"Get up," The commander said. "They've got questions for you." And then he snapped at Gern who was unconscious on the ground, clicking his eyes over to a large tent.
Gern quickly scampered to his boots to slip them onto his feet but was stopped by the commander, and so Gern instead ran with bare feet and only cotton sleepwear to the tent — an area which he had only seen mentioned in horrid circumstances. It was the quarters of the High Chaplain, the leader of this faction: the Celestial Knights. A meeting with the High Chaplain meant either a grand promotion, or exile, and Gern assumed by the commander's tone that it was the latter, but for that, he did not know why.
The commander approached him from behind and pushed him forward with the hilt of his blade, and Gern staggered forward, stumbling toward the High Chaplain. The High Chaplain wore gray robes tightened with a gold buckle and his head was obscured by a dark hood. He turned with his arms crossed, and from a lantern on the wooden table ahead a small shimmer of the Chaplain's face was revealed. A scar cutting through a thick brow furrowed intensely.
"Gern Tegus," The Chaplain started. "Do you know who I am?"
Swiftly, Gern knelt forth. "Yes, High Chaplain," With every word he breathed hoarse. "You are the greatest servant of the moons."
"And do you know my name?"
Gern shook his head.
The Chaplain slowly removed his hood, the light from the lantern filling in more details of his face. "My name is Parlen Onst." He said clearly. The scar over his brow stretched farther down his face, and each of his eyes revealed blind. There was light stubble crossing the deep wrinkles on his chin and on top of his head there was no hair.
"We Onsts have been the High Chaplains since there was to be a High Chaplain." Parlen said. "I assume you know of Werner Onst, my many greats grandfather." He leaned his face forward, and a glint in his eye expressed disappointment. "We bring order where there is none in this military, and in this moment, I bring order to you, Gern."
"I don't understand, High Chaplain," Gern said, before being interrupted.
"I didn't ask for your input." Parlen placed his hands firmly on the wooden table in front of him, looking across directly at Gern, who was still kneeling in respect. "Do you have any idea what you did last night, Gern?"
Gern thought for a moment, scouring his hazy memories. He remembered a fire stretching across a dry building, in which the roof fell down. He remembered a group pleading for their lives, and he then remembers running, and yet, even after seeing these memories, he shook his head 'no'.
"Is that so?" Parlen scoffed. He stepped forward to Gern and grabbed him by the collar, exiting the tent and throwing him down onto the sand outdoors. All soldiers around immediately turned firm and saluted the High Chaplain. "Gern Tegus is a traitor amongst you Knights!" Parlen announced. "He has earned the title of Officer over his heroic deeds, and yet, he has killed, spitting in the face of the moons."
Gern creased his forehead in disbelief.
And then Parlen nodded towards two Paladins each clad in royal heavy armor, adorned with beautifully shaped helmets all with runes carved into the steel. They approached Gern with a dark canvas hood and pulled it over his face. He gasped and groaned as they dragged him along the warm ground, with the small minerals of sand scraping along his legs.
They took him all along the camp until they reached the outskirts. The voices and reactions of his fellow soldiers became distant, and he was sure now that he was long gone from his home.
He felt that it was hours that he was being pulled, and after a while, he became much too tired to plead any longer. His heels were peeling and being scraped harshly against the terrain as it became rougher. It seemed now that it was just the two Paladins; some of the highest ranking soldiers of the Celestial Knights that were with him now, dragging him endlessly.
Finally, though, what was an eternity to Gern ended, as he was thrown in a darker room which was cold and hard and felt bare with the air thick and moist. The Paladins took a blade and sliced away the canvas around Gern's neck, letting him free. He waited for a moment before removing the mask, however, but, it felt that once it was off, nothing changed — there was still an overwhelming darkness. A constant echo of water dripping down rang throughout Gern's ears. His eyes were at a squint trying to make details out of the darkness, and eventually he spotted a subtle reflection on the edge of an old flashlight. He walked to it, and examined its features. Despite his obscured visuals, he noted that it was rather ancient compared to the equipment his people carry now. It was made purely of bronze (that had been rusted) and each end formed to a tip, with one end having a small hole inside.
