The cold floor stones offered no comfort for the man who sat penitently on his legs crossed in a tight fold. Despite his posture he was not in fact confessing sins. He cast his eyes to the wooden cross, fervently murmuring in Latin, hoping against hope that it would be in the will of God to send help. The man was in a stone prayer chamber, built deep into the granite rock foundation of the Fiducial keep. Water dripped from the ceiling with an incessant sound, and rats' gnawing teeth worked at the mahogany pews. Cobwebs had formed in the corners of the room and dirt had made it's way through the cracks between the great stones that made up the walls, ceiling and floor. The cleric's legs were folded, one laying atop the other with the soul of his left foot facing up. The position would have been uncomfortable for a normal man, but this cleric in particular spent hour after hour in this position. Legs folded, back straight as an arrow, hands resting on knees, and eyes cast skyward. His white and silver robes bespoke a devout cleric who from birth had been in the service of God. Wrapped about his waste was a sash of silver silk, woven by the finest metal smiths the Brethren of Fortis'fide had. As his eyes trained intently at the cross tears began to run down his cheeks, leaving a red stain of blood behind on his skin. As his Latin prayer ended with the customary but genuine “...In vestri imperium mos.” which is translated from Latin “In your sovereign will.”
The cleric rose from his seated position without moving his legs, levitating smoothly and letting his legs fall into a standing position. His feet were clad in chewed-leather padded silver woven shoes. The shoe's silver weave made them quieter than the famed elven ninja boots, and these shoes were reputed to have a spiritual enhancement to aid in their survival over long periods of use. As the cleric walked between the pews the sadness in his heart at seeing the monastery in ruin was fleeting as he knew the monastery was simply a house which God provided, and now was in his ultimate will was letting it die. As he exited the stone chamber he stepped into a wood floor stone walled passage which smelled of must and decay. The heart wood that made up the floor beams had been allowed to succumb to the gnawing teeth of rats and rot from the dripping water. Weeks before such disrepair could not have been imagined, but that was before the death of head cleric Validus. The thought of the assassination of the head cleric tempted the silent cleric to hate, but the cleric understood the will of God had been done.
The cleric emerged from the passage way into the sunlight of the main court yard. Although his cleric name was bestowed Sim'fides, meaning “Simple faith”, the cleric's mother had called him Yaakov. Yaakov Sim'fides stood at five foot nine inches of trim human body. His blood was pure human, and his brown hair and hazel eyes set him as a man who would not be recognized twice. His hair was short cut against his head, but not shaved like many of his brothers. As he walked through the court yard he tried to close his eyes to remember what the place used to look like before. The apple orchard that once boasted dozens of trees heavily laden with red-ripe juicy apples was now gone, nothing more than a series of stumps. They had been cut down for construction of catapults and the apples distilled for a flammable syrup to pour down on advancing enemies. The pond that once held fat fish was now mostly dried up, the water now stored in barrels stationed about the court yard in preparation for fires cause by the enemy's bombardment. The grass was trampled by troop-clerics who trained and walked in their heavy armor purchased by the gold religious temple items. The armor itself was of cheap quality as was most dwarf armor, but dwarfs were the only creatures willing to accept religious items as payment. It broke Sim'fides' heart to see his brothers putting their trust in mortal weaponry to protect the monastery.
Established centuries before by the Brethren of Fortis'fide who were lead by their angel Gabriel, the Fiducial keep had been formed into the side of the Torva mountains. The Brethren had hewed solid granite away for years, forming a deep gouge in the great mountain side. It was centuries of digging that brought up enough rocks and dirt to form the massive walls of the keep that formed the monastery. Its high walls had been constructed with defense in mind, and it was only these walls that stood between the enemy and what ever they hoped to obtain in the monastery. Ramparts and towers lined the length of the small but fortified monastery. The monastery's main purpose was hospitality to those who travel, and reaching out to those around the monastery. Support for the monastery had grown from the local communities and peoples as they clung to the true teachings of faith, self-sacrifice, contentment, and submission to God's will. Peace was the key of the monastery's goal. However, this peace they knew could only be expected to exist in the presence of justice rather than the absence of conflict. To this end, all monks or clerics were required to under go simple weapons training, and to become masters of the art “sanixor” or “holy struggle.” Sanixor was considered the most effective form of unarmed combat known to any race. A blend of spiritual power and physical focus of strength, a cleric's mastery of sanixor could only be described as supernatural.
