So while this isn't the *official* official origin story for the Templar (because IP stuff), I've been in contact with Edwin from GGG and he's made sure that the lore and setting is in line with what they want the world of PoE to feel like, and I am publishing this with their approval. This is the first of seven backstories, one for each class, and I'm planning on releasing one each Friday (unless real life intrudes). If you like it, have questions, whatever, well, feel free to comment.



And without further ado...







----------------------

The Touch of God

----------------------





“God’s path is winding, and only through righteous truth will our feet fall true.”



I still remember the first time I said those words, standing in the Grand Chapel. I was a boy, not yet ten years of age, the streets of Theopolis my only family, and the choice of service or slavery looming ahead of me. Other boys, some older, some younger, stood in rows stretching to either side, as well as front and back, all of us in the simple white tunic of petitioners. All of us hoping to be admitted to the Templar order, and thus avoid the building crews or arenas - each deadly in their own fashion. Surrounding us, the serried ranks of full Templars loomed in their gleaming mail, two meter staves clasped in both hands.



We packed the Chapel’s vaulting interior like gladiator hounds in an arena-master’s pen, the air alive with our breath and fear and awe. The statues of former Templars stared down on us from the walls, blank eye-sockets peering into our very souls, nameless and foreboding. Voll himself, the only figure I recognized, adorned the giant stained window above the raised altar platform in the back, surrounded by his legions of faithful smiting the Gemling hordes. Later, I would memorize every last name, what deeds permitted them such honorable remembrance among the holiest of holy sites in Oriath, but that day, I saw only granite, grandeur, and my own insignificance.



I remember I prayed they would find me worthy. Knowing what I do now, I do not think anything in that temple ever possessed the authority to judge my actions.



...forgive me, God. You were there, as You are everywhere. Your path has been difficult, and I am fallible. I know that Your will can be shrouded at times, but I pray that my feet still fall with the tread of righteousness. I must trust that this is Your design. I will have faith.



There was another boy next to me, in the Chapel, a dark haired Oriathan slightly taller than I, the Order, of course, open only to those of true blood. We stood, the two of us, staring forward as we had been instructed, legs and backs straight, hands at our sides while we mouthed the Initiate’s Vow. I remember, even back then, feeling a connection to him, as if we were on our own island amidst the sea of other petitioners. How strange it is, that our lives were intertwined from such a young age.



After we finished the Vow, the Lord Bishop, a doddering old man bent beneath heavily jeweled silk robes, came up to deliver the sermon. His august presence seemed to fill the chapel with grace, his bald scalp glowing beneath the light streaming through Voll’s army, and he raised his hands high to bless us with God’s love.



It was then that I heard the boy speak to me. His voice whispered beneath the familiar tones of the Litany of Grace.



“Hey. You. Sourface. Look at the Bishop’s robe.”



“Quiet,” I hissed back, not looking at him. “To speak over God’s servant is blasphemy.”



“Right, right. Only, look at his robe.”



I could not help it. My eyes focused in on the front of the Lord Bishop’s robe, where, to my shocked surprise, a wet stain around his crotch was slowly spreading, darkening the pure white silk.



The Lord Bishop had wet himself, in the Grand Chapel of Oriath.



“You see it, right?” the boy whispered.



“Be quiet! That is the Lord Bishop!”



“But you see it?”



“...yes.”



“I can’t believe no one else has noticed. We’re supposed to listen to him?”



“Until a High Templar is vested, the Lord Bishop is holiest among all of us in God’s eyes. He deserves respect.”



“Bet you a half-piece it makes it to his ankles.”



“Blasphemer!”



“Fine, fine. A quarter-piece.”



I turned my head to chastise him more thoroughly, and that is when I became aware of the presence behind us. A young Templar, though clearly older than we two as he towered a good three hands taller, stood almost touching our shoulders, plain grey robes adorning his thin frame. His eyes burned with the light of zeal, almost illuminated from within, the only features of note in an otherwise unremarkable face. I do not know how long he had been standing there, though I suspected it was entirely too long for our comfort.



My open mouth shut with what I am sure was an audible click.



He placed a firm hand on each of our shoulders and marched us to the back of the chapel, to the altar platform itself, hundreds of eyes tracking our procession. The Lord Bishop sputtered, then fell silent, his confused expression quickly replaced by one of wrathful anger when we mounted the steps leading up to his exalted perch. If a speck of dust had fallen, I am confident I would have heard it hit the ground, such was the absence of sound.



