Orecius Loreweaver had finally reached the Black Tower. Since he had lived these past years in almost total seclusion—his only interactions being with the students of his tower and his immediate family—and because he wasn’t exactly keeping up with current events, he was totally taken by surprise by what he saw within the fortress.
Orecius expected to find the Repulsar Knights on full alert. Martial law should be declared to prepare for the ravages that would surely follow the triple lunar eclipse. Instead, he found a town with drunkards and peasants singing. Has the warp twisted their minds? he wondered. It took him some minutes to realize that today was Midwinter and that apparently he was the only one aware of the coming storm.
Realizing that time was of the essence, the chronomancer made his way to the main compound. According to his research and calculations, the optimal location from which to study to eclipse would be at the top of the Main Tower.
Peasants made way for the mage; magic and especially wizardry was frowned upon back then and the commoners feared of the robed old man with the ornamented staff and the thick magical tome hanging from the side of his waist.
At the entrance to the Main Tower, a pair of guards blocked his path.
“Only members of the nobility are permitted inside the compound, magic-user,” the guard said. “The ceremony is in process.”
“Please,” said Orecius, “allow me to enter, it’s of the utmost importance.”
“Move along,” the guard was adamant.
“I am a member of the nobility,” Orecius explained. “I am Orecius Loreweaver; surely you’ve heard of me, my tower is not far from here.”
“No, move along.”
“I’m also a chronomancer,” the mage added. He preferred to maintain a low profile and not advertise his affiliation to the Order of Chronomancy but the guards were proving to be a nuisance.
The guards looked each other with a glint of uncertainty. “Sergeant!” one of them called inside. “We need you here.”
Sure enough, a burly man, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and wearing only parts of his breastplate, came out. “You’d better have a good excuse for callin’ me out ‘ere private!” he warned.
The guard explained their predicament regarding the old man who claimed to be a chronomancer.
“Idiots!” the sergeant spat. “If he’s a chronomagiwhatever just ask for his medallion!” he told them and then turned to the wizard. “May I see you Order’s medallion, milord?”
Orecius produced the amulet that was hanging from his neck and the sergeant saluted him—the guards followed suit.
“You may go in, your Highborn,” the sergeant said. “What name should I give the herald so he can announce you?”
“I think it’d be best if I speak to the herald myself,” Orecius replied.
“Nonsense! Jus’ tell me yer name, and I’ll deal with it, sire.”
Orecius slowly blinked his eyes a few times. “I am High Lord Orecius Marius Nickolas Hermes Loreweaver of Toran.”
The sergeant stared at him with a blank look on his face. “Yeah… I’ll go fetch the herald to talk to you.”
The old man sighed. “Yes, you do that,” he said exasperated as the sergeant went inside…
Vass Jaquel Draracle hated the armor he was wearing at the moment. Protocol dictated that the Repulsars wore special ceremonial plate armor on such occasions and the garment was heavy, unwieldy, and terribly ineffective in real combat.
Tristan Keint and Brianna Galena were standing next to him and all three of them were waiting behind a curtain until called for their initiation in front of the nobles who were arrayed in the compound.
“My Lords and Ladies,” Vass heard the herald’s voice from outside, “I present to you his Highborn, High Lord Orecius Marius Nickolas Hermes Loreweaver, O.C.M. from Toran.”
“Order of Chronomancy?” asked Vass. “Didn’t know a chronomancer would be present.”
“Loreweaver,” Tristan nodded, “it must be that old wizard living on that tower about two days travel from here.”
“Isn’t he that crazy old man?” Vass asked him.
“Know him?” Galena interjected.
“Only by reputation,” Vass replied to her.
The trio heard McKenzie’s voice. The High Commander was at the podium addressing the crowd with a long winded speech regarding the Repulsar Knights and their glory and importance. Before long, Vass was beginning to feel rather bored.
Eventually however, McKenzie’s tedious speech came to end, and started calling in the three soon-to-be Repulsars.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Tristan Christopher Keint, Grand Duke of Durenor.” McKenzie announced, and Tristan went out to the applause of the crowd.
“Well, this is it,” Brianna said to Vass while Tristan was giving a short vow and acceptance speech. “The moment we’ve been waiting for. Excited?”
“You?” he asked her with a smile.
“I asked you first,” she replied playfully.
“No more than you are,” the young man replied.
“Her Highness, Brianna Galena, the Duchess of Rymn,” McKenzie’s voice was heard again.
“Give ‘em hell, darlin’,” Vass told her.
“I always do,” she replied with a wink and went out.
Vass waited for his turn but then a sense of unease came over him. He realized it wasn’t him, it was coming from Corona.
“Is something wrong?” he whispered to his blade.
“His Highness, Vass Jaquel Draracle, the Duke of Draklund,” McKenzie called again.
Vass tried to ignore his sword and went out. He almost tripped due to the cumbersome armor but retained his footing, walked to McKenzie and kneeled before the High Commander.
“You are hereby a Knight of the order of the Repulsars!” McKenzie said in a steady voice.
Vass stood and placed his hand on his sword’s grip. “In the name of his Eternal Majesty, the Ascended King, I swear to forever uphold the tenets of justice and give my all to repulse the enemies of the Firstborn Empire!” he declared, unsheathed his blade and raised it upwards to the sky.
And then, Fate seized us all.
Corona emitted a blinding pillar of light that extended to the heavens right towards the moons that eclipsed each other. The sky became red, and the moons bled tears of fire.
And from the crowd of nobles, Andrion Von Montarius screamed in pain…
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