However breath taking their fighting capabilities were, the cleric's real power came through their faith. Indeed to master sanixor a cleric had to have a high level of faith, sufficient to be able to levitate and to completely focus on one objective. By cultivating the powers bestowed by The Most High through his humble angel Gabriel, the clerics had been able to master spell casting and truly spiritual powers. Spells ranged from the ability to combat spiritually possessed beings and healing wounds, to superhuman acts of speed, agility, and strength. The amount and strength of these spells tended to rely on the faith of each of the clerics. The head cleric had been said to have destroyed a druid's stone keep with several concentrated sonic blasts. Although no such claim had ever been verified, the scripture, from which the cleric's derived their entire purpose from, said that the faith of a mustard seed is sufficient to move mountains. These powers however seemed to wane in the face of great odds as doubt and fear filled the minds of clerics. The head cleric had warned that no cleric should become dependent on the simple weapon proficiency they had been taught, but that they should fight their enemy through the power God granted them. The use of sanixor against foes, and spell casting was his personal advice, for it required the cleric to completely place his life and the lives of his foes in the hands of an almighty God.
No one would have dared question Validus while he lived, but an assassin had slipped into the monastery during the night, decapitating the cleric as he prayed. The elf had escaped the monastery by morning and when the body of Validus had been discovered his head had been restored to his body but his soul and spirit had gone. The Brethren did not morn the physical death of a brother, and thus after the burial ceremony Sim'fides had to leave the monastery where he wept with such a passion Gabriel himself had appeared, placing a calming hand on Sim'fides's shoulder. It was through this encounter Sim'fides had felt strong enough to stand on his own through the conflict that now lay ahead of him.
For no reason which any in the Fiducial monastery was aware of, dozens of elven legions had surrounded the keep and laid sedge for the past six months. The assassin, who had killed Validus in an attempt to cut off the Brethren's leadership, had retreated to the elven ranks to receive his payment and to move on. The assassin's uniquely carved dagger inlaid with silver and gold filigree had been proudly displayed atop a standard when the elven peace party road out to speak with brother Perfidious'Nuto, the newly elected head cleric. Perfidious was incapable of open surrender, but unable to lead at the same standard Validus had for so many decades. Upon returning to the monastery with news that a 'kill all' order had been issued to the elven army, he had immediately dismantled the moral and integrity of the Brethren. He had described the mass of soldiers, fine weaponry, and brilliant generals that the elven military possessed. Vertogo, or “Interpreter of the word”, had served as the scripture calligrapher for decades and his extensive scripture memorization was not equaled by even Validus himself. He was a small, elderly cleric, not accustom to battle or long periods of exercise. Despite his shaved head, his gray eyebrows gave away his age. Vertogo had tried to convince the Brethren that to rely on mortal weapons would be a mistake but spending his life reading and righting did little to establish Vertogo's reputation with the Brethren.
In the end all the gold and silver that the clerics could lay their hands on was given to the dwarfs for armor and simple weaponry ranging from short swords, small shields, knives, and staffs to the short bows and light cross bows the dwarfs so coarsely fashioned. The Cleric's who feared the loss of their lives and took up mortal arms for protection almost instantly lost their spiritual powers. The regularity of the cleric's prayers decreased to the point that only the few clerics who held to brother Vertogo's interpretation used the prayer chambers. When Gabriel had not visited or been seen by Perfidious, Vertogo publicly stated their monastery was lost. For this statement Perfidious broke one of the sacred laws of the Brethren. He took a position of authority over Vertogo and had him put under house arrest in his chamber. This action sealed the fate of the Fiducial monastery as unity was lost and the once close knit brotherhood was now nothing more than a keep full of desperate men who were inexperienced fighters at best.
The only remnant of the Brethren that had lasted was four clerics, Sim'fides and Vertogo included, that held to scripture, faith, and prayer for salvation from their situation. They had not seen Gabriel, and had felt a darkness as his presence had left the monastery. As Sim'fides walked in the trampled yard he cast his eyes about. The design of the monastery was from a strategic standpoint a work of brilliance. High walls supported with buttresses of solid stone ran the parameter of the inner court yard. In one corner of the court yard a deep pond, fed by springs, supplied a steady source of water. Opposite that corner was the silver smith, a long low building built up against the wall. The smithy was built of wood, with a thatch roof and stone chimney. It had since been converted into an infirmary, tending to the wall guards who continually got picked off by elven snipers using cross bows. Atop the high walls clerics still stood watch, strapped into awkward armor and holding their short swords and shields, not accustom to battle. The central buildings were made up of gray stone, stone now blackened and scorched with the nightly bombardments from elven catapults. Sim'fides kept his head down and made his way across the court yard, passing what had been the orchard. Sim'fides reached the small series of rooms built into the outer wall that formed the senior cleric's chambers. Vertogo had been imprisoned in his chamber, allowed to see visitors but not allowed to leave. Two armored clerics stood by the door, opening the door for Sim'fides and closing it behind him.
