"Sequence 7: Cipherist. Their power lies in understanding and manipulating the underlying truths that govern the world's hidden language."
"Sequence 8: Swindler. Deception is their art, weaving intricate lies that blur the line between reality and illusion. They are the masters of persuasion and manipulation."
"Sequence 9: Larcenist. These masters of stealth thrive in the shadows, unseen and unnoticed."
Some Sequence pathways followed a conventional progression, while others defied logic and intuition. Marcellus couldn't help but feel hidden connections were waiting to be discovered.
He flipped through the pages, seeking information on the secret organization known as the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, which involved Instigators.
"The Independent Order of Odd Fellows. A secret organization that emerged during the Second Epoch, the early era of the current epoch. They believe in the synthesis of community and property"
"Many extremist members of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows aspire to steal the bodies of others, leading to many... There is currently no evidence indicating that the Independent Order of Odd Fellows possesses High Sequence Aspirants."
"The synthesis of community and property"? What in the world does that mean? Marcellus pondered, frustration brewing in his mind. The beliefs and doctrines of the various organizations within this often seemed shrouded in ambiguity and cryptic language.
He had thought the White Tower was a dual-front organization, yet he couldn't find any substantial information about them in the texts.
Unable to find any references to the White Tower, Marcellus turned to Ralf for clarity.
"Sir Ralf, could you enlighten me about the White Tower? The documents offer no insights," Marcellus asked, his curiosity piqued.
Ralf, his hands busy with scrolls, let out a smug chuckle before replying, "Ah, Marcellus, the intricacies of the White Tower are beyond your current clearance. Even Father Corwin's authorization wouldn't grant you access to that knowledge. Such secrets are reserved for those who have ascended within the Stormseeker ranks and received training at the Holy Cathedral."
He then offered a morsel of information, "What I can share is that, in the early ages of the third Epoch, the White Tower was a sanctuary for nobles who sought mastery in swordsmanship. After the cataclysm, rumours abound that they played a pivotal role in vanquishing numerous malevolent races. There's a deep-seated belief about maintaining a balance in the population of magical beasts, to preserve human dominance and survival."
Marcellus absorbed this information, realizing the complexity of categorizing the myriad secret organizations that operated across different epochs.
Each organization, with its unique beliefs and practices, contributed to the rich tapestry of this enigmatic world. His journey into the labyrinthine world of Aspirants and their concealed societies was only beginning to unravel.
First were the ancient organizations born in the Second Epoch. They included but were not limited to the Ascetic Order, Order of Odd Fellows, Stormseeker, and the Blooded who were naturally followers of the God of Combat. However, the information only gives Marcellus the names of each organization, he can only speculate on their goals.
The second was the secret organizations early in the Fourth Epoch, the present Epoch. For instance, the Ascetic Order or the Whispering Way. There is also the Ancient Tomb School which employs a master-disciple heritage and the School of Lust known among Aspirants for its bloody sacrifices.
The third category was new organizations that appeared in the recent century or two. They include The Inquisition, The Independent Order of Odd Fellows, Children of Dreams, League of Assasins, and the White Tower; the Cognosium Order for males and Samyama Sanctum for females which everyone knew about.
Apart from them, other organizations did not do anything major.
I never imagined that the world is so dangerous… it's not only limited to wars… Marcellus shook his head with a wry smile. He stacked the classified documents neatly before pushing them to Ralf.
Meanwhile, he added silently in his heart.
Please Lord Eternal Warrior don't let me encounter any of the organizations on the list… well Stormmseekers aren't that bad…
Ralf's plump figure made it challenging for him to sit calmly and decipher the scroll's contents, and he didn't appear to be the type to settle comfortably into a chair. He simply frowned and decided to return the documents.
Marcellus for a fleeting contemplated how he might locate Cipherist Severus but abandoned the thought in less than twenty seconds. He only had a vague idea of Severus's appearance, and the potential reward didn't seem worth the effort.
Marcellus took a moment to reflect on the nature of compensation in his world, there were no conventional concepts of salaries and wages.
The rewards were not defined by regular monetary payments but were deeply rooted in the principles of trade and performance-based rewards. This system, he realized, was intricately tied to one's achievements, skills, and contributions to their respective fields or missions.
When he decided to work with Edwin, Marcellus received daily food, shelter, and a home for himself and Finn, along with a mantle. However, he yearned for more, the reward for slaying the Hollow Serpent was a well-crafted sword and a suit of armour made from the serpent's scales which he rejected.
Although the armour was valuable and could fit the governor's household, Marcellus refused it because he anticipated Edwin would have him work tirelessly in the smithy. He hadn't seen Livius lately, probably toiling in some cave like a slave.
For providing valuable information and unwillingly acting as bait, Marcellus had been given a chance to choose a potion. Yet, he didn't want to be tied down to Mythralis. He had aspirations to leave this island once Ayden arrived.
