The Priesthood

Urgur was a great friend of the art of subterfuge; he seemed like a man who would not do anything directly unless it was the best thing to do in the moment. Like a dagger that swiftly stabbed the chest of an unassuming victim, one who had no idea of the reasons as to why they were stabbed or who even stabbed them, such a sudden stab, one so direct you could never quite anticipate it, was the great plan that the man presented them when he just walked to the front door of the estate and with an overtly dramatic double-punch released a great wave of magic, which caused the doors to explode right open, then of their hinges and on to the floor that was on the other side.

The man wiped his hands, as if there were dust on them, and turned toward his party. The man had another toothy grin on his face as he said, “You could say that I am an expert at sleight of hand; no locked door can remain locked or in my way, as I gently use my tools and lockpick that bad boy.”

He then winked at Ignar and added, “I could also unlock your heart…”

Kalla scoffed loudly and pushed past the fool. “The door wasn’t even locked.” He said as he entered the estate, his vision was soon greeted by multiple guards who came running from three different directions within the building.

Erjen patted Urgur on the shoulder as she followed their leader. “And a bad boy you are...”

Urgur kept his grin wide and happy, then he scoffed, the veil of the jovial fool gone in an instant, and his silky-smooth voice returned as he said, “Come now, sir second lieutenant, we have a job to do.” He grabbed Ignar by the arm and pulled him with him, right next to Kalla and Erjen, so that he could face the twenty or so guards that now stood before them in a semi-circle.

Men and women, all wearing similar clothes garnished with the same crest, a two-headed crow with the sun placed above them, all this on a red painted surface, all of it gilded. They were all prepared for combat, with sabers already in hand and the others prepared to cast the most lethal spells that they knew.

“What is the meaning of this?” One of the guards asked while raising her voice; she stared directly at Kalla, and it was clear that she knew who he was. By now, most who worked in a similar position would know the face of the son of their god.

Kalla let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“I am here, in the name of our Lord Kalma, to raid and to arrest everyone and all who happen to be in the Adrian Estate on this lovely evening.” He explained, and as he explained, he made sure to look at each of the men and women who now stood before him.

A silence fell between them as the guard who had spoken to Kalla side-eyed her colleagues, perhaps to see if any of them had anything to say to such words or to just count how many of them were there. Then her eyes locked on Kalla, and she unleashed her magic, instantaneously forming and then hurling thousands of blades at her enemies. And with that, all hell broke loose.

It was pandemonium.

The other guards began forming their own magics, and a barrage of fire, ice, stone, and more blades flew their way, but all uselessly, as Kalla, with the most simple of actions, perished the fire, the ice, and the stones dropped on the ground long before they could even truly fly. All this was done as the man slightly furrowed his eyebrows.

The momentary pandemonium came and went in just a few seconds, as the guards found themselves staring at the man, whom they all knew, in shock. It was unnatural, for no man can control the magic of others so seamlessly. It wasn’t even done one by one, but instead all at the same time. In one instant, he had nullified enough magic to kill a small army.

Another long sigh was heard, and the son of God seemed more bored than anything else. “Urgur, next time just use the fucking knocker. It really isn’t so hard for us to just enter and do our job.”

“But you’ve gone and broken the fucking door for no reason. So fix it. Now.” He commanded through his teeth, then snapped his fingers, and the female guard that had spoken to him lost her head. It just popped into nothingness. There was no blood flying anywhere, nor were there pieces of brain membrane or matter, not even pieces of the skull.

Her head just disappeared, and her body collapsed to the floor.

The silence returned, and it was so calm. Even though panic and fear ruled the other guards, their expressions now seemed rather worried. By now, they all knew that they could never defeat the man before them.

The silence was broken by a cough, and everyone turned to look at the origin of said cough, at Urgur, who managed to look rather embarrassed. “General, you’re standing on the door,” Urgur said as politely as he could.

Kalla then took a step forward and urged Erjen and Ignar to do the same, and the moment they stepped off it, it began to levitate as Urgur carefully moved it to its original place. He even fixed the busted hinges of the door. And then he went ahead and tested that the doors would work; he tried opening them, but they would not open. He smirked widely, “See!” He said loudly, “It is locked, HAHA!”

