The Shield of Silvermane, pt. 1

(A)fter.(C)alamities. Year 897

Bernard Abarca, known throughout the shadowy corners of Nero's dockside district as "Bernie the Fence," was having a particularly good morning as he watched the familiar ebb and flow of local traffic meander through his humble side of town. Bernie was mildly balding, slightly overweight, with a large nose and bushy eyebrows which typically gave him the look of a man worn down by years of questionable dealings. Bernie's domain was, by all accounts, the rougher side of Nero's largest port—a place where honest merchants feared to tread after sunset, where the city watch patrolled in pairs if they patrolled at all, and where the line between legal commerce and outright thievery blurred like watercolors in the rain.

The morning sun cast long shadows between the weathered buildings, illuminating the perpetual haze of salt spray and coal smoke that hung over the district like a shroud. From his shop window, Bernie could observe the daily parade of dock workers, sailors on shore leave, and the occasional well-dressed merchant who had either lost his way or possessed more courage than sense. It was in this environment that Bernie had built his reputation as a man who could acquire anything for the right price, no questions asked.

On this particular morning, Bernie received information of the most tantalizing variety. His favorite collector of secrets and goods—a young man known simply as Corvin—approached his establishment with the purposeful stride of someone carrying valuable intelligence. Bernie had taken Corvin under his wing years ago when the youth had attempted to steal from his shop, an incident that should have resulted in severe punishment, possibly including the loss of fingers or hands according to the unwritten laws of the district.

However, Bernie had been impressed with the eye for value that Corvin demonstrated. The item the young man had attempted to steal was a small statue of Stratos the sky god, which to an untrained eye appeared to be worth very little—perhaps a few silver coins to the right collector.

But someone with a deeper understanding would realize that the materials from which it was crafted were extremely rare, making it worth several hundred times its apparent value. The statue was carved from genuine salt stone, a material that could only be harvested during the brief moments when the fog of Dreadmist island dissipated. Dreadmist Island was the second deadliest known location on tetra only to the Hellsmouth. Some would argue the Godswrath mountains, but people came back from that mountain more often than the island.

After the debt was repaid through months of indentured service, Corvin had proven himself remarkably resourceful, possessing an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time. He had developed an extensive network of contacts throughout Nero's underworld, from tavern wenches who overheard the conversations of wealthy patrons to stable boys who knew which nobles were planning to travel and when. Today promised to be more special than usual, as Corvin had spent the past year educating himself about church artifacts, driven by curiosity and the potential for profit that such knowledge might bring.

"Bernie, I have a good one for ya," the young man opened with barely contained excitement, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of a significant score.

"What are you selling today, kid?" Bernie's response sounded deliberately disinterested, though his experienced ear had already detected the note of genuine enthusiasm in Corvin's voice that suggested this was no ordinary tip.

"Come on, old man, you wanna hear this. I've found something that could make us both rich," Corvin pressed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper despite the fact that they were alone in the shop.

Bernie raised an eyebrow, a gesture that let Corvin know he had captured the fence's full attention. In their years of working together, Bernie had learned to read the subtle signs that indicated when Corvin had stumbled upon something truly valuable versus when he was simply excited about a minor score.

"Bernie, have you ever heard of the Shield of Silvermane?" Corvin asked with a wry smile, savoring the moment before revealing his discovery.

"Should I have?" Bernie responded, though a grin was already forming at the corners of his mouth. The name stirred something in his memory—fragments of old stories and legends that he had heard whispered in taverns and trading posts throughout his long career.

"Here, look at this," Corvin said as he slammed a heavy leather-bound tome down on Bernie's counter with dramatic flair. The book fell open to a page featuring an illustration of a magnificent shield adorned with what appeared to be the largest amethyst Bernie had ever seen. The gemstone seemed to capture and reflect light in ways that made it appear almost alive on the parchment.

"Is this the shield you are speaking of?" Bernie asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"No, Bernie, I'm talking about the book in front of you," Corvin replied with heavy sarcasm, rolling his eyes at what he considered an obvious question. "Yes, Bernie, I saw this last night—well, early this morning while I was "working"." he added, flexing two fingers on each hand to indicate quotation marks around the word working.

Bernie leaned forward to examine the text more closely. "This here says it's a relic of the church," he pointed out, his finger tracing the ornate script beneath the illustration.

