XIV (Fourteen)

The Fourteenth Shadow of the Holy Crown, Member of the true Umbra Coronam, Shadow to His Divine Light, Holiest of Sinners, or XIV (simply, fourteen)
Height: 5’5”
Weight: 157 lb
Forte: patterns
Saint's feast: St. Steven (Dec. 27)



Through God, all things have a purpose.
Through God, all things have a place.
And anyone who dares to question that, to try to put His Patterns under an unholy light to make them their own? They must be willing to answer for it.

Now, make no mistake; I am not saying I am the one passing judgement. No, that is the last thing I would ever claim. Instead, know this: I am the aftermath of the Lord's Decision, passed down by the Prima Coronam Herself. Those who fall from the Light no longer fit into the Lord's plan. Stray from it, and you are met by His shadow… the Shadow of the Crown. The Umbra Coronam. Few can claim to be so moved by God's words and ways that they would choose to live outside His Light if only to let it spread.

Yet I am among those few. For, through the one, true God, I am given purpose. I can find His Patterns with ease and set to rights all that challenge it. Especially those who claim another light, another way, another god… Witches and conjurerors