Interlude
INTERLUDE
T he cloaked, hooded figures gathered in the bell tower. Candlelight flickered, sending shadows dancing across the stone walls. Rain battered against the leaded glass of the windows, the wind howling angrily, denied entrance to their inner sanctum.
One of the figures dipped the pen into the ink pot, their pen scratching across the parchment as they wrote out the name.
The chant started softly, repeated three times, as was the custom.
“So it is written. So it is decided.”
One of the figures spoke. “He will need to prove his worth.”
“Yes. He will complete the full ritual. First, the oath of allegiance. Then, the initiation challenge. Finally, the blood pact will complete the ritual.”
“It is dangerous.”
“Yes. The challenge must ensure he is worthy of belonging. He has more to prove than most. He is not…one of us.”
He is not elite , went unspoken.
The hooded figures bowed their heads in agreement.
The figure with the pen dipped it into the inkwell, turning to a blank page in the book, and began to write.
When they were finished, they placed the pen down, holding the book open to allow the ink to dry, and stretched out a hand.
“The letter.”
Another of the hooded figures stepped towards them, placing a piece of parchment on the table. The pen scratched across the paper, words filling the formerly blank space.
The figure folded the paper carefully and held out their hand again.
“The seal.”
Another figure came forwards, brandishing a red candle. They held it above the lit candle already on the table, allowing the wax to soften. Taking the folded paper, they let the wax drips fall.
The figure with the pen removed the heavy ring they wore on a chain around their neck, pressing it to the warm wax and marking the seal with their insignia.
When the wax was dry, they turned the paper over and wrote three words.
John William Scott .
They handed the letter to the remaining figure, who had been standing to their left. “See that this reaches him tonight.”
The figure bowed their head, and with that, the chant was repeated again, mingling with the howling winds and the battering rain.
“So it is written. So it is decided.”