"Exactly," Corvin said, his excitement building. "The way I see it, we sell the information to the church and let them handle the 'logistics,'" he said, again using his finger quotations for emphasis.

Bernie's mind was already racing through the possibilities. Church relics were notoriously valuable, not just for their material worth but for the political and religious significance they

carried. The church had deep pockets and a long history of paying handsomely for the return of lost artifacts, especially those with historical significance.

"Well, who has possession of this item? This is something I would very much like to procure, and will they part with it?" Bernie asked, his voice taking on the greedy undertone that Corvin had learned to recognize as a sign that a deal was in the works.

"House Melliam," Corvin replied, his enthusiasm deflating somewhat as he delivered this crucial piece of information.

Bernie's expression immediately shifted to one of concern. "No way they are parting with that at a reasonable price. It's in Clark Hurmien Kliestests Melliam's private collection..." He trailed off, his mind working through the implications.

House Melliam was one of the most powerful noble families in Nero, with connections that reached into every aspect of the city's political and economic life. Clark Melliam, the current head of the house, was known for his extensive collection of rare artifacts and his absolute refusal to part with any of them, regardless of the price offered. The family's wealth was legendary, built over generations through shrewd investments in shipping, real estate, and various trading ventures throughout the known world.

A few days later, Bernie found himself standing in the grand foyer of the Cathedral of the Ecclesiarch, the only church in the whole of Nero. The building was an impressive structure that was the city's religious district, its rich blue dome a reflection of the heavens like divine blessing. The interior was even more magnificent, with soaring arches, intricate stained glass windows that cast rainbow patterns across the marble floors, and an atmosphere of reverence that seemed to permeate every stone.

Bishop Marius, the head of this particular cathedral, was a man in his middle years with graying hair and the soft features of someone who had spent more time in scholarly pursuits than physical labor. He received Bernie in a small chamber adjacent to the main sanctuary, a room lined with religious texts and decorated with symbols of the faith.

"Bishop, I have news—or better put, information—that your church officials would be very interested in," Bernie said casually, though he was careful to maintain a respectful tone in the sacred surroundings.

"Is that so? You know we have little to no care for your kind of..." the bishop paused, choosing his words carefully, "business."

Bernie had expected this response. The church's official position on dealing with individuals like himself was well known, though he also knew that pragmatism often trumped ideology when valuable artifacts were at stake.

"But, my Lord Bishop, I promise you the church will be sorely disappointed with you if you pass on my information and it comes to light that you had an 'opportunity,' as it were," Bernie said with over-emphasized concern in his voice, playing on the bishop's fear of missing something important.

"Fine. Share the details, and I will determine their value here and now," Marius replied, attempting to lead Bernie into divulging everything without committing to any form of payment.

"My Lord Bishop, you wound me to think me such a fool as to just tell you everything," Bernie said with an air of theatrical pain, placing his hand over his heart in mock distress.

"Enough banter, Bernie. Give me the details you would like to share, and I will see where the church stands on the matter," Marius replied sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Well, I assume you have heard of the Shield of Silvermane?" Bernie asked with the raise of an eyebrow, watching carefully for the bishop's reaction.

The bishop's eyes widened slightly before he composed himself. "Continue."

The change in Marius's demeanor was immediate and dramatic. His casual posture stiffened, and his voice dropped to a colder, lower volume. "Tread lightly, Bernie. The Shield of Silvermane is no mere shield."

The bishop rose from his chair and began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke. "It was lost or stolen centuries ago—on which point the scholars do not agree. It was during one of the earliest grand sieges of the Great Wall of Rykke by the demon hordes that Silvermane herself lost control of her pious nature and reverted to her base instincts, shifting into the Hemalyphian silver-furred werewolf of her past. It was in this moment that she lost the shield that represented her new life, an artifact they say was created by Cambia herself."

Marius paused for a moment, his eyes distant as he recalled the ancient stories. "The shield was not merely a piece of armor, but a symbol of redemption—proof that even those touched by failure could find salvation through faith. Silvermane had been a creature of the wild north, driven by primal urges and bloodlust, until she lost her pack and encountered the divine light of Cambia. The goddess herself was said to have forged the shield as a testament to Silvermane's transformation, embedding within it a fragment of divine essence that would help guide her through the hardship endured after losing her pack."