“What is the meaning of this, Dominus?” he spat out in a low tone that sounded like thunder in my ears. My heart sank even further. Everyone had heard of Dominus, favored son of the Oriathan elite, the next High Templar in waiting. The streets muttered his name in dark places, spoke of laws now enforced that no one even remembered existed. I remember at the time thinking how young he was for such an exalted role.



“A lesson, Lord Bishop. Pray, let me address the petitioners.”



“Pah. As if I could stop you, with all the noble houses backing your every move.”



“My thanks, brother.”



He spun us around to face the assembled ranks of young boys, his hand still grasping tight to my shoulder. I dared not move, the feeling of shame coursing through my body in hot waves.



“Would-be brothers!” he began, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “Should you wish to join the Templar order, you will be tested. Every day, a test, to determine whether or not you walk the path of God with righteous feet!”



I saw sidelong glances, the other petitioners perhaps wondering what was about to happen, secretly glad it was not them on display. Dominus continued.



“These two petitioners are your first test. This one,” and here he thrust the boy forward a step, “has something he wishes to say.” He leaned down next to the boy’s ear, and spoke in a voice I am sure only the three of us heard.



“You will speak the truth of what you were discussing, or I will flay you alive. Brother.”



Dominus stood back upright, leaving the boy alone on the raised platform. I remember the boy briefly looked around, then shrugged and squared his shoulders. His voice rang out like the tolling of chapel bells.



“The Lord Bishop pissed his pants.”



If the assembled eyes had grown any wider, their skulls would have had to expand to make room. Behind us, the Lord Bishop began spluttering incoherently. Dominus stepped up next to the boy.



“Does anyone else think the Lord Bishop, most august presence that he is, has seriously soiled his holy garments? Here, in the seat of God’s power in Oriath? Could such a thing truly come to pass?”



The room remained silent, petitioners darting side-eyed looks at each other. I waited for one of them to say that, yes, they saw it too, but no one spoke. Dominus slowly swiveled his gaze back and forth, heads dropping where his piercing eyes fell.



“No one else sees it? Is this boy, then, a liar in the house of God, with the punishment that entails? Shall he face the purifying flames of the heavens?”



More silence, the silence of a crowd waiting for match to be struck to heretic; hot, heavy, and expectant. The boy stood tall, unflinching, but I could see the slightest tremble in his knees. Suddenly, a voice rang out, breaking the silence into cool shards.



With a start, I realized it was my voice.



God demands the truth, no matter the cost.



“No, your grace, sir, he is not a liar. He is a blasphemer, and rude, but the Lord Bishop has soiled his robes. Nearly to his ankles, in fact.”



Dominus propelled me forward, to stand next to the boy, his hand heavy on my shoulder.



“Is this one a liar as well? Do any wish to speak and join them in the fire?”



With a sinking heart, I saw eyes fall to stare at the ground across the entire cohort. Some shifted back and forth on their feet, as if they could melt into the ground and escape simply by wishing it were so. I cursed my tongue, my honesty. I wanted to join them, run back into the crowd, you know this, God, but I held firm. I had faith in You, in Your will.



Dominus tightened his grip on us, though not painfully, and his next words rang forth with the thunder of the heavens themselves.



“How dare you!” I shuddered, thinking he was consigning us to the burning fate of the stake, but then I realized he was projecting his voice to the wide-eyed ranks now staring back up at us. “God demands we serve honestly and faithfully, yet you would consign your brothers to the flames simply for speaking truth!”



He took his hands off our shoulders and spread them towards the audience, as if to thrust his words directly into their minds.



“The duty of a Templar is to see the world that is, not the illusion we wish it to be! A Templar serves God, and that service demands the most unflinching honesty, in all things. You all said the words, but it appears only two of you understood what they meant. This man,” he swung an arm back to point at the Lord Bishop, “has indeed pissed his pants,” a titter of nervous laughter, along with more spluttering from the Bishop, “and not one of you wished to face that uncomfortable fact! Other than these two.” Dead silence. “You believed in an illusion, because it was easier to do so, and you have been found wanting!”



“My Lord Dominus-” the Lord Bishop began, but Dominus cut him off with an angry chop of his hand. His next words were low, but I have no doubt they seared into the mind of everyone present. I know I have not forgotten them.



