The Assassination of the Pontiff

From the Nork cathedral, the people are rioting in the streets. That’s the 12th town yet, good grief.

Ever since the Fall, Franz had been overwhelmed with reports and work trying to keep the church afloat. The extremely faithful support base once heralding him as the grand interpreter of divine will had begun rebelling, and power hungry farmers, simple-minded farmers, had been amassing power in the south.

His most loyal troops were mostly zealots, and they had largely placed themselves behind anyone and everyone opposing the Leten Church, and to make things worse, large portions of his information network of laybishops and archbishops had been assassinated or simply distanced them from him.

I need to rally our trainee knights to fight their seniors. I wonder if their dwindling faith will overpower their respect?

“Bastian,” he called to his head attendant, “gather the trainees. I have a message from on high.”

“Very well sir.”

He took a sip of tea, one of his best, he had very little of this particular one left after the fields were razed, and he wrote replies to his remaining archbishops, leaving the laybishops for after he delivered a speech to the trainees.

*

He stepped into the courtyard, where the trainee knights were arranged according to their skill. A few, namely his most loyal, seemed to be missing.

“I thank you all under the auspices of Letenzirchierend for coming to hear the words of Their kin,” he began stepping up to the central podium. The wood seemed slightly uneven under his feet. “Geschturt’s anger has corrupted the Holy Order with the tangled flames of Igkeitim. We must-”

Something was touching his leg - his hip. He looked down. Swiftly growing vines- no, roots, were crawling up his legs- magical in nature no doubt, he looked further down at their source, the floorboards of the stage, and runes were carved into them, likely swiftly done from their roughness, yet that was unimportant considering how the roots were reaching to his neck.

“Bastian!” He shouted out for help but no help came. Footsteps came from behind him.

His head attendant’s voice whispered from behind him. “For breaking the god’s divine trust, you shall be severed as Geschturt under the influences of Ziertas.”

A sharp pain entered his spine as roots wrapped around his neck, blocking his airways as black started entering his vision.

Soon he was with Letenzirchierend.