This was no different than the steam-magic they use today, and so with the gods in his mind, channeling his magical currents, Gern concentrated, feeling a pulse of divine energy surge throughout his fingertips. The light flickered for a moment, and then there were sparks — finally: light. He had activated the tool using magic. He examined the area for a moment. The Paladins left him in a cave with four routes he faced in which he now stood at a crossroads. Based only on instinct, Gern shined his light forward and cautiously maneuvered through the first tunnel he saw, occasionally having to lean down or climb over a jagged rock. At the end of this tunnel he saw another flicker of metal; bronze, like the light, although this time t'was a much stronger glow.
The bronze seemed to form an intricate design on a large stone door, but as Gern approached the door, he found that there was no handle or opening. With little strength, he tried to push at it, and attempted to cast small rites of magic onto it, but there was nothing changing. The longer he stared at the door the more he became enchanted by its design; he wondered why it looked so different from any other design he had ever seen — it simply did not look like the work of Man.
Gern furrowed his brow and tightened his cheeks, quickly glancing about the area. From nowhere, a warmth emerged from the frigid temperature of the cave, and it seemed to tightly bond around Gern. It felt comforting, but Gern resisted it, feeling that there was something sinister about this energy. It crawled along his figure, seeming organic, and wanting to feel his every curve. There was then a voice; it was not a voice that he heard in a physical space, nor in his mind — he felt that it was in front of him, behind him, and completely encompassing him, but he did not see the source anywhere. It was a booming, deep, and commanding tone that the voice spoke, ordering that Gern listen to it.
"Speak the phrase:" The voice began. "The Creator."
And then the warmth around Gern dissipated as the voice finished speaking. Gern could practically feel it leaving the area as if a close relative had passed.
Gern looked behind him at the stone door, further examining its details. He saw text located near the bottom of a language unfamiliar to him. Gern pressed his fingers on the text, and then that same warmth came back, but only to his fingertips, and when he released his press, the energy left again.
"The Creator," Gern said, pondering as to whether the voice was some sort of delusion he experienced.
His brow was raised as he spoke, unsure if what he said was correct. He shuddered as he heard the stone door scraping slowly, and at first it did not move, but then it jolted further back, and lifted up. Gern saw no hydraulics or machinery behind the door — it seemed to have moved all by itself as if it were a living being. There was a lot more light in the room ahead. Torches were strewn across the cave walls and large braziers lit the way as well. They all descended down crude steps, making a turn at the end.
Gern stashed his flashlight on a buckle right of his leg and walked down the stairs. The walls became tighter, and the air became stuffy. There was prominent humidity and a sweltering heat growing as Gern could feel his shoulders grazing the rocks on either side. The surrounding area became so tight that the rocks were pushing against Gern's back as he was forced to lean down, and at this point he had questioned whether he should turn back. He pressed onward however, certain that there may be an exit nearby. Eventually, the limiting size of the surrounding area lightened, and the cave began to expand again. Gern stood again, and then faced another door. This one was of much greater size than the last and was made of wood and had a door handle. There was a knocker on the door and a keyhole. When Gern tried to open the door, it only shook, and then he heard gasps from the other side.
Gern's nostrils flared and his eyes focused as he heard life from within. He pressed his ear to the door and listened for a moment. There came footsteps, and then heavy breathing.
A voice spoke softly from the other side; its timbre was low and gristly, and he spoke in words that Gern did not know. Ultimately, Gern felt that perhaps those inside this place were not threats if they weren't so eager to invite him in, and that maybe they were simply cautious. So he knocked on the door. The door shook, and a wood panel rattled. More gasps.
The voice from before returned, and was louder, announcing itself to Gern, and sounding to have asked a question.
Gern remained quiet for a moment, struggling to find words to say. He then replied to the person, explaining that he was seeking escape from this cave. The sound of metal turning and moving could be heard from the other side, and with one great pull, the wooden doors swung open.