Some months ago....
In the heart of the majestic Crest City, nestled within the hallowed chambers of the main temple, Archbishop Thornwood sat in a high-backed chair, the flickering flames of a crackling fireplace casting eerie shadows upon the walls adorned with ancient religious tapestries.
His laughter, discreet but heavy with ambition, echoed in the dimly lit room. It danced like a phantom, promising the fulfillment of dark desires.
Before him knelt a lowly priest, his humble attire contrasting sharply with the opulence that surrounded them. This priest, in this sacred chamber, served as the archbishop's humble attendant. He attended to the ceremonial brewing of tea, the scent of which mingled with the musty aroma of ancient tomes lining the chamber's shelves.
As Archbishop Thornwood reveled in thoughts of conquest, his eyes gleamed with a sinister anticipation, like a hunter savoring the scent of prey just beyond reach.
The lowly priest, dutiful yet aspiring, responded to Thornwood's musings with deference. "Sir, I firmly believe they will return victorious. Perhaps they are in the midst of pillaging or further assaulting Valdyr's cities. And even if the Valdyr Kingdom attempts to resist, it will be in vain. Most of their nobles have already pledged allegiance to our king, waiting for the opportune moment to strike."
Archbishop Thornwood chuckled heartily, his laughter echoing like a twisted hymn in the dim chamber. His eyes, reflecting the firelight, sparkled with a sinister delight. "Hahaha, you speak the truth. They should be striking from within, where the Valdyr Kingdom is most vulnerable."
The lowly priest nodded fervently, beads of perspiration forming on his brow. "Indeed, sir. And imagine, if they manage to secure the kingdom in this single decisive attack, you will not only be one step closer to assuming the vacant cardinal position but also a stride closer to the ultimate goal – becoming the Pope himself."
Archbishop Thornwood's laughter resonated like the tolling of a cursed bell, filled with audacious dreams that dared to challenge the heavens. The low priest, drawn into this dark reverie, couldn't help but join in, their mirth a cacophony of ambition echoing off the chamber's ancient walls. "Hahaha!"
As the night waned and their dreams swelled, morning's light spilled into the chamber. The archbishop, draped in the crimson vestments of his office, began his day with a solemn morning prayer. He knelt before the altar, its ancient marble polished to a gleaming sheen, and the incense wafting through the air in spiraling tendrils.
In the sacred space, bathed in the gentle warmth of sunlight filtering through stained glass windows, their audacious aspirations remained, casting long shadows on their path to power and conquest.
Eru Ilúvatar was often depicted as a majestic figure, towering over all other divine beings. He radiated a serene and profound aura, with eyes that seemed to hold the knowledge of all existence.
Elara, the Goddess of Creation and Eru Ilúvatar's wife was the embodiment of beauty and creativity. She was depicted as a radiant goddess with long, flowing hair, holding a palette and a brush, ready to paint the canvas of existence.
Celestorial, the Sky God, was sculpted from clear crystal, capturing the brilliance of the sky. He extended his arms, and birds in flight surrounded him, representing his realm over the heavens and air.
But the solemnity of their morning rituals would be shattered, for as the archbishop raised his eyes to the heavens and prepared to utter the final blessing, the hallowed silence was violently disrupted.
The sudden intrusion came in the form of another priest, his usually composed demeanor replaced by a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation. Bursting into the church with no heed for decorum, he cried out, "Archbishop, archbishop!"
The low priest, who had been serving as Thornwood's attendant the previous night, moved swiftly to intercept the newcomer, his voice laced with irritation. "Can't you see Lord Archbishop Thornwood is in the midst of his daily morning prayers?"
Gasping for breath, the priest who had come running responded, "It is... huff... important, urgent news for the Archbishop."
The low priest, unyielding in his devotion to protocol, tightened his grip on the newcomer's arm. "Whatever it is, no matter how urgent, you will wait until Lord Archbishop completes his prayers."
Reluctantly, the priest backed away, standing silently within the church, awaiting the end of Thornwood's devotions. Several minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity, and as the prayer concluded, the archbishop opened his eyes and rose from his kneeling position.