"Everyone in the church knows a version of this story," he said plainly, though his tone suggested that the tale held deep personal significance for him.

Bernie leaned forward with a grin spreading across his weathered features. "Well, now that we've established a value, let's talk payment for the information I have on said item."

"I have an associate who has put his hands on it but could not retrieve it legitimately. However, it is a church relic, and I have two ideas on how the church could get it back," Bernie said, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of profit.

"But first, the matter of payment. I know you may have to discuss this with your superiors," he added cautiously, not wanting to lose the conversational momentum he had built.

"I will indeed have to confer with my superiors," Marius said wryly, though Bernie could see the wheels turning in the bishop's mind.

"Wait here. I shall return with an answer shortly," the bishop said over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving Bernie alone in the chamber.

Bernie stood in the grand cathedral nervously, his usual confidence somewhat shaken by the magnitude of what he was proposing. Dealing with the church was always a delicate matter—they had resources and influence that could make his life very comfortable or very difficult, depending on how negotiations proceeded. This could be the payoff of a lifetime, setting him up for a comfortable retirement, or it could result in him finding himself on the wrong end of church politics, requiring a hasty relocation to avoid unpleasant consequences.

When Bishop Marius returned, he did so with a look of satisfaction on his face that suggested the conversation with his superiors had gone well. "Bernie, my child, the church has deemed this information of great value. However, they are only willing to pay your 'fee' upon the shield's retrieval."

"There are two actual conditions for payment," the bishop continued. "First, you must divulge the location along with your two plans of action. Second, we as the church must take the shield back into custody."

Marius crossed his arms and adopted an expression of complete seriousness. "Now, the fee for the successful recovery of the shield, which the church is graciously offering, is non-negotiable, as the archbishop whom I spoke with made it very clear."

"The church is offering you twenty thousand gold pieces upon effective recovery of the shield. If your schemes are used successfully, there will be a bonus of twenty thousand gold paid as well," the bishop said, watching Bernie's eyes light up at the mention of such substantial sums.

Bernie struggled to contain his excitement. forty thousand gold was more money than he typically saw in five years of operation. "Perfectly fair," he managed to say, his voice carefully controlled despite his inner elation.

"The first idea I have is to use Nero's Code of Steel to challenge the owner of the shield. This is probably both the easiest and hardest option, as the owner is Clark Melliam of House Melliam," Bernie explained evenly.

"The challenge would be the easy part—the hard part would be winning the duel, as House Melliam's primary champion is a large Ora'Kresh named Abari Caask," Bernie continued, his tone becoming more serious.

"A little background on Abari before you go touting your high Paladins of Rykke and such," Bernie said before Marius could respond with what he anticipated would be overconfidence in the church's military capabilities.

"Abari is an Ora'Kresh from somewhere in the northeast region near Rykkur. He has fought in countless battles, and here in Nero he is somewhat of a living legend, as he has never been defeated in a duel. To put it plainly, he is nicknamed 'Abari the Jury' around Nero because he decides who wins or loses any litigation involving House Melliam," Bernie explained, making sure the bishop understood the magnitude of the challenge.

"That is not even the best part," Bernie continued with grim satisfaction. "Abari is Severed, so magical enhancement in a duel will not help defeat him. His severed radius is on the larger side, at roughly a fifteen-foot diameter."

The implications of this information hit Marius immediately. The Severed were individuals whose existence was utilized in some cultures and executable in others. They were born with a void, no mana existed within a certain radius of their bodies. This made them incredibly valuable as bodyguards and champions in places like Nero and Venico, as it meant that any magical advantages their opponents might possess would be rendered useless in close combat.

"So bringing paladins here will solve nothing, as their gifts, as they were, would be useless," Marius responded sharply, his tone questioning whether Bernie was wasting the church's time.

"The second option will cost you more than your offered amount, as I would have to spend almost that much just to succeed," Bernie said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "and I would have to call in favors long overdue, bring in my acquisitions team, and... redistribute the wealth of a house that would surely seek retribution against all parties involved."

Bernie paused to let that sink in, watching the bishop's expression carefully. "All parties involved would no longer be welcome in Nero, me included, which means relocation of all parties. This, my good bishop, would be expensive and inconvenient, but for the right price, acceptable."

