Chapter 42: Where the Raven Perched
The mid sized city of Velthurien had always stood with quiet pride beneath the alabaster spires of the Northern Verranate. With its temple lined promenades and mural washed aqueducts, it had served as both sanctuary and garrison. Home to over twelve minor shrines and a population well versed in reverence and regulation alike.
So when the southern gate watch spotted a marching column of five hundred Purifiers cloaked in crimson sashes and accompanied by priestly silhouettes they didn’t hesitate.
The gates opened before the bell tower even sounded.
"Blessed be the Flame," one of the guards whispered, eyes watering with relief. "They came."
He wasn’t alone. The past week had been a procession of dread. Towns turned to silence. Forts razed overnight. Some said they’d seen ghosts wielding broken banners. Others whispered that the gods had finally abandoned them.
Pure heresy, thought the guard.
But he had no time to chasten the thought. Among the center of the crimson wave, a single figure of an elf walked with unsettling calm. A tall and broad elf, with silver white hair and a serene smile soft as it was foreign.
"Strange sort," the second guard muttered, stepping forward to greet one of the approaching soldiers.
The blade entered his mouth before the sentence could finish.
It exited cleanly through the top of his skull, spraying the archway in a soft fan of red.
The other guard never saw his end.