Kalla just stared ahead and rolled his eyes, and a silent “whatever” could be heard. But soon he returned his full attention to the rest of the guards, saying, “I could kill each and every single one of you with a snap of my fingers.”

“So will you behave, or shall I continue the beheadings?” He asked and began snapping his fingers in a slow rhythm, and the sound of each snap echoed in the vestibule. The guards stared at the very imposing man, and one by one, they placed their sabers carefully on the ground.

“Great! Erjen, incapacitate them, and this time for just a few hours, please…” Kalla commanded and then began studying the three hallways that would lead into different parts of the building.

Without a word, Erjen did as was demanded of her, and one by one, the men and women fell to the ground, their eyes still very much open; now all they could do was blink as Urgur went through their pockets while mumbling something about “coins and diamonds” and how they “shine.”

Erjen walked to Kalla, with Ignar following closely behind. “Sir, shall we split to investigate what we can find?” She asked the man, who seemed to now be looking at the ceiling, where one could see engravings of creatures with wings all done in white stone.

“Sure, you and Ignar can go to the left, Urgur will take the right, and I’ll go forward; as far as I remember, there are multiple stairways to get to the second floor where the Adrians actually live. The first floor is more or less for kitchens and other utility things; there are also multiple libraries and a ballroom for Koren Adrian’s little court.” Kalla explained while still studying the ceiling.

“If you find a way to the cellars, do not go down.” He added and then wandered off while looking around, exploring the walls and ceilings as if he were a tourist in a museum.

Erjen grabbed Ignar by the arm and began leading him to the left-side hallway, while Urgur was left behind as he systematically and very carefully pocketed coins into his purse while profusely apologizing to the guards for the inconvenience, saying things like, “I just have to confiscate these for the investigation, nothing more.” And, “Surely you can trust a trustworthy face like mine.”

Lavish was an understatement. This became more apparent as they entered rooms one by one, most of them uninhabited, some of which had a clear meaning behind them, some of which were just lavish for the sake of being so. This was all to show the wealth that the Adrians had garnered, and that wealth was great.

Koren Adrian and his forefathers were collectors of fine art, paintings dating as far back as the first Renaissance, almost a thousand years ago. Such paintings were then much older than the walls that inhabited them. The estate was constructed during the Second Renaissance, a time of great art, progress in technology, and magical innovation. But such things seldom come without a great cost.

The Adrian Estate and its construction happened during the reconstruction of the city of Anavasii, which occurred because of Kalma’s wishes to remodel the city so that it could be planned more effectively and that it would become more modern in its style of architecture.

During these times, the people suffered greatly because of it, for many had to leave their houses as they were forcibly demolished and then had to partake in large construction efforts all around the city, mainly through forced labor, for which they were only compensated with food and shelter.

Because of this, large camps of newly homeless people were established around the city, none of them too far from the construction or demolition sites. This great reconstruction lasted around three to four decades to complete, and for nearly half that time, most of the people lived in said camps in terrible conditions.

But at least the richer and more powerful members of society greatly benefited from such efforts. Now with large castles as their private property and then the riches gained from leasing land for new houses to be built on, and then even leasing property around the city to the less wealthy members of society, the very same people who had been forced to build those same buildings.

It was beautiful, in a way. The way was certainly cruel and absolutely exploitative, but those days are now long gone. Surely things had changed for the better.

Oh, how he could just smell it all around him—the smell of cash. The smell of gold, and coins, and jewelry, and gemstones, and diamonds, and blood. All the paintings and all the riches that, at all times, looked him straight in the eyes demanded that he witness the wealth of one singular family.

On the walls of the corridors, he could witness many different faces, most of whom seemed to share some common traits, such as a long jawline, which was often mentioned when one spoke about the Adrians. It was unknown as to why such a prominent feature was so common within this family, but it at least made it easy to differentiate between those who were born into the family and those who married into it.

Among those who had married into the family, there were some true beauties and some very handsome individuals. Even some of those born into the family seemed to retain some of the beautiful and handsome traits that were brought in by those who married into the family. But even still, the long jaw would somehow tarnish the beauty that was there.

Ignar didn’t find such a trait to be beautiful or handsome at all, but as he walked in the corridor and observed the faces of many of the long-dead members of this old family, the long jaw suddenly gained a new meaning: wealth.