As Sim'fides entered the dim room, he could see Vertogo was sitting on his prayer mat, eyes half closed, murmuring in Latin. Sim'fides sat on the bed, waiting for Vertogo to finish his prayers. Vertogo ended his prayer with “In vestri imperium mos... and Lord, help me to have such simple and strong faith as Sim'fides has been blessed with.” Vertogo looked up from his prayer smiling. Sim'fides tried to smile back. “Dear brother, I fear, or rather I expect we are lost to our enemy.” Vertogo smiled as he levitated to his feet. “Sim'fides, you've been a cleric for a little over two decades, and during that time I have never once heard you use 'I' and 'fear' in the same sentence. Why use it now?” The question spurred more thought in Sim'fides's troubled mind, and while he thought Vertogo sat on the small chair facing the bed. Sim'fides made up his mind, “The thing that bothers me is intangible, but it is symbolized by the weapons, mortal weapons. The weapons aren't new to me, but to use them in battle against our enemy, it symbolizes faithlessness, and a bizarre sense of insecurity.” Vertogo nodded thoughtfully smoothing his robes. “Weapons do that, but only when they are held by a particular man, and in a particular way. Have you ever killed someone Sim'fides?” Sim'fides shook his head so Vertogo continued. “I thought not. I have, and I did it with a garden shovel.” Sim'fides looked surprised, thinking he must have misread his friend's docile and compliant nature. Vertogo continued to explain. “The man was threatening a woman with molestation, and in a swift move I decapitated him.” Vertogo showed no remorse or sadness in the story he told. “The shovel up to that point had been an instrument of moving dirt, never having been designed for battle. A weapon is no different than a shovel, and no more evil. Look to scripture for guidance on this issue my brother. Joel 3:10 says “Beat your plowshares into swords and your pruning hooks into spears.” And Micah 4:3 says “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.” Sim'fides looked confused, and slightly lost. Vertogo smiled kindly at Sim'fides and explained. “What scripture illustrates is that weapons are tools, used just like gardening tools, and just as inherently good or evil. It is the man holding the sword or spear that decides its moral standing. If the man is evil and uses the tool thus, it could be a monastery candle stick and still be the most vial tool created. If a man is good and pure of intention, he could use a sorcerers staff and it could be the most holy tool.” Sim'fides bowed his head, understanding what was being explained to him. Vertogo placed a kindly hand on Sim'fides shoulder. “Go pray, ask for guidance, it is all you need right now.”
Returning to the prayer chamber Sim'fides bowed his head and began his Latin prayer, but then stopped himself. For the first time in his life began to speak his prayer in his native English tongue, and not only gave up the Latin words, but also gave up the prewritten prayer phrases. His words poured out from his heart, the air filled with his emotion. Latin, in the form of poetry the clerics used, taught him the flow of speech. As he prayed, words poured forth in a never ending sentence forming one continuous stream of speech. Tears of blood dripped from his eyes, staining the floor stones before the cross. As Sim'fides began to slow his prayers to take a breath be saw the most welcome sight in his existence. It was a silver translucent orb of light, growing from the intersection of the cross. It seemed to come forward and out, growing as it came. In seconds a tall man, silver hair, crystal blue eyes, and pail white skin stood before Sim'fides. Gabriel had revealed himself to Sim'fides before, but it had not detracted from the awe that struck Sim'fides now.
Gabriel wore a similar silver mesh belt as Sim'fides, but Gabriel's belt was a work of spiritual power rather than the creation of a silver smith. The angel had no feathered wings that anyone could see, but then he was not subject to any earthly force such as gravity. Gabriel sat down, crossing his legs as Sim'fides was, and looked into the blood stained cleric's eyes. His voice was deep and smooth, conveying complete confidence and supreme intelligence. “Yaakov, why do tears stain thy face?” Sim'fides replied, slowly cleaning the bloodied streaks from his cheeks. “Would that you were a man and could feel loss, or sorrow over impending destruction. You would then understand why tears stain my face.” Gabriel nodded, “I know what is in thy heart, and I know why it pains thee. But thou must sever thy attachment to this monastery.” Sim'fides nodded, trying to think what he could do to follow the advice of his angel. Gabriel seemed to read his mind. “It would be best if thou would leave this place, it is not long for this world.” Sim'fides closed his eyes, concentrating on controlling his emotions which desired to burst out in despair. He did not try to control the expressions of his emotions, Sim'fides was trying to control what he actually felt. Gabriel spun his right hand in a circular pattern, then opened it palm up towards Sim'fides. A bright white light burst forth, shrouding the two of them, and illuminating the small room. Sim'fides felt relief, a sense of calm, and a strong feeling of faith. “What should I do then?” He asked, his simple faith returning to his heart and mind.
