Bowing his head, Sar waits to enter the great cathedral. He winces as his tunic brushes along the sores on his back, an unfortunate after-effect of using a Terminus crystal. Damn that free mage for forcing him to use it!

Ahead of him the Seraphic Guard, giant figures clad in polished silver and gold armour, stand before an ornate gate. The halberds each guard carries, taller even than they are, are inscribed with glowing runes that bathe the area in a soft white light. A helmet cast with the visage of a cherub hides the face of the person beneath. In fact, no part of the armour displays any kind of individualism, each guard being identical in all respects.

“You are permitted entrance.” One of the guards eventually says, its voice flat and emotionless.

With a shuddering creak, the ornate doors slowly swing open. From within spills the sweet sound of the heavenly chorus, the unending spell-song cast by the mages held deep within as part of his Holinesses great work.

Keeping his head bowed, Sar strides past the guards and into the cathedral, forcing himself not to speed up to get away from the creatures. They had always frightened him, ever since he was a child, and discovering how they were created only made the fear stronger.

The gate creaks again then booms shut behind him. Finally, Sar lets himself look up, taking in the majesty of the place again. The vast domed ceiling rises up far above, glimmering metal beams criss-crossing high in the air. Painted glass windows line the outside walls of the dome, colouring the light that falls in with all the shades of the rainbow. The ground is tiled with ornate mosaics, depicting great battles against demonic foes. An awe-inspiring sight, no matter how many times he sees it.

At the centre of the cathedral the mosaics end at a metal railing, rimming the edge of a large pit that drops straight down into the ground. It is from this pit the spell-song emanates, its undulating tones soothing to the ear, making the listener forget their pains and worries. Sar tries to pick out the words, but the magic is too complex, interwoven by such a multitude of casters that the words become nothing more than music.

An older man clad in a long flowing robe of the purest white approaches Sar, his hands tucked into his sleeves. A priest of his Holiness. “My child, be welcome in the house of the faithful.” He says, his voice gentle. “How may this one serve?”

Sar bows deeply to the man, the priest outranking even a Seeker like him. “I have come to report to the Chapter-Master. Where can I find him?”

The priest turns and points a crooked finger to a door in the outer wall of the large room. “He can be found in the rooms of contemplation.” He turns back to Sar and his eyes blaze with amethyst light. “Peace be upon you, child.” He says, his eyes lighting up with a blazing purple glow.

As he speaks the blessing a warm feeling rushes through Sar’s body, cleansing the painful itching from his back. Sar bows his head once again, this time with sincere gratitude. The priest turns and walks back to the railing, resuming his vigil over the pit.

Raising his head, Sar walks towards the door the priest indicated. The corridor beyond is far simpler than the central room of the cathedral, lacking any decoration at all.

Sar strides down the corridor, nervously stroking the stubble where his moustache is regrowing, looking for the signs pointing to the rooms of contemplation. A small metal sign inscribed with flowing letters points him down a left-hand corridor. A few more twists and turns later he arrives before a large door, muffled voices coming from within. Steeling himself, Sar pushes open the door and steps inside.

The room is fairly large, the walls lined with small cubicles containing a large pillow and a small altar. The only occupants of the room are three men. One, with his back currently to Sar, is dressed in formal white armour, with impractically large pauldrons poking out from each shoulder, from which hang long flowing strips of fabric sporting tiny woven runes. The two other men are dressed in the formal robes of the priesthood, golden patterns weaving across the robe’s white surface. One man has a thin, pinched face, his eyes set in a permanent squint. The other is a chubby fellow, wearing the face powder that is so popular with the nobility.

The conversation ceases as they turn to inspect the intruder. The armoured man’s face distorts as he glowers at Sar. Sar drops to one knee in the formal bow of the Seekers.

“Seeker Sar reporting.” He barks at the floor, his head bowed.

A moments silence stretches out, Sar not moving an inch, before a gravelly voice breaks it.

“Rise Seeker.”

Sar stands and looks at the man again. He is Lord Fenhaven, the Chapter-Master of the order of Seekers, one of the most powerful men in all the Holy Empire. A decorated war hero, said to even have the ear of his Holiness.

“Why are you here Seeker, and not at your post?” Lord Fenhaven demands.

Sar bows his head as he speaks. “I beg for forgiveness your excellency. There was an... incident at my posting, in Rudase.” Sar begins, picking his words carefully. “A free mage was discovered in one of the villages. When confronted he attacked, killing my initiates, and nearly taking my life too. I barely escaped by using the Terminus crystal, but I beg for the opportunity to lead an expedition to investigate if the mages survived.”

“Some child slayed an entire detachment, and forced you to flee?” Asks the chubby man in a thin, whiny voice.

At the same time the other man speak, his voice smooth and clear. “Jarrik, this is what I’m talking about. A Seeker, just unleashing a Terminus like that? You are going to set the territories to revolt if you do not reign your creatures in!”

“That is enough Dorash.” Says Lord Fenhaven. “We will continue this conversation later. Both of you, leave us.”

Both of the priests begin to protest, but are instantly interrupted. “Out! Now!” Lord Fenhaven demands, his voice brooking no argument.

Sar keeps his head bowed as the two priests pass by him, muttering to one another. Only once he hears the door close behind him does he raise his head again.

“Baster had a point, whiny fool that he is. You were beaten by a child?” Lord Fenhaven demands, frowning down at Sar.

Sar shakes his head. “Not a child your excellency. A full-grown free mage. He was a necromancer, and raised the bodies of my fallen initiates against to use me. He even managed to conjure up the magics of a fallen Aspirant. This wasn’t some bumbling mage, too weak for us to have detected. He was skilled and powerful.”

Lord Fenhaven rubs his temple, sighing deeply. “Free mages, being raised and trained in secret. Maybe Dorash is right, the territories are beginning to rebel.”

He turns and strides to an altar, kneeling beside it. His eyes flash purple as his mouth moves with silent words. Communing with his Holiness, Sar realizes.

Finally, Lord Fenhaven stands and turns back to Sar. “You will not be permitted another Terminus crystal. They are all required for the next crusade. You will, however, be granted a battalion. Go back to Rudase and hunt out the source of these mages, and destroy it.”

Sar drops to one knee, bowing his head. With a battalion under his command, he would be able to crush anything standing in his way.

If the free mage survived, he had better watch out. Sar was coming for him.