"I would call it ninety thousand gold—half up front and half upon its safe redistribution," Bernie said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I do not believe the church would resort to your nefarious activities!" Marius snapped pointedly, his moral sensibilities clearly offended by the suggestion

"But I do have to offer both solutions, as that is part of our arrangement," he added, clearly not disguising his distaste for the second option.

"Then I shall take my leave and head back to my completely legitimate storefront," Bernie said, shooting the bishop a quick wink. "I look forward to hearing from you either way."

As Bernie the Fence left the cathedral and walked back toward his humble shop, the streets of Nero seemed more alive than they had in years. With the excitement of the unknown and a potential payout the likes of which Bernie could only have dreamed of in all his years of operation, he walked with a glow and a smile seldom seen on his weathered, caricature-like features, but today he carried himself with the confidence of someone on the verge of a life-changing score.

Unknown to Bernie, the future of Nero had been set on a particular path just a few years earlier, and today he may have altered that path in ways he could never have imagined.

Cardinal Vorthak sat in his finely crafted deep cherry wood chair, which contained images of Solis the Dragon carved deep and elegantly into the arms and legs. Plush red cushions adorned the seat and back, providing comfort during the long hours he spent in contemplation and planning. He was mulling over the events of the last three months, during which his Paladins and Severed had been working hand in hand, breaking all tradition in ways that both impressed and concerned him.

The collaboration between these two traditionally separate groups had begun as an experiment born of necessity. The increasing demon incursions along the borders had required new tactics and strategies, leading to the unprecedented decision to pair holy warriors with those who were cursed and nullified magic. The results had been remarkably effective, but they had also challenged centuries of church doctrine and tradition.

It was in these complex thoughts that Vorthak was lost until a knock at the door interrupted his reverie.

"Enter," Vorthak said, his voice carrying the authority of his high position within the church hierarchy.

The Ora'Kresh who entered was of the winged variety, with light green scales that shimmered silver around the edges. By Ora'Kresh standards, she was considered very beautiful, with delicate features and a graceful bearing that spoke of noble lineage. "Cardinal Vorthak," she said while approaching his desk with measured steps.

"Cardinal Menthrak has informed me there has been a development that requires your personal attention," she said meekly, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness at being in the presence of such a high-ranking church official.

"Well, spit it out, Priestess Neeran," Vorthak said with the impatience of a man accustomed to having information delivered quickly and efficiently.

"The Shield of Silvermane has, um... been located," she said, her voice gaining strength as she delivered the crucial information. "The location is Nero, and there are a few strategies being discussed at this moment."

The Shield of Silvermane was a relic lost to the centuries—how could they be so sure of its authenticity? Vorthak thought to himself, his mind immediately jumping to questions of verification and the potential for fraud or mistaken identity.

"You are free to leave, Priestess. Thank you for your report," Vorthak said coolly, already beginning to formulate plans for how to proceed with this unexpected development.

Vorthak left immediately to meet with the other cardinals who would surely be involved in whatever plans were being made. His first instinct was to send the Lennux navy and raze Nero to the ground, but such an action would incite the surrounding city-states and create more problems than it would solve. The political ramifications of such an aggressive move would reverberate throughout the region for decades.

As Vorthak walked through the corridors of the cathedral complex, contemplating his options, he could not help but reflect back upon Warren Gaine and that damnable Nathaniel Xolo. These two men had caused him considerable grief and disruption over the last three months, breaking every tradition the church had stood upon for centuries. Their success in combining holy and severed forces had been undeniable, but it had also created precedents that made Vorthak deeply uncomfortable.

Warren Gaine was a Regulator Paladin of considerable skill and reputation, known for his tactical brilliance and unwavering dedication to the church's mission. However, his willingness to work closely with the Severed had marked him as either a visionary or a heretic, depending on one's perspective within the church hierarchy.

Nathaniel Xolo, on the other hand, was a leader among the Severed who had shown remarkable adaptability in working alongside the paladins. His men had developed an almost supernatural coordination with their holy counterparts, creating a fighting force that was greater than the sum of its parts.

As Vorthak approached the chamber where the meeting was taking place, he pushed thoughts of those two from his mind. It was time to focus on the matter at hand—the potential recovery of one of the church's most significant lost relics.