Gabriel levitated to his feet and took a step back. “I will provide thee with a guide. Thou shalt not be called Sim'fides outside these walls, but shall be called thy given name, Yaakov.” Sim'fides nodded and levitated up a few inches, moving backwards and giving Gabriel room for what ever he was doing. Gabriel put both hands in front of him, palms facing up. He leaned forward on his toes, moving his left arm in an arc behind his back, while turning his right palm downward. A shimmering orb appeared and grew between his hands and the floor in front of him. The orb was a shimmering translucent silver, growing larger and larger until its top touched Gabriel's poised right hand, his left having rotated palm down behind his back. As Gabriel began to rotate his right palm down the orb began to dissipate and Sim'fides could make out a feathered creature. It took a few moments more before he could recognize what the creature was. Its appearance wasn't much unlike that of a large eagle, yet not at all the same. It had four legs, each heavy built and complete with long razor claws. It possessed a beak as a bird, but built short and wide with the power of a lion's jaw. Its the beak curved up from where it joined the face, and going forward made a sharp curve down to a wicked point. Its flat, short nature made it more of a tearing or ripping weapon rather than a bird's pecking beak. Protruding from just above the rear haunches, a long tail, covered in silver fur extended ending in a fan of feathers. The creature itself was covered in silver feathers with the exception of the length of the tail. The creature moved its head as the orb dissipated completely, and it opened its eyes. Its eyes were black as sable, seeming to glow in a dark shimmer. From nose to hind quarters the creature measured six feet, its tail adding an additional two and a half feet to the length. Its shoulder topped at just over four feet tall. Its hindquarters were a few inches lower, its feathered back sloping down from the shoulders.
Gabriel looked the creature over and said, “Her name is Lequila.” Sim'fides looked into the sable eyes of the creature and he slowly began to recognize what she was. “Phoenix, is she a phoenix?” Gabriel nodded and the creature, Lequila, began to move about. Sim'fides was still hovering a few inches above the ground and he rose to his feet. Lequila looked up at him and walked over, keeping her large wings pressed firmly alongside her body. Sim'fides smiled as the creature nuzzled his hand and he began to stroke the feathered head. Gabriel nodded and smiled approvingly, “A guide and a friend. She is not a large enough specimen for ye to ride, and when the moon comes full circle again she will destroy herself in silver flames.” Sim'fides looked puzzled. “Then how does the species propagate itself?” Gabriel folded his legs, hovering where he had been standing. “She will leave behind an egg, but do not let the egg live. This species shall only be called upon by angels and shall not destroy the balance of nature the Creator has set up.” Sim'fides nodded and watched as Lequila sat next to him, pruning a feathered paw with her beak. Gabriel closed his eyes and looked to the ceiling, “Follow her when her eyes turn silver. Ye may place your consciousness in her and control her body as it were thine own. Treat her well but do not attach thyself to her, she will die and ye will stay.” Gabriel faded away, his form first turning translucent, then a haze, then finally gone all together.
Sitting down on one of the old wooden pews, Sim'fides thought back over his conversation with the angel. He summarized his orders in his mind, then spoke them aloud. “Follow Lequila, leave the monastery, take my given name.” But what then? Sim'fides, now Yaakov, had no where to go after leaving the monastery. He had barely been out of the valley let alone traveling far. He looked down at the phoenix, Lequila, who was now standing at the door waiting for him. Yaakov stood, following the creature out into the hall way and back into the tunnel system of the monastery. The tunnels had been dug by generations of clerics, each generation adding more and barricading off unused sectors. The centuries of history that was carved into the tunnels was inestimable. Despite the expansive tunnel systems, very little was accessible. When tunnels ceased to be useful the head cleric would have it sealed off with stone and mortar; In fact, only about three thousand square feet of tunnel and underground rooms still were in use. Lequila seemed to know her way around very well. These passages no more ornate than chiseled rock passages, smooth level floors, and lit torches resting in wall sconces. As Yaakov followed Lequila he realized all of his possessions were still in his room. Lequila continued into the large two story library room deep in the mountain. Yaakov recalled Jesus in scripture, sending the apostles out on their journeys telling them not even to take an extra cloak. If the apostles could do it, Yaakov trusted he wouldn't need anything extra either. Looking about at the finely furnished library, Yaakov followed Lequila into the center of the large bookshelf lined room.