“The Templar order has no place for those who quail from the realities of this world. ‘God’s path is winding, and only through righteous truth will your feet fall true.’”



Dominus looked like he wanted to spit, such was the contempt in his eyes looking out on the petitioners.



“You will serve God, yes, but it will not be as Templars. You will learn the truth of rock and stone in the quarries, for however long you survive. Now, go! I have no time to waste on slaves.”



He turned slightly, and in low tones spoke to the Lord Bishop, his eyes hard as jade.



“Nor do I have time for those too weak to control their bladder, and thus invite mockery upon God. Retire to your chambers, and later we will discuss what services you can still provide the Templar order.”



The Bishop looked like he wanted to protest, but quailed before the fury glaring back at him. Even now, I do not know anyone alive who could withstand the full force of Dominus’ merciless rage.



Startled, I looked over at the boy, who indicated with a quick tilt of his eyebrows that he had no idea what was happening either. Together, Dominus’ hands back on our shoulders, we watched the forlorn ranks of youths filing out of the Chapel, herded along by the Templars in their resplendently gilded armor, along with the Lord Bishop himself, his steps slow and shaky. Soon, the chapel lay empty save for us three.



“Remember this moment,” Dominus said quietly. “God’s path is winding, and frequently lonely. Those possessing the will to do what needs be done are rarely found. We must find more if we wish to change this broken world, but I sense that you two are a beginning.”



His hands tightened again on our shoulders, and the hint of anger entered his voice once more.



“However, just as we all must respect God’s authority, you must learn to respect those above you. You cannot undermine your superiors, lest you undermine God. The lesson is harsh, but it needs be taught.”



Fingers dug painfully into my shoulder, and it was all I could do not to scream in agony.



“I will scourge you myself, to bring you closer to God’s love. You will be Templars, my brothers, but I cannot wield an imperfect blade.”



And with that, he dragged us out of the Chapel’s nave and into a small side room, lushly appointed, where he lashed our hands to a chair, the boy and I facing each other, our shoulder muscles burning. As he pulled the scourge from a wooden dresser, its hooked tendrils hissing onto the floor, the boy looked into my eyes.



“Thanks for that. Back there. Thought I was bonfire fuel for sure.”



“I did what God demanded,” I responded stiffly.



“Yeah, well, I appreciate it anyways.”



“You’re still a blasphemer.”



“You’re still a sourface. My name’s Gravicius. What’s yours?”



I opened my mouth to respond, and then the scourge fell. My world turned to pain.



-------------------------------------------------



From that point on, after our scars healed, Gravicius and I were inseparable. Guided by the firm hand of Dominus, who seemed to take a special interest in our progress, we excelled in our training, mastering not only the physical arts of staff and sword, mail and shield, but also the mental arts of theology, epistemology, law, and logic. Many was the late night we spent debating fine points of divine law, and many were the mornings we rushed to the training square, dodging through crowded streets to avoid punishment for tardiness.



Together, we patrolled the avenues and alleys of Theopolis as Acolytes, rooting out the leftover corruption of the Empire’s Virtue Gems, upholding Voll’s sacred law. Together, we served in the Court of Divine Temperance as Justicars, discerning guilt from innocence, sending the heretic to the cleansing power of God’s flame.



Together, we grew as brothers, until at last, we were Templars. Charged with the defense of not just Theopolis, but Oriath itself, last bastion of God’s humanity in a ravaged world.



Together, like synchronous halves of a whole.



Then, one day, almost two decades later, in the midst of a sparring session, Gravicius uttered those fateful words.



“Dominus has informed me of an opportunity, brother. A chance to witness a miracle.”



Parry, thrust, block.



“A miracle? What do you mean?”



Parry, riposte, dodge.



“He has discovered ancient teachings, in the Archives. A link to God, on the continent of Wraeclast. Divine providence, through the mouth of a former whore. He calls her Piety, now, and she speaks of wonders. Wonders I have witnessed myself.”



Lunge, block, disengage.



“Wraeclast? But that is the seat of corruption. There is naught there but evil, shadows of the Empire’s fall.”



Twist, counter, dive.



“When has Dominus ever been wrong? He is the High Templar. He says this could finally allow us to claim our true destiny. No more will we be exiled to this tiny island. No more will we cower in our pitiful corner of the world. We will rise, like the Eternal Empire before us, our manifest will made law.”