Even if he were to find Severus again, he suspected the "reward" might be far more complex than he could imagine.
Such a system, he mused, kept individuals like him constantly striving for excellence, pushing their boundaries, and seeking out new challenges without being told. It was a system where one's abilities and accomplishments directly influenced their standing and success.
By the time the rotund Knight returned, Marcellus had straightened his thought processes and continued his revision of mysticism studies to grasp even more forms of ritualistic magic and rituals.
Marcellus dedicated his day to studying and revising, grateful that he didn't need to perform any mundane tasks like copying documents or assisting in the chapel since he wasn't yet a formal Stormseeker.
The Stormseekers didn't discuss any plans or intentions, nor did he inquire about the assailants that had assaulted him. He could only be in the chapel hold when someone else was present with him, he wasn't even allowed into the armoury he had to ask a formal Stormseeker.
This arrangement allowed him ample time to polish his proficiency in High Valar. While his pronunciation might still sound unusual, he had become quite effective at reading and writing in High Valar.
Closing one of the historical documents he used to practise his High Valar, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Island was on the cusp that would change life on that Island. Even the regular folks seemed to resonate with this impending shift. Rumours swirled about people fleeing the island, causing a ripple of uncertainty.
The effects of these changes were already evident, with some street girls facing reduced demand in pirate clients, and a few resorting to lowering their prices at any other time this would be good news for Marcellus.
Others, in desperate circumstances, were forced to sell their slaves. The times were indeed tumultuous, however, It wasn't as visible to everyone some remained Ignorant or hopeful, In any case, there was a subtle silence like a quiet before the storm.
As some people fled in fear, the once-vibrant streets of Mythralis now echoed with a haunting silence. The darkened alleys hid tales of desperation and despair. Street vendors, once peddling their items with enthusiasm, now struggled to make ends meet, their stalls barren.
In the city's dark corners, crime ran rampant. Normally, Edwin kept a semblance of order, but his absence allowed pirates and privateers to act out.
The governor remained indifferent, Marcellus had never even seen the man. When he asked Martia, she scoffed, stating it was Edwin's duty.
Even the only other authority figure, Priest Corwin, seemed unconcerned. Robberies and muggings became commonplace as law enforcement struggled to maintain order. The masses faced a grim reality, where theft and violence seemed like the only means of survival.
Parents made heart-wrenching decisions, selling their children Mr Doan in a desperate bid to ensure their safety.
Marcellus stood in the dim light of The Hold, with a deep, steadying breath, he gathered his mantle, the fabric coarse yet imbued with a warmth of purpose and belonging. The mantle draped over his shoulders, its folds falling neatly into place.
Next, he reached for his sword. It was a fine blade, crafted with skill and care, its edge sharp enough to slice through the uncertainty that lay ahead. He fastened it securely at his side, feeling its familiar weight.
Stepping out of The Hold, Marcellus found himself in the dimly lit corridors of the chapel. The ancient stones whispered secrets of the past, echoing the silent prayers of those who had walked these halls before him. He moved with a sense of purpose, his sandals echoing softly against the stone floor.
As he emerged into the open, Marcellus was greeted by the sprawling expanse of Mythralis in its raw and unvarnished reality. The air was crisp, carrying the scents of the city – a mix of earth, woodsmoke, and the distant sea.
The streets of Mythralis were alive with the vulgar tapestry of nightlife. Hawkers shouted from their stalls, peddling everything from spiced meats to curious trinkets. The calls of the working women were a cacophony of commerce, each vying for the attention of passersby.
Marcellus's path took him through the 'bustling' alley, where the crowd jostled and elbowed with a rough camaraderie. Here, the language was colourful and unrefined vulgar women and men, a stark contrast to the hushed tones of The Hold.
A fishmonger cursed loudly as a street urchin darted between his legs, nearly upsetting a basket of fresh catch. Two men, deep in their cups, traded bawdy jokes and raucous laughter, their words tinged with the ribald humour of the docks.
As he passed a tavern he had stayed in previously "The Wayfarer's Respite," the sounds of a heated argument spilt out into the street. The voices were laden with expletives, each insult more creative and crude than the last.
A woman leaned out of an upper window, adding her sharp-tongued commentary to the fray, her words slicing through the air like a knife.
Marcellus continued, his eyes taking in the vivid scenes around him as a Hollowed he senses were for lack of better word 'overloaded'. He witnessed a couple engaged in a fiery exchange, their words laced with passionate vehemence no it wasn't a couple it seemed like a whore and her client was "arguing over price?". A group of sailors nearby joined in, offering unsolicited and lewd advice, their laughter booming through the alley.
The journey to Old Man Aulus's abode took him through the heart of the city. The world here was unapologetically raw, a place where the struggles and joys of life were played out in the open, unmasked and unadorned.