Lequila didn't seem to have any particular desire to go anywhere. Sitting complacently in the center of the room, she simply licked her feathered paw and watched Yaakov with her dark penetrating eyes. The library had been on of the first things to be constructed, storing hundreds of years of manuscripts, books, tombs, maps, and other priceless knowledge. Yaakov followed the bookshelves looking for a clue of some kind. Each shelve was constructed of heavy heart wood, loaded with hundreds of pounds of paper volumes, and covered in a thick layer of dust. After having finally made a full circle of the library, Yaakov climbed the small circular staircase to the second floor Again made his way around the room, checking each shelf carefully for anything out of the ordinary. Moving out of faith, Yaakov didn't even know what he was looking for. Without even a clue as to what he was to do here, Yaakov moved back down to the first floor and shook his head. Lequila was still sitting in the center of the room and looked innocently up at Yaakov. Sensing the possibility of a solution, Yaakov stretched out his hand towards the phoenix and slowly closed his eyes. Lequila seemed to become overly drugged, her eyes lulling shut and body becoming inactive. As he focused, Yaakov felt his consciousness transfer as if in a dream to the phoenix. When the thing was done, Yaakov commanded the body of the animal while his own body, still standing hand stretched out, was inactive, devoid of consciousness.
Lequila's vision was much more acute thank a human's, and Yaakov found the eyes could focus beyond objects. It was a bizarre focus system, but as best he could tell, Yaakov thought it was like a human's ability to focus on objects near or far; however unlike a human, the phoenix was not limited to physical obstructions to vision. Yaakov focused through the walls, turning in circles until he found what he had been searching for. He found a passage behind fireplace, one that as far as he could tell, stretched far into the mountain. His consciousness slipped back into his body allowing Lequila to again assume control of herself. Turning slowly, Yaakov looked at the ancient fireplace. It was built of solid stone, iron braces reinforcing the back wall. It seemed to Yaakov to be nearly impenetrable, but he knew there must be something that would open it. Stepping closer he inspected the construction, finding scratches and scrapes indicating the wall had been opened before some time ago. He did not however, find anything that would open the door. Yaakov strode about the room looking for clues, trying to find a lever or some system for opening the fire place. He felt on the verge of giving up when he cast his eyes over the fireplace and read the inscription above the stone work.
He had read the inscription a thousand times if he had read it once. In simple English it read, “Order in time of trouble.” It was a simple phrase used when the clerics were young in their scripture readings. To compel them to get the order of the books of the bible right, they came up with the phrase. When a cleric youngling was caught misbehaving, properly citing the books of the bible would often lessen his punishment. Yaakov tried to fit this clue into his current time of trouble. It came to him slowly, but when it had it made sense. He began to look about the room, finding the expanded translations of each of the books of the bible. He removed them from their shelves in order, turning to watch the fireplace as he removed the last one. Nothing happened. Not to be stumped, Yaakov replaced the books and tried all sixty six backward, inverse order, and dozens of different combinations. Nothing seemed to work. It was then Yaakov realized he was looking at the wrong type of order. He began slowly recalling each book along the chronology of time. As he pulled book after book off their shelves he let his eyes drift shut as he drifted back to his time as a youngling. Long scripture study times, placing each book of the bible in its place with respect to time. As the last book came off the shelf, Yaakov heard a click behind him, and turning saw a small hidden box in the wood mantel above the fireplace had opened. Yaakov stepped up and found a small piece of paper folded with care in the small box. Unfolding it, Yaakov read the two words. “Mustard seed.” Yaakov smiled at the simplicity of the whole situation. He felt foolish, realizing he had become blind to the simplicity of truth. He replaced the small note, and closing the secret box, stood before the fire place. He raised his hand towards the back wall to the fire place and moved his hand to the side. The wall opened and the dark passage stretched out before Yaakov into the darkness. Shaking his head at his own folly Yaakov moved into the passage, Lequila following. Yaakov murmured to himself as he walked down the dark tunnel. “With the faith of a mustard seed one can move mountains.” He vowed to disregard the complications of the situation and focus on simple faith. He did not need any clues, levers, or complicated riddles. Faith would pave his way with speedy success, while his own attempts and physical or mental feats would simply slow him down.
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