Perhaps this very feature, one quite unseemly on the face of an otherwise beautiful maiden, was there as the easiest indicator that this person was indeed born into considerable wealth. One could never mistake a member of the Adrian family for someone else, as someone who lacked wealth.

Not to mention the very prominent amount of scales that populated their faces, giving proof of their strong capabilities and possibly even talent for magic. In a way, they were bred to be not only a part of a wealthy family but one that was known and respected for their powerful mages, some of whom have long pages written about them and their exploits in warfare and studies into magic and the theory of magic.

Such a family could never be just about wealth. Such a family would always have a plethora of very talented individuals, capable and ruthless, for that was something that would always be demanded of them. A family like the Adrians was no ordinary rich family; they could not be compared to those that Ignar had met at the cadet’s school, for they would always be more than those present. Because if they were not more, if they lacked the talent, if they weren’t near perfection, then were they even a member of such a distinguished family? Such a family with a longer history than some kingdoms of times long past.

But his thoughts were brought to a halt as they entered yet another room, this one filled with people.

It was a kitchen, and it was one that was more busy than you would guess to be so late into the night. However multiple cooks worked with their specialized magic to prepare different dishes and exotic foods that they might present to their masters. Men and women... all more than talented in the culinary arts.

Just witnessing this made Ignar's stomach crumble. It had been a few hours since he had had the pleasure of eating bread and pea soup. Something that wasn’t nearly as appetizing or intriguing as the things that he saw.

This was the last door at the end of the long corridor that they had had to walk down. They had opened many doors and inspected many rooms, yet this one was the one that impressed Ignar the most. But maybe that was just the hunger speaking...

One of the cooks noticed them and yelled, “What the hell are you doing in my kitchen this late at night?” The man sounded furious as if they had just entered his house in the middle of the night and awoke him suddenly from deep slumber.

Erjen scoffed. “We are here in the name of Kalma to inspect the premises of your workstations, the storage rooms that might lay behind the next door, and even the cupboards if we really have to. This mission includes you, all of you.”

“You are all to be taken into custody, then interrogated.” She announced loudly, keenly observing the reactions that the many cooks might have; she had the attention of most of them.

The cook who had spoken to her cursed loudly, “Can I at least have some proof that you are actually here in the name of Kalma? If not, then you can both fuck right off! You see, I don’t have time for chatter or to be taken into custody. Can’t you see that I am working here? Can’t you see the art that we are producing!?”

“My Lord Adrian will be most displeased if his breakfast isn’t perfect early in the morrow!” He exclaimed as if in despair.

“Well, your Lord Adrian will not be having any breakfast ‘in the morrow’.” Erjen announced loudly, “In fact, in the morrow, he might be quite dead... That is if we aren’t allowed to do the work that we came here to do!” She then shouted; her usually slick and calm demeanor had disappeared altogether as she now stared down at the short cook. In her eyes, there was steel, a sharp edge, as if a challenge of sorts, which entailed a promise: If you don’t do as I say, there won’t be a tomorrow for any of you.

The cook stared fearlessly back, which was quite commendable or foolish. Then he grabbed his chef's hat and threw it on the floor. “Fine! Search the damn place, interrogate us, or whatever; just know that today you have murdered art!” With a tear in his eye, he tried to storm off but was stopped by Ignar.

“What do you want, young man? Do not further break the heart of an artist!” He hissed loudly, and one could quite clearly hear the hurt in his voice.

“No, not at all; I just want all of you to form a nice, neat line, and then we’ll escort you out of here,” Ignar said while moving his hand to pat the man gently on the shoulder.

The man stepped backward, “Do not touch me, you... you scoundrel!” He protested, but even still, the other cooks left their stations and formed a neat line behind the very emotionally distressed and hurt head chef of theirs.

Ignar sighed but still forced a smile. “Now, now, it will all be over soon.” He promised and began leading them to the vestibule. Erjen placed herself at the back of the line, and they escorted them near the guards, who remained very much incapacitated on the floor, and soon one could hear as one by one the cooks fell to the ground, unable to do anything about anything.

Erjen found the head chef and looked deeply into his teary eyes, and with a wide smile on her face, filliped the man's nose, knowing well that it would hurt quite a bit. Then she left the chef behind with an even wider smile.