As Cardinal Vorthak entered the meeting chamber, Cardinal Menthrak looked up and noticed his arrival, seeming mildly distracted by other concerns.

"Cardinal, how nice of you to join our little meeting," Menthrak said with barely concealed irritation. "Did you have more pressing matters than the possible recovery of a church artifact?" he added pointedly while looking over the top of his spectacles.

Menthrak was no friend or supporter of Vorthak, and unfortunately for the latter, he held a higher status within the church hierarchy. This relationship was a constant source of friction, like a thorn in Vorthak's side or, more accurately, like an anthill that one steps into blindly.

"No, Cardinal, I did not. I was merely preoccupied and only just received your message," Vorthak replied, his tone sharper than he had intended.

"Well, since you have graced our chamber with your presence, we can put the options before us to a vote," Menthrak said with the satisfaction of someone who enjoyed exercising authority over a rival.

Menthrak proceeded to lay out the options presented by the information broker, recounting verbatim the message that Bishop Marius had shared. As he recounted the information, the members of the church within the chamber shifted uncomfortably, as neither suggestion seemed like a proper route for the church to take. The idea of engaging in formal dueling or, worse, hiring criminals to steal the artifact went against many of their moral principles.

Vorthak thought to himself that this would have been easier with his secret council handling the matter, but as only one other member of that council was present, he had very few allies for pushing his agendas in this room. The secret council was a small group of like-minded church officials who shared Vorthak's vision for a more pragmatic and aggressive approach to church policy.

After hours of bureaucratic discussion and the presentation of various impractical ideas, the council finally agreed to a vote. They would send a group of church representatives to issue a formal complaint adhering to the Code of Steel that Nero had adopted. This vote passed unanimously with no complaints after Vorthak had offered up his "problem personnel"—Warren Gaine and Nathaniel Xolo, accompanied by five paladins, would be teleported to Venico later that evening.

It was nearly noon when the gates of Rykkur came into Warren's view. He had been marching with both his and Nathaniel's platoons for three days, covering the distance from their previous assignment to the holy city with the steady, measured pace that had become second nature to his men. The soldiers never complained about the long marches or the demanding schedule—they were the epitome of discipline and honor, representing the finest traditions of both the paladin and Severed orders.

This new development in training methodology had resulted in a remarkable improvement in the paladins' overall conditioning. More importantly, it had built bonds and relationships between men who, until recent events, had found such cooperation nearly impossible due to centuries of institutional separation and mutual suspicion.

Marcus Caask had taken to this training regimen particularly well, Warren had observed. So much so that during actual combat engagements against demons, he would often choose not to

use his holy abilities, or he would fight shoulder to shoulder next to Davin Brigmen, a Severed warrior with whom he had grown close. This pattern continued over five separate engagements in the first month and a half before Nathaniel's Severed men began referring to Marcus as "the Sheathed," since he wouldn't utilize his considerable divine gifts.

Due to his stalwart dedication to becoming more than just a paladin—to developing skills that didn't rely on divine enhancement—Marcus had earned a counter-nickname from his own platoon. They began calling him "the Sword," in response to the Severed platoon's moniker for him. This development brought a smile to Warren's face every time one of his subordinates referred to his protégé in this manner, as it represented the kind of mutual respect and integration he had hoped to achieve.

The relationship between Marcus and Davin had become particularly noteworthy. Davin was a grizzled veteran who had been fighting various conflicts for most of his adult life, while Marcus was younger and had initially relied heavily on his divine abilities. Their partnership had transformed both men—Davin had learned to appreciate the tactical thinking and moral clarity that paladins brought to combat, while Marcus had developed the practical fighting skills and situational awareness that came from mundane warfare.

A rider approaching at high speed broke Warren from his reflections on the developments of the last few months. The messenger's urgent pace suggested that new orders were incoming, likely changing their current plans.

"Sir, I have orders from Cardinal Menthrak," the messenger stated upon reaching Warren's position. "They are to be treated as priority one," he added while handing the sealed papers to Warren with a crisp salute.

"Thank you, soldier. Be on your way," Warren said, returning a dismissive salute while already beginning to break the wax seal on the orders.

