...These members of the Ordo; of the most secretive, and yet the most well-known of the 5 knightly orders of Prontera- the five Ordos all upholding the separate Virtues in their own ways, all with power, all with strength, all with courage and honour. But this Ordo, the Skull Thrice Pierced, was the mightiest and the most glorious of them all. The Ordo embodying Faith; The Ordo Vix Orbis. The Order of the Scarlet Circles.
And Raziel... this brooding young man with the dark expression, deep violet locks cascading over his face, and silver armor heavily accented with black trim and rich purple cloth, who knelt now in silent prayer and at the end of 3 weeks' fasting, holding himself proudly and resolutely; Raziel Daltizius, son of Amanan the Stoic, son of Ezekiel the Bloody Handed, son of Hechiah the Pure, was now to enter into full membership of the Ordo. He would don the sacred signet of the Order, and he would proudly wear the sacred scripts of purity blessed countless times over by the Ordo Chaplains, gifted to the most trusted, the most dependable, and the most faithful of the holiest of the holy.
Raziel Daltizius, after 5 years' time with his Sponsor and Mentress performing his Final Task, now was moments away from full Initiation. Opening his rich brown eyes suddenly, he turned his head only enough to allow them to swivel, and to see the slim, fair hand upon his shoulder. To his ears floated the contained, delicate words of his Mentress, a Priestess known to him only by the chosen name of Karmasutra; It was time to continue.
He nodded. Yes, he thought to himself, it is time. Time to explore this grand monastery's halls, to take my place at the sides of the holiest and most powerful warriors of Rune Midgar, to achieve the legacy my forebears have lain down for me; It is time... for my future as part of the Fortis Tutorae, the Crusaders and Paladins that have scoured the countrysides again and again of the foul daemonic blight threatening the people. It is my destiny.
This corner of Prontera was deserted now, and a distant clocktower chimed 2 strokes, each sound echoing rustily and heavily through the damp night air. From the smokestacks of several houses about the two, columns of darkness hovered in the dark sky of the early morning, the silvery light of the sickly moon casting strange shadows upon the muddy, brown-tinged snows of the streets. It was cold. A cold, cloudy, dark night with only the last, desperate rays of Luna's fingers clawing at the depth of the nocturnal abyss among the houses. Raziel stood, his form breaking Luna's reach and sending a looming shadow up against the walls of the towering, Gothic cathedralesque building before him, the Monastery-Fortress of the Ordo Vix Orbis. Before him were the towering steel and oaken doors that dwarfed the two of them so easily, which Karmasutra silently ghosted up against. The sheer size and forboding nature of the construction before her intimidated Raziel, though he showed no sign of it through his steely, stoic gaze; she showed nothing either, through what showed under her hood.
Lightly, she rapped at the door, issuing a long, complicated rhythm created from her knuckles and palm. Though it was barely louder than a dying whisper, each percussion resounded in Raziel's ears like the strikes of a fiery maul against red-hot steel. He blinked only once as she concluded, and rested her head against the wooden barrier. Within minutes, he heard from her faint whispers, her voice flitting breathlessly across the humid winter night to him, monotone and in a language he only barely understood.
Hardly a second passed after her words fell to the earth when the doors slowly, proudly gave way, silently opening and being replaced by blackness; the gaping maw of the fortress, frightening in its own right. As torches were silently lit by somber friars and accolytes, the passageway showed itself. For a split moment, Raziel imagined the end of the torch-lit path to be within the hellish frost of the Infernal Abyss itself, but for only a moment. His pace was brisk as he returned to his place 3 steps behind his Mentress, as the two retreated deeply within the innards of the Monastery.
Trepidation and excitement haunted every breath that Raziel released into the dank of the stone hall.
She knew her way well. Had she been blind, or had the torches gone out, she could have easily found her way through the passages without misstep or misdirection. Not a moment's hesitation would have caused her to falter in this, what was surely now her home, one and only. For what seemed as hours, the pair walked in silence, with only the sounds of their boots and their breath company for their ears. It was a friendly sound, this silence; It was one they had shared with each other innumerable times during his Final Preparations and Meditations. They did not need words; she was his shield, his boon, the one who protected him and strengthened him spiritually and physically as they wandered Rune Midgar's wildernesses and outands. She was his teacher; Everything he knew, everything we was and would become, was given and sculpted by her. She was a very good Sponsor.
Ahead, imperceptably at first, but steadily growing within the stony confines of their trail, the Gregorian chants of monks and priests began to pervade the air, and invade the air where their breaths and steps had whisped through for so much of their journey. The constance of the chants filled the passage as they drew nearer to their destination, and the scents of a thousand sweet incenses swirl'd about them, filling their nostrils and invigorating the dankness of the air, till it became almost pleasant. Ahead a door showed itself, an open archway of warm grey stone, through which a room of rose and scarlet showed itself. Warm wind from a giant chalice of flame rolled over them as they approached, and flickering flames sent cheerfully dancing light across the walls bedecked with banners of purple and scarlet.
Their chants were recognizeable now, solemn words now marching softly through the winds;
'Through the darkness of the night; Our faith fly true
Through the perils of the Blight; Our hand stay true
As the daemon takes to flight; Our righteous anger burn true
As the Ordo slays and fights; Our Ordo stand true'
Karmasutra's form suddenly halted, then turned to face him. Slender arms guided her fair hands and long fingers to her hood, and she gently lowered the sackcloth to reveal short, gravity-spiting locks of golden thread about her round face. Piercing blue eyes speared into his soul from the pale skin, and she spoke softly, but with great gravity and authority, "Raziel Daltizius. You have been witnessed to perform acts of courage and valour time and time again. Your record has shown you a daemon slayer, a witch hunter, and a judge of the sinful time and time again, having banished and judged a score of wickedhearts in your time as a Crusader for God... We have seen this, Raziel; Do you confess to it?"
"As God is my witness, and my Faith and Honor my Sword and Shield, I do confess; I am what you have seen, and I have done what you have said. I have no shame nor regret." His face was stony, revealing just as much thought as the woman before him revealed, and his voice was controlled, levelled, and just as quiet as hers. He stood tall, straight, and proud; His muscular frame of 200 pounds filling in his armor perfectly, his six foot four inch height just barely touching the top of his head to the smooth brick of the ceiling in the tomb-like confines.
A flicker of a smile stealthily appeared and fled from her thin lips, as she stepped backwards once, then twice. "Then step forward, Raziel Daltizius, for your sentence."
Without a moment's hesitation, the young Crusader Raziel Daltizius, son of Amanan the Stoic, son of Ezekiel the Bloody Handed, son of Hechiah the Pure, took his steps into the room, and into the very fabrics of Legend itself.