The Deacon's Report

The Grand Cathedral of Luminar felt unnervingly quiet upon their return. The triumphant fanfare that should have greeted the victors of Watchfort Alpha was muted, replaced by the usual hushed reverence that now felt suffocating to Deacon Averey. The sight of Commander Theron Blackwood, radiating barely leashed power even in his battered armor, carefully handing a weary Cardinal Elias Vance down from his massive black warhorse had twisted something sour in Averey's gut. He'd watched, hidden in the shadow of a cloister arch, as Theron's large hand lingered on Elias's elbow, the Cardinal leaning into the touch with a trust that bordered on scandalous. He'd seen the Commander's cloak, unmistakably Theron's, wrapped possessively around Elias's slender frame during the entire return journey.

Averey smoothed the front of his immaculate grey deacon's robe, the fine wool suddenly scratchy against his skin. His fingers brushed the carefully folded parchment tucked inside his breast pocket. It was time. The whispers, the observations, the dangerous anomalies he'd meticulously documented – they needed an audience. An audience with the power and the inclination to act.

He navigated the familiar labyrinthine corridors, his soft-soled shoes whispering on the cold stone. The air grew noticeably colder, the light dimmer, as he approached the wing reserved for the Prelacy of Doctrine and Discernment. Here, the ornate tapestries depicting saints and martyrs gave way to stark, unadorned stone walls. The only sounds were the distant, rhythmic chanting from the penitents' cells and the echoing click of his own footsteps.

He stopped before a heavy oak door, banded in iron. A simple bronze plaque bore the inscription: Brother Markus – Aspirant to the Tribunal of Holy Judgment. Averey took a steadying breath, forcing the simmering mix of anxiety and vindictive excitement down. He knocked, three sharp raps that echoed in the austere hallway.

"Enter." The voice from within was as cold and unyielding as the stone walls.

Averey pushed the door open. Brother Markus's office was a reflection of the man: sparse, functional, devoid of warmth. A single narrow window high on the wall admitted a shaft of weak afternoon light, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. A large, scarred desk dominated the room, piled high with scrolls, ledgers, and bound volumes of Canon Law. Behind it sat Brother Markus.

He was a man carved from granite. Late forties, perhaps, but looking older with the severity etched into his features. His hair, once perhaps dark, was now iron-grey, cropped brutally short. His face was lean, all sharp angles and unforgiving lines, dominated by a prominent nose and deep-set eyes the colour of flint. He wore the simple, unbleached wool robe of a senior monastic brother, devoid of any ornamentation save a heavy iron key hanging on a thong around his neck – the symbol of his aspirant status to the feared Tribunal. His gaze, as Averey entered, was like being assessed by a bird of prey spotting potential carrion.

"Deacon Averey." Markus's voice was flat, devoid of inflection. He didn't offer a seat. "Report on the Watchfort Alpha incursion?"

Averey closed the door softly behind him, the click unnaturally loud in the silence. He stepped forward, stopping a respectful distance from the desk. He bowed low, the picture of humble deference. "Brother Markus. The mission was deemed a success, by Commander Blackwood's assessment. The demonic incursion was repelled, the fort secured."

Markus merely grunted, his flinty eyes fixed on Averey, waiting. He wasn't interested in the official outcome; he was interested in deviations, irregularities, sins.

Averey straightened, his hand moving to his breast pocket. "However, Brother, during the course of the mission… observations were made. Actions witnessed that… cause grave concern regarding propriety and adherence to the sacred tenets of our Order." He drew out the folded parchment. It felt heavy, potent, in his hand. "I felt it my solemn duty to document them, for the preservation of the Church's sanctity."

Markus's gaze sharpened, honing in on the parchment. He extended a hand, long fingers calloused from years of copying texts and wielding disciplinary tools. "Proceed."

Averey placed the report on the desk. Markus unfolded it with deliberate slowness, his eyes scanning the precise, formal script. Averey watched him, noting the slight tightening around the ascetic's mouth as he read.

"Detail these 'observations,' Deacon," Markus commanded, his voice a low rasp.

