The pleasant smell of burning incense fills the halls, wafts of gentle white smoke rising from the glowing incense sticks.
A gentle chant of prayer brings focus to an old man adorned in dark priestly robes.
His legs folded back as if kneeling, yet he remained seated at the balls of his heels.
The subject of his dedicated piety and chants is a towering statue, carved from the walls of the hall, its imposing gaze lazily regarding those before it.
A keen look will discern an expression of gleeful mirth. Its malicious grin almost spreading from ear to ear.
Sounds of hurried steps interrupt the prayer session, the head priest grits his jaws, irritation apparent.
The steps halt before the statue, kneeling.
"Your emi- ," the man starts, only to be interrupted by his gasping breath.
Quickly composing himself, the man speaks up, his voice shaky and carrying a tinge of urgency.
"Your eminence, I have word from the trial grounds."
The priest continues with his silent chant, not even turning to face the man.
He bows his head touching the ground.
~sighs in exasperation~
"Well, get on with it!"
"The enforcers sent into the trial lands are facing extreme challenges."
"Losses keep mounting, barely half of the force remains."
The man says, a nervous gulping of saliva sounding.
"And of the volunteers?"
"Only three remain, sire, with the third one gone rogue." The man looks down, ashamed.
"What happened?"
"There has been an unfortunate series of misfortune befalling the entourage."
"On their arrival, the entourage was ambushed by a clan of forest guardians."
"The sudden attack had us losing lives by the second, not to mention the betrayal by a volunteer."
"What betrayal, Veran? Speak up!"
The priest yells, mouth foaming and sending spit flying.
"My lord, it was discovered that a volunteer had been ambushing and killing enforcers." Veran reports
"It was too late by the time he was discovered, he ran into the thicket, the held up enforcers couldn't give a chase."
The cult priest pinches his brows,
"How many deaths?...By the hand of the boy."
Veran looks down,
"Three, your eminence."
"THREE?!!"
"Yes, my lord."
The cult priest immediately gets to his feet, almost blowing a gasket.
His face contorts with fury.
"How can a mere novice kill THREE Expert rankers?"
The priest hisses, his voice dripping with fury.
"That's a whole two ranks above!"
He snaps with a frustrated breath.
"Summon Viridia. Now!" He rasps, his voice like gravel
A few moments, the clanking of heels sounds through the hall.
A lavender fragrance lingering in the air as a lady quickly walks towards the altar, coming face to face with the pacing cult priest.
She almost buckles under the piercing gaze locked onto her, flinching under its malicious intent.
The cult priest smiles, his grin going from ear to ear, only that the grin was not of glee but of restrained wrath.
"Your eminence."
She bows, head touching the stone floor.
"Tell her what you just told me." the priest commands.
With no hesitation, Veran relays the information, recounting the events to the nitty-gritty detail.
Viridia's eyes widen, her face showing great concern, slowly contorting when the implication settles in, a cold dread creeping through her mind.
"Three expert rankers lost just like that," the priest rasps, holding out three fingers, his voice dripping with mockery,
"Three! And killed by a Novice at that!" He yells, particularly emphasizing the word 'novice'
"Sire I-"
"SILENCE!"
"Viridia," he calls, his voice almost a whisper, "You assured me that all volunteers were fully broken."
"And now this happens! Pathetic."
"What do you have to say for yourselves?"
"My lord, I assure you, I didn't foresee this hap-"
The cult priest cuts in,
"Excuses after excuses! I will hear none of this."
"Do you realise what is at stake?"
"We cannot afford failure," The cult priest murmurs, pacing back and forth.
He looks up from his anxious pacing.
"You will burn if the mission fails, I will flay you myself!"
He rasps, his voice rough with temper.
The duo before him audibly gulps at his threats-- not mere threats but a promise.
"Send more enforcers, capture the boy and set things right!"
He commands, walking off to his chambers, wrathful mutters under his breath as his figure retreats.
The duo lock eyes, reaching a tacit agreement-- failure will not be tolerated.
They both walk out of the hallowed halls, their breaths hitching as they foresee what will ensue upon failure-- their sure deaths.
"I would have gone in myself if not for the restriction."
Viridia murmurs under her breath, her counterpart nodding in agreement.
Apparently, only experts and the lower ranks could enter the trial lands.
That is, novice, adept, and expert rankers.
Masters of their ranking couldn't hope to enter.
Unless they are willing to risk realm rejection and its punishment-- death would be the least of their worries then.
The duo hand-pick thirty new enforcers-- the best within the expert rank.
Barking orders and threats to motivate the said enforcers in performing the assigned task to the best of their abilities-- or die trying.
The purple portal pulsates with an electric hum as the new enforcers enter.
Faces grim and determined-- though with a fleeting apprehension of what is about to unfold.
***
(Trial Lands, Mission entourage encampment.)
A metallic stench of blood clings to the air, the purulent and noxious odour of death and decay encompassing and blanketing the camp.
The mood is at its all-time lowest, groans of pain occasionally emerging from the open air infirmary.
Barely a dozen of the enforcers remain, their pitiful states showing all there was to be shown.
Armour ripped and shredded to pieces, weapons chipped.
Heck! Other swords were snapped in half, only the hilt and fragments of steel remaining as their sole weapons.
The enforcers' eyes are vacant, hollowed out, akin to the volunteers' resigned demeanors.
Their muscles were in shambles and raw-- a result of engaging in daunting battles back to back.
Their breaths labour with every minor exertion.
The trial has been harsh for them, misfortune after misfortune rearing its head.
Some were now doubtful of the task ahead-- silently denouncing their faith, others praying fervently.
Shreech!
A beast lets out a battle cry-- cueing the next perilous battle.
The enforcers move, akin to zombies, clutching their armaments, bracing for impact.
Everyone silently acknowledging that this might be their last battle-- before they get overrun and picked off one after the other.