Deus Necros

“Please wait, Lady Titania!” one of the clerics cried, her voice strained with desperation as she jogged, breathless, across the polished marble steps of the Sacrosanctum. Her shoes tapped loudly with each hurried step, echoing beneath the arched golden canopy that stretched above the main hall.

Titania didn’t slow. Her strides were precise and sharp, the rhythmic sound of her armored heels thudding against the stone like an impatient war drum. Her cloak billowed behind her in irate waves, streaked with the white and crimson of the Holy Order, though even their vibrant colors couldn’t lighten the stormy expression she wore. The great golden gates of the Sacrosanctum loomed before her etched with symbols of divine heritage, the wings of angels cradling a sunburst of burning silver.

With a reluctant sigh that seemed dragged from the very pit of her lungs, Titania came to a halt just before the gate. Her gaze lifted, not toward the paladins stationed at either side of the entrance, but toward the courtyard beyond. The immaculate gardens, which had been groomed into an almost artificial perfection, lay in solemn quiet beneath the moonlight. Grand statues ringed the space like sentinels, heroic depictions of ancient paladins caught in poses of victory and prayer, each face noble, each stance etched in marble eternity.

But among those noble forms was one that faced her directly. Her own.

The statue of Lady Titania stood on the far side of the garden, gleaming beneath the ethereal light cast from the floating sanctum lamps above. Its expression was resolute, sword planted into the ground, hands on the pommel as if awaiting judgment. A symbol of the Order’s strength, it was meant to inspire pride. But for Titania, it only inspired burden. The likeness mocked her. A reminder that she was not a person, but an icon. A tool of duty first, a woman second.

Her will was the order’s will, and her word was the order’s word. She was nothing more than a tool of order and destruction upon all those that defied the Sacrosanctum.

And she has been doing that for the better part of five centuries and some change.

“What is it, Misty?” she asked without turning, her voice clipped with restrained irritation.

The young cleric, Misty, arrived panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clutched a scroll in her trembling hands. Her fingers were still red from gripping it too tightly during her sprint. “Please,” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath, “the Cardinal asked me to deliver this to you immediately.” She extended the sealed letter as if it weighed something far heavier than paper.

Titania turned, her expression hardening as she took the scroll. Her fingers hovered over the seal for a moment, eyes narrowing. She recognized the sigil, an ornate sun surrounded by twisting lines of gold filigree. The personal seal of Cardinal Clementine.

Her lips curled faintly in disdain. Among the many cardinals who floated like vultures through the halls of the Holy Order, Clementine was the one she found most disagreeable. Not because he was the most corrupt, though he certainly had his faults, but because he was so infuriatingly insistent on entangling her in his political machinations. And his ceaseless pursuit of the Pontiff’s chair.

“What does Clementine want with me this time?” she muttered, not really asking anyone.

“I don’t know,” Misty replied, standing upright now, though her hands remained folded in front of her, posture deferent. “But he said it was urgent. So urgent, in fact, that it didn’t even go through the Pope…”

Titania’s eyes snapped to the younger woman, the muscles along her jaw tightening. “That’s blasphemous,” she said flatly. Still, her fingers broke the seal with an irritated flick, and she unraveled the scroll.

Her eyes skimmed over the lines with rapid precision.

Her expression darkened by the word.

Her brow twitched by the second.

By the third line, the veins near her temple stood out visibly, throbbing like coiled vines beneath porcelain skin.

“Do I look like some watchdog for the Church?” she snapped, her voice rising with fury as she turned to Misty. “What does he mean by ‘go to Tulmud to keep order’? If he wants to recruit companions for the Hero, he should damn well see to it himself!”

The force in her voice carried across the courtyard like a cannon shot. A few paladins who had been casually patrolling turned in alarm. Some began to approach, hesitating as they recognized the voice, and then, as they recognized the woman standing beneath the gate, they promptly changed their minds. Half turned away and busied themselves elsewhere. The others stood stock-still, as though hoping to become invisible.

Titania exhaled with her mouth wide open, releasing a long, seething breath that trembled with suppressed rage. Her fingers clenched the scroll hard enough that the parchment creaked. In the back of her mind, she imagined all the inventive ways she could twist Clementine’s neck for this insult, and it took every ounce of her discipline not to voice those thoughts aloud.

“I’m not going,” she said at last, her tone cold as iron. Her eyes dropped again to the parchment, as if daring the words to change.

She continued reading, jaw set, until something caught her attention.

Her eyes widened, just slightly, and her posture eased.

“Looks like he doesn’t want to piss me off too much…” she muttered.

“What is it, Lady Titania?” Misty asked, her brow raised with cautious curiosity. The sudden change in mood hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Titania folded the letter, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. “Clementine, in his rare bout of self-preservation, has granted me a temporary reprieve. A few weeks’ leave from the Order. He’s not making the mission official, which means I don’t have to parade around in ceremonial robes or act like the Church’s glorified mouthpiece while I’m there.”

Relief slipped into her voice, like a draft of cool wind after a stifling day.

“Finally,” she sighed, “I’m tired of babysitting an idiot with no grasp of sword or spellcraft. How can a man be summoned by a literal god and still remain an atheist?” She glanced skyward, as though hoping for divine explanation. “What trials are these, O gods… is this some cruel joke?”

She turned, brushing a strand of golden hair back behind her ear. “Misty,” she said, now more composed, “gather my belongings. We’re leaving for Tulmud at first light.”

“Me too?” Misty blinked.

Titania paused and raised a brow. “I’m allowed one retainer. Do you want to stay here? With that creep?”

Misty went pale. “No thank you,” she said with immediate certainty. “I’ll have all your clothes folded and packed. Neatly. Efficiently.”

Titania’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile.

“Last time I was in a room with that man,” Misty muttered under her breath, “he tried to feel me up. I almost threw up.”

“Disgusting,” Titania said, voice ice-cold. Her knuckles whitened briefly. But there was nothing she could do yet. No command had come. Not officially.

“So far,” she said, voice low, “they haven’t ordered us to ‘tame’ the Hero. But that will change. And once the order drops, I’ll be the first to break him.”

With one last glance toward her statue in the courtyard, Titania turned sharply. “Let’s go, Misty.”