Warren opened the letter and began reading the contents, his expression growing more serious with each line:

High Regulator Paladin Warren Gaine,

You are hereby ordered to proceed immediately to Venico via the established portal network. Upon arrival, coordinate with local church authorities and proceed to Nero with all haste. A matter of honor requires the Church's intervention under the Code of Steel. Further details will be provided by Bernard our information broker and Bishop Marius upon your arrival.

You are approved to take an honor guard of five paladins and Nathaniel Xolo.

Time is of the essence. Cardinal Menthrak

Warren closed and crumpled the letter with a grunt of frustration. The abrupt change in orders and the mysterious nature of the assignment suggested political maneuvering within the church hierarchy, something he had little patience for when there were more pressing military concerns to address.

"Nate, instruct your platoon to follow my soldiers to the Paladins of Rykke Barracks," Warren called out, his voice carrying a note of frustration that was directed not toward Nathaniel or his men, but toward the bureaucratic machinations of Cardinal Menthrak.

"Yes, sir," Nathaniel snapped to attention with an almost mocking precision, a grin forming on his weathered face as he recognized Warren's irritation with their superiors.

Nathaniel Xolo relayed the orders to his sergeant, Trevor Leztern, who in turn distributed the instructions to the soldiers following them himself. “Seargent we part ways here, Keep the men in shape and ready for my return.”

“Yes Sir!” Trevor snapped to attention saluted and lead the men toward the barracks.

After relaying his orders and making his selections, Warren returned with his chosen group: Marcus “the Sword” Caask the golden scaled Ora’kresh was the obvious choice as he was not only Warren’s second in command he was by far the best swordsman in the platoon.

Brother Dalion Berndheardt, a Lazuli paladin of considerable renown whose strategic thinking complemented his combat skills; Brother Daviil Tremoub, a young Ora'Kresh paladin whom Warren had personally saved during that fateful engagement six months prior; and Brother Feldin Haft, sibling to Beldin Haft, one of the many brave souls who had died during that same battle.

The selection of Feldin Haft was particularly significant, as it represented Warren's commitment to honoring the memory of the fallen while providing opportunities for their surviving family members to serve with distinction. Feldin had proven himself to be every bit as capable as his late brother, though he carried the additional motivation of avenging his sibling's death.

The last member of the honor guard was Brother Flint Burke a paladin whose presence was a calming one in all fight’s. Flint was a large Dydelon in most capacities who spoke very little but when he did everyone listened as it was probably going to be important or profound.

Upon arrival at the Cathedral of Rykke, Warren and his contingent of paladins were met by a meek Ora'Kresh priest who ushered them inside and guided them through the magnificent structure toward their destination. Warren always experienced a sense of awe when returning to the cathedrals of Rykkur, as the ornate woodwork and stained glass windows represented centuries of artistic achievement and religious devotion.

The craftsmanship was incredibly intricate and colorful, with every surface decorated by master artisans of the faith. The ceiling in the above-ground portion of the cathedral was vaulted and peaked at seventy-five feet high, creating a sense of vertical space that seemed to draw the eye

and spirit upward toward the divine. The sight was breathtaking for many who had never entered this particular cathedral before, representing the church's power and the devotion of its followers.

As they entered the lower, below-ground section of the cathedral—a place reserved exclusively for members of the church hierarchy or high-ranking officials—they were met by a somewhat inhospitable Cardinal Menthrak an Ora’kresh man whose burgundy scales seemed to make his toothy expression all the more irritating. The cardinal's demeanor suggested that he was either under considerable pressure or harboring some personal animosity toward Warren and his mission.

"Regulator Gaine!" came the raised voice of Cardinal Menthrak, his tone immediately establishing an adversarial atmosphere. "You are late and should have been here a day ago!" he scolded, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the underground chamber.

"Your Eminence, we are on schedule, I assure you," Warren responded through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain the proper deference while defending his unit's performance.

"I am not here to argue about your inability to be where Rykke's justice demands," Menthrak replied with extreme authority, his voice carrying the weight of his high position within the church hierarchy.

"Yes, Your Eminence," Warren replied, bowing in deference despite his personal feelings about the cardinal's attitude.

"We are here to serve as the gods will," Warren added, invoking the traditional phrase that acknowledged divine authority over personal preference.

Cardinal Menthrak gestured toward an ornate archway that shimmered with otherworldly energy. "The portal to Venico awaits. Complete your mission swiftly and return with word of your success."