we were not, and will not be defeated yet! We have to trust in the works of the Hand of Zakarum, for they are our servants, and soldiers in the darkest of our days, but we must also remember - they cannot save us alone. Each and every one of us, Children of Light, must fight tooth and nail for our civilization, and for our youth. We can, and will persevere, so long as we have the strength to defend against our many enemies.”
The crowd didn’t respond. They simply continued looking at the Que-Hegan, awaiting him to continue the sermon. The inquisitors, gathered on the sides, kneeled down in honor of the great leader. The family of three was running back to the city, unnoticed by the rest, who watched the main event unfold, in the largest holy site of the known world.
That was about a month ago.
By now, silence had completely washed over the temple complex. The sky was heavily overcast. To say it was pouring would be a gross understatement. The structures of the temple still stood, proud as ever, albeit now devoid of all signs of life - no prayers, no chanting, no singing. The rain-drenched terraces of the temples were littered with hundreds of corpses. Some of them belonged to the inquisitors, others to their victims. Most, however, belonged to the demon spawn that, only mere moments ago, rampaged throughout the city.
Several people stood on top of the stairway of the main temple now - practitioners of martial and magical arts, adventurers from places unknown, led by a Paladin, clad in full plate armor, bearing a sword and a shield. The cohort was surrounded by severed limbs of what once was the High Council, and shattered fragments of the Compelling Orb - the aftermath of their work. The Paladin knew, however, that there was one more battle they had to face. The door to the temple’s catacombs was open. The only thing that remained was to find out where it leads.
The adventurers traversed the winding, bloodied tunnels for almost an hour, and within its deepest recesses, they found the chamber where their goal was. A horned, four-armed skeletal figure, with pale embers in his eyes, and a grin of malice on his lips - none other than the Lord of Hatred Mephisto himself. He cackled raspily as the heroes drew their weapons.
“Nothing you do will change the course of what’s to come.”, He hissed.
A fierce battle followed. A dizzying array of blows from weapons, and arcane magic swept the room. One by one, the heroes fell to exhaustion, or the Lord’s curses, eventually leaving only the weakened demon, and the Paladin left to settle the score. The knight inexorably shrugged off Mephisto’s remaining magical trickery, and with a decisive blow, sliced off the demon’s head with his sword.
The remaining heroes rose as flames erupted from the earth where Mephisto’s corpse was. The fire slowly fizzled out, and when it died, from the demon’s right hand fell out a deep blue crystal, and his monstrous features diminished back into his body, until all that remained was the dead body, and the white robe decorated by gilded swirls of
Que-Hegan Sankekur.
Only then, the Paladin finally removed his helmet. His face was drowning in tears.