"Of course, Brother Markus," Averey began, his tone carefully modulated to convey troubled piety. "The primary concern centers on the conduct of His Eminence, Cardinal Elias Vance, and Commander Theron Blackwood."

He paused, ensuring Markus's full attention. "Their interaction throughout the mission consistently breached the bounds of appropriate decorum between a Prince of the Church and a Knight Commander. The Commander exhibited an… excessive level of personal attention towards the Cardinal. He insisted on sharing his mount with His Eminence, both to and from the fort, citing 'safety,' yet the proximity was… intimate. Constant, unseemly physical contact was noted – guiding touches, supportive holds that lingered far longer than necessary."

Averey leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "At the fort itself, following a taxing healing ritual performed by His Eminence, the Commander was observed… cradling the unconscious Cardinal in a manner that was profoundly inappropriate. Possessive. It bordered on sacrilege. And upon the return journey…" Averey's lips thinned in distaste. "The Commander wrapped His Eminence in his own cloak, holding him close throughout the ride. The Cardinal slept against him, unresisting, displaying a level of… familiarity… that is utterly incompatible with their respective vows and stations."

Markus's expression remained impassive, but a muscle twitched near his jawline. His eyes flicked down to the report, then back to Averey. "And the Commander's conduct beyond this… attachment?"

This was the crux. Averey took another breath, injecting a note of genuine, wide-eyed unease. "Brother Markus… during the battle at the fort, the Commander engaged the demonic forces. His prowess was, as always, formidable. However…" He hesitated, as if struggling to articulate the horror. "There were moments… moments of such ferocity, such inhuman speed and power… Witnesses reported… unnatural phenomena accompanying his attacks. An intense, localized heat radiating from him. And…" Averey lowered his voice to a whisper, forcing Markus to lean in fractionally. "Several soldiers, sworn to honesty, reported seeing… a distinct change in the Commander's eyes during his most devastating assaults. A fleeting, terrifying glimpse… described as slitted, like those of a predatory beast. Golden, and utterly devoid of human mercy."

He let the words hang in the cold air. He didn't need to embellish further. The implication of 'non-human aura' was clear, damning, and perfectly tailored to Markus's rigid worldview, where anything deviating from strict human orthodoxy was suspect, potentially heretical.

Markus didn't react immediately. He slowly refolded the report, his movements precise. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Dust motes continued their pointless dance in the shaft of pale light. Finally, he looked up, his flint-grey eyes locking onto Averey's. They held no warmth, no gratitude, only a chilling, analytical intensity.

"Your diligence in observing and recording these… irregularities… is noted, Deacon Averey." His voice was like stone scraping against stone. "The preservation of doctrinal purity and the maintenance of appropriate boundaries within the sacred hierarchy are paramount."

He placed the folded report deliberately in the center of his otherwise cluttered desk. "Leave this with me. Continue your observations. Discreetly. Report any further deviations. The Order of the Celestial Light demands vigilance against all forms of… *corruption*." The word was laden with meaning, encompassing both moral laxity and perceived unnaturalness.

He didn't dismiss Averey. He simply returned his attention to the massive tome open before him, his posture radiating finality. The audience was over.

Averey bowed again, deeper this time, a surge of triumph warring with a sliver of ice-cold fear emanating from Markus's presence. "By your will, Brother Markus. Vigilance and purity." His voice was barely above a murmur.

He backed out of the austere office, closing the heavy door softly behind him. Leaning against the cold stone wall of the corridor for a moment, he took a shaky breath. The seed was planted. The meticulously crafted report, detailing the "overly intimate" behaviour and hinting at the "non-human aura," was now in the hands of a man whose reputation for ruthless orthodoxy was legendary. Brother Markus wouldn't let this rest. The quiet, dangerous machinery of the Prelacy of Doctrine and Discernment had just been set in motion.

The chill of the corridor seeped into Averey's bones, but it was a satisfying chill. The path to removing the too-beautiful Cardinal and the dangerously powerful Commander had just found a powerful, if terrifying, ally. The game had escalated. And Deacon Averey, ambitious and slighted, stood right at the center of it.