Sweep, strike, reset.



“I do not like it, Gravicius. Wraeclast is cursed, and for good reason. They turned their faces from God, and reaped the Cataclysm as their reward. Divine providence may appear anywhere, but I question its veracity when it comes from the mouth of one seeking to avoid the flames.”



Tumble, leap, counter.



“You think yourself more adept at deciphering the will of God than Dominus? The greatest High Templar in centuries?”



Slide, feint, riposte.



“No, but we should focus on administering to Oriath, rooting out the corruption within the High Families. They still possess stockpiles of Virtue Gems, I am sure of it. The people need us to show them the way forward, without the lure of darkness. We cannot ignore our home for adventures in ruined lands. What use finding a spark of God elsewhere, if we lose God’s light here?”



Dash, slam, leap.



“I trust Dominus, brother. If he says this will lead us to God, I will follow. It is in the darkest places that God’s light is most needed.”



Block, thrust, parry.



“It is in the darkest places that we are most likely to fall.”



Stalemate.



We spun apart and dropped into a squat, breathing heavily, my staff resting across my knees, Gravicious’ scepter and shield leaning against the dirt floor of the practice arena, neither of us able to breach the defense of the other. Gravicius looked at me, his liquid brown eyes entreating.



“Come with us, brother. You are the most talented Templar in Theopolis save Dominus himself, and I know he values your observations as much mine. We have been together for so long. I trust you like no other. Dominus has already made me general of the Ebony Legion, but the honor is meaningless if you are not there to celebrate it with me.”



I sighed and reached for a nearby flask of water, pouring it over my bare-shaven head to quench some of the midsummer heat. Rivulets ran through my beard, bringing a blessed chill, and on my back, sweat stung long faded scars. A lesson on honesty, learned a lifetime before.



“I trust you too, Gravicius, but I cannot see this as God’s will. There is much that needs be done to help those of Oriath. Why not fortify the faithful first, before risking the madness of Wraeclast?”



His voice turned hungry, eager.



“But don’t you see, brother? If we can find God in Wraeclast, truly it will be a sign to the faithful here that this world is meant for our dominion. Dominus says we can restore the Empire... no, more than the Empire! Together, we will recreate Voll’s devotion to purity, only this time there shall be no Cataclysm!”



I remember that I frowned, disturbed by his zeal. This was not the Gravicius I had grown up with. This was not my brother in arms, my brother in study. No, this was the fire of Dominus, taken root in my oldest friend’s body.



“No, Gravicius. I say to you truly, this is hubris. Wraeclast is dead, and should remain so, lest we incur God’s wrath once more. If you choose this path, I can do naught but pray for your safe return. I have faith that God will show you the error of your choice in time to save you.”



I thought I saw the briefest flash of anger flit across his brow, but dismissed it, like the fool I was at that time. Oh, that I had never said those words. Perhaps if I had gone with him, I could have saved...



...no. This was Your will. I have faith in Your reasons, God, even if I do not yet understand them.



“Very well, brother. Dominus and I will search out the true meaning of God while you cower here behind your faith. We shall see who God loves.”



“God loves us all, Gravicius,” I replied softly, but he had already stormed off, scepter swinging angrily from one hand.



That was the last time I saw my friend.



-------------------------------------------------



Ten years later, long after everyone else had given up on Dominus’ expedition as yet another failed venture to the doomed continent, a knock sounded on my study door in the Grand Chapel of Theopolis. Wearily, I pushed myself out of my chair, ignoring the aching pain in my knees and ankles. Legends spoke of those who had achieved immortality through Virtue Gems, but I would rather grow old and die than submit my body to corruption.



I saw enough corruption every day in the Divine Court - noble families buying justice outright. Spitting and laughing in God’s face with their riches, guarded from retribution by cowards and fools. The poor and dispossessed sent to exile for specious crimes, a new ship nearly every year. Heavy lay my heart on the sentencing, but Your law must be upheld, God.



I did not realize they were no longer Your laws.