The priest, seized by the urgency of his message, wasted no time. "Lord Archbishop, urgent news concerning the troops and mercenaries you dispatched has just arrived."
Archbishop Thornwood wasted no words. "Not here. Come with me."
Together, they swiftly departed for a more private chamber, a study room of modest size. Once inside, Thornwood demanded, "Tell me, what has happened? Did they emerge victorious? Did they secure what I instructed them to acquire?"
The terrified priest, his voice trembling like a reed in the wind, began to stutter and stammer in his response. "Si-sir... it's... it's that..."
In a fit of anger, Thornwood slammed his fist onto the table, his eyes blazing with fury. "Speak clearly, or I will end you right here."
With beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the priest managed to force the words out. "Sir, your private troops and the mercenaries you sent... they were all annihilated by Prince Nathan von Valdyr and his forces."
The archbishop's face contorted in shock. "Were they outnumbered? Our forces should have been twice the size of theirs!"
The priest, still trembling, responded, "No, sir, our troops outnumbered them, but..."
Archbishop Thornwood, his patience waning by the second, barked, "But what? If we had the numerical advantage, how in the hells did we lose? Did the prince have a bloody dragon as a pet?"
The priest, his voice barely above a whisper, explained, "Our people reported that their prince wielded arrows unlike any seen before. They create a deafening sound and unleash a blackish liquid upon impact, dissolving shields, armor, even bone. Nothing could withstand them."
Archbishop Thornwood was incredulous. "Powerful arrows, yes, but that alone shouldn't have spelled defeat. What about our commanders? How were they killed when we had superior numbers?"
The priest's face sank. "They... they died as well. Reports suggest that their prince employed some kind of dark elemental artifact, creating a black void on the battlefield. It consumed most of our troops and three of our ten commanders. The rest were killed by his subordinates, Barch, and the Lord of Silverbrook City, Callum Frostblade. After that, the remaining troops were quickly defeated and captured."
The archbishop's rage knew no bounds. He began to tear apart objects in the room, shouting in sheer frustration. "Why? Why? I devised the plan, spent a fortune on those mercenaries, and I still lost! Now I don't even have my troops to contend for the position against the other archbishops!"
Amidst the chaos of the archbishop's destructive outburst, the lowly priest attempted to console him for the loss of his troops. His voice quivered as he spoke, "My lord, I understand your frustration, but please, the lives of those loyal soldiers and mercenaries, they were under your care..."
Archbishop Thornwood's anger flared like a tempest, and he cut the priest off, his tone laced with disdain. "I couldn't care less about those lowly troops and mercenaries! They were living off my coin and feasting on my provisions. What I care about are their results – defeat or victory." His words were a cold reminder of his unwavering ambition, where lives were but pawns in the larger game he played.
With his fury unabated, Archbishop Thornwood's eyes bore into the lowly priest. "Get the hell out, now! Let me be alone!" His voice was a thunderous command, and the trembling priest wasted no time in obeying, hastily retreating from the chamber, leaving Thornwood to stew in his seething anger and shattered ambitions.
His face reddened, his eyes filled with fury. "That Prince Nathan, he's just a child! How could he defeat someone in the 4th star stage?."
Archbishop Thornwood's fury knew no bounds. His face contorted with a mixture of anger, disbelief, and a thirst for vengeance as he slammed his clenched fist onto the oaken table before him. The chamber seemed to quiver in response to his outburst.
"I will make you pay for this, Nathan, Valdyr Kingdom, every last one of you!" he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap.
The words hung heavy in the air, reverberating with the archbishop's unrelenting determination to exact retribution. In that moment, he swore an oath that would bind his fate to a dark and vengeful path, one that would take him to the very edge of his ambitions and beyond.
As the sands of time shift and the present moment dawns, Archbishop Thornwood's ambitions take on a new, treacherous guise. The city's fate hangs in the balance, caught in the web of a relentless power struggle.
Dark clouds gather, and the echoes of revenge linger in the air. What unfolds next will test the very limits of his cunning and determination, for in the face of destiny, the archbishop is a force to be reckoned with.