Less easily did I ignore the horrific sight of the garish pantaloons bedecking my legs, a now necessary accoutrement to the office of High Justicar. I had entreated with the current Lord Bishop multiple times to allow something more fit a man of battle, but he delighted in vexing me. I remember he was related to the previous Lord Bishop, and had never quite forgiven me his uncle’s fall from grace after the incident in the Chapel. With Dominus missing, and few friends among the Templars, I could not force the issue with the same vigor as in my youth, so my legs bore the shame of petulant vengeance.



I pulled open the heavy oaken slab guarding my sanctum, and almost fell to my knees from shock when it revealed the person outside.



“Gravicius!”



“Brother.”



His face was tanned and lined, a small series of scars stretching across his right temple and up underneath his helmet. Armor of an unfamiliar design covered his body, jewels glinting from several sockets inset into the filigreed metal, and a heavily ornamented scepter hung from his waist. I paid them no mind, so excited was I to see my friend. I embraced him close, my arms tightening around his back.



“I thought I would never see you again, Gravicius! It is truly by God’s will you have returned.” Almost hesitantly, I pushed him back to arms length. “What... what happened on the continent? On Wraeclast?”



His eyes lit up then, full of an unhealthy and unnatural vigor, almost as if flames were licking behind his sockets.



“Miracles, brother,” he replied, voice reverential. “Dominus was right. God is on Wraeclast, and we have seen the proof.”



I frowned.



“What is this... ‘proof’?”



I had not thought it possible, but his eyes shone even brighter. Ahh, had I known what to look for.



“You will see, brother. Dominus has such plans, plans to bring the entirety of Oriath into God’s embrace. It is our duty to assist.”



“Surely you mean ‘bring Wraeclast into God’s embrace’ ?”



His brow twitched, then he clapped my shoulder.



“Of course, of course. Forgive me, brother, I have been gone a long time, and sometimes I find my mind wandering.”



“It is of no matter,” I replied, overjoyed to have my friend back. “Come, come, you must sit down and tell me all about the journey. It has been a decade, after all! What has God done with Wraeclast?”



“Miracles, brother,” he said quietly. “Miracles.”



And that was all he told me.



Later, I went to see Dominus in the High Templar’s chambers. No one had dared move anything out until he was officially declared deceased, and I found myself glad that nothing could provoke his legendary rage. I gently knocked to announce my presence, then let myself in.



The minimal furnishings Dominus allowed himself were present as always, though I noticed the addition of a new side table made of darkened oak. Dominus was standing in front of it, and hurriedly shut the top drawer when I entered the room, his hands smoothing down the sides of his white silk robe, so similar to that worn by the Lord Bishop all those years ago, though his was heavily embroidered in red. He didn't appear to have aged a day since his departure.



Again, had I known then what I know now, perhaps all of this could have been averted. Oh, God, I still have faith, no matter how winding the path.



He took a seat behind his plain wooden desk, and motioned me forward.



“Yes, brother?”



“It has been years, Lord Dominus. There are so many questions...”



“And I have many answers, brother. But I fear you are not yet ready for their wisdom.”



Inside, a small chill went down my spine. Dominus had always been forthright with Gravicius and I. This was a different Dominus than the one who had left, my mentor and quasi-parent. Belatedly, I realized someone else had entered the room. Dominus looked past me and smiled.



“Ahh, Piety, thank you for coming so soon after such a taxing journey. We must discuss obtaining new materials for the experiments.”



I turned to find a woman of uncommon beauty, but that beauty encased in a poisonous shell forced upon her by the world. Light armor shielded her lithe form, and a foreign helm covered the top half of her face. She regarded me expressionlessly through molded features, then stepped past me to the front of the desk.



“You have petitioners, yes? Near two hundred a month? They will work suitably well.”



I glanced between the two, with no idea what they were talking about. A thoroughly unfamiliar position for me in the Chapel.



“My lord...?”



“Leave us, brother. Until we are sure of your devotion, God’s will does not concern you.”



“Dominus?”



“I said leave!”



His eyes flashed like lightning, and involuntarily, I took a step back, before stumbling out of the room in a blind daze. Something had changed in both my friend and master, and I feared it was not for the better.



-------------------------------------------------



Seven years later, and it felt like my life was a nightmare. An unrelenting rise of Virtue Gems in the streets of Theopolis, and I, the High Justicar, unable to quell the problem, let alone find the source. My sole friend from childhood, made General of the Ebony Legion, now almost undecipherable in his moods and actions. My only mentor, relying on the debased prophecies of a common street whore, and I fear, turned entirely from God. And always, more exiles for the ships, the cells underneath the Chapel never empty, an entire country turning away from Your light.



Truly, the path is winding, though its crossroads burn into our memories.



I cannot forget that night, no matter how hard I try, God.



I was patrolling alone, through the streets near the dueling pits, when I heard a sound from a nearby alleyway. Night sounds in Theopolis were not uncommon, but this was something... different. Not the gurgling choke of death by blade, not the whimpering moan of a waylaid wayfarer, but something... else. A sort of wet, slithery rasp, like a snake undulating across exposed flesh. Gripping my staff tightly, I went to investigate, cursing the unwanted pantaloons ruffling along my legs. I wished for silence, but none was to be had in this garb.



The sounds from the alley ceased as soon as I stepped inside, no doubt given warning by the unmissable swish of fabric emanating from my lower regions. I felt my way into the darkness with my staff, eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of torchlight, and then I abruptly stopped.



A pile of bloody meat lay in front of me, my staff resting against an outflung appendage, but its form was unmistakably human.



My heart raced, and I pivoted to put the alley wall to my back, staff held in front in a defensive stance. Nothing appeared, and after a minute or two had passed, I knelt down over the corpse. What little light came from above gleamed off the unmistakable sight of a Virtue Gem implanted in its forehead. It appeared to have melted the skin off the poor creature.



I swore, then begged forgiveness from You. Another citizen of Theopolis, dependent on my protection, and I had failed. Again. Just then, something fluttered under the starlight and caught my eye. Something tucked into what looked like a mix between a hand and a claw, a scrap of cloth.



I bent down and picked up the small swatch of fabric, its edges torn and ragged. Slowly, I walked back out to the light of the street, and it was there that I saw the truth. Your truth, God.



That small piece of fabric, so hastily left behind, was white silk with red embroidery.



-------------------------------------------------



I waited for Dominus to leave the Chapel on one of his mysterious trips with Piety, ones I was no longer privy to. It was then that I snuck into his quarters, remembering a hastily closed drawer, and hands smoothing down red-lined robes of white silk. I told myself at the time that it was just for reassurance, to set my mind at ease that my mentor had not shunned the light of God and embraced the darkness. I would not find anything damning, I kept repeating.



Oh, how easily we lie to ourselves, God, but we cannot lie to You.



The door opened easily enough. Who, after all, would stop the High Justicar in the Grand Chapel? The drawer itself was not even locked. What did Dominus have to fear? He was the most powerful man in Oriath, and possibly, the world. No one would dare invade his quarters without his express permission. Certainly not one of his chosen acolytes.



Yet there I was, chosen acolyte notwithstanding.



I knew, almost before opening the drawer, what I would find. A lifetime spent serving Your justice had instilled a keen detection of heresy within me, and every soul I sent to the flames, every wretch I condemned to exile was guilty beyond all doubt. I knew they called me the Tyrant in the streets, but I did not care. What I did, I did for You, God, and my only care was for the people’s souls.



Blinking back at me in the candlelight, nestled in velvet lined nooks within the drawer, were row after row of Virtue Gems. Red, green, blue, and shades between, all with an unmistakable sense of hunger. As if they demanded the succor of flesh, a fertile field in which they could grow and bloom. I breathed in heavily, putting a hand on the dresser to brace myself, then grabbed one of the gems - a ruby banded with golden streaks. I swear, God, it twitched under my fingers, and it was all I could do to secret its filth away in a belt pouch.



There was only one person I could take this knowledge to. My oldest friend, Gravicius, the brother I had sweat and bled next to for almost twenty years. He, and he alone, would be willing to stand with me against this defilement lurking at the heart of Your order.



I found him in the practice yard, slowly going through training forms with his scepter despite the late hour. I hastened to his side, and he looked at me curiously, almost as if he did not truly see me. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back into focus, that burning sheen underlying them once more, like banked coals.



“Do you remember when we used to spar here, brother?” he asked, almost tiredly. “The two of us, so evenly matched, never able to best the other? Equals under God?”



“I remember, Gravicius,” I replied, “but that is not why I am here. I have dire news.”



He leaned on his shield and gazed at me.



“Then by all means, brother, pray tell.”



“It is Dominus. He has fallen to the darkness.” Quickly, I related to him my encounter in the alleyway and my discovery of the Virtue Gems inside the Chapel itself. Gravicius’ expression slowly tightened through the course of my retelling, until his lips were thin lines in the evening gloom.



“And you have proof of this?”



“I do. Dominus must be stopped. God demands it.”



I reached into my belt and pulled out the Virtue Gem, its red depths seeming to roil under the torchlight ringing the practice yard. It felt like holding a ball of pitch. Grimacing, I held the gem out to Gravicius, and he took it in a gauntleted hand, turning it over before his eyes. The glow from the gem seemed to reflect itself in his pupils, but I told myself it was just a trick of the torchlight.



“I see, brother. Thank you for bringing this to me.” He paused, straightening up from his shield, and began pacing away from me. His voice, when he spoke again, was faint, and I had to strain to make out the words. What I heard chilled me to the very bone.



“I told him you were too foolish to see the truth. Too foolish to recognize God’s will. But no, he said that things would end how they were meant to end, and we could do naught but set our feet to the path.”



Gravicius turned to face me.



“I am sorry for this, brother. I truly am. But God’s path is winding, and Dominus leads my steps, now.”



Snarling, he slammed the gem into his chest armor, where it gleamed an evil red.



“No! Gravicius!”



He ignored my cry, and raised his fist to the heavens, flames curling into existence around his clenched fingers. Suddenly, molten rocks rained down upon my head and shoulders, driving me to the ground in a hail of fire. Battered and bruised, I rolled to put out the embers smoldering in my thrice-cursed uniform, then slowly crawled to my feet, reaching dazedly for my staff.



“Blasphemer...”



With a shout, he leapt forward, scepter raised overhead, and brought it crashing onto my skull.



-------------------------------------------------



When I woke, I was in a cell deep beneath the Chapel, clad only in a grimy tunic. Welts covered my shoulders and shaven head, and soot stained my beard. I called out for water, but pain was my only companion. Resigned, I leaned back against the moldy stone blocks of the cell wall, and awaited Your judgement.



I do not know how long I waited, whether it was an hour, a day, or a week, for time passes strangely when one is locked up alone, but eventually they came. Templars, my brothers, in their saintly mail and tasseled pants, a full squad of eight, weapons drawn to escort me to the Court of Divine Temperance. I had no choice but to accompany them, my mouth cracked and dry from thirst.



Dominus himself oversaw my trial, as if there were any other option, Gravicius serving as the High Justicar. The stands were filled with noble and baseborn alike, all eager to see the Tyrant face his deserved reward for years of service, hungering to feed off the spectacle those I once trusted had prepared. I railed against their iniquity, oh how I railed, but it was when no one responded, when no brothers raised their heads to proclaim that, yes, they saw it too, that I realized Your truth, God.



The Chapel had fallen, Oriath itself had fallen away from Your light, and I was the only one willing to walk Your path.



I grew quiet, then, and told Dominus to do what he would, though You would see him served justice. Gravicius wanted me killed, fed to the flames, and I nearly wept to see my brother so debased, but Dominus just laughed. He told me I was a blasphemer, the worst among those in Your eyes, and the entire time, his hands smoothed down the front of his red and white robes.



I would be exiled to Wraeclast, joining all those I had sent to that hideous continent of damnation and despair. “God will judge you, there,” he said, “but first, you must atone for your sins.” I was to be imprisoned for a year, subjected to all manner of inventive torment, to show the people that even God’s servants were not immune to Your laws, then put on the next boat bound for those forsaken shores. None protested my judgment, and soon, deep in my lightless cell, I believed none remembered my existence.



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“God’s path is winding, and only through righteous truth will our feet fall true.”



I walk toward this filthy boat, God, surrounded by the detritus of humanity, clad again in the bare tunic of a petitioner, my once honed muscles quivering and shaking, but my feet still fall true. I know You have set me upon the path, and I will find a way to prevail. I will return Your light to Oriath, and I will bring Dominus and Gravicius Your divine judgement. I will purge the corruption infesting Your people, but first, I know You require me here.



I know these things, because I am Your Templar, my God, and though my faith may falter, it shall never fail. As Gravicius, my brother, my friend, once said, “It is in the darkest places that Your light is most needed,” and he was right. Though he may have strayed, I shall stay obedient.



Wraeclast will feel Your light once more. Last bumped on Apr 23, 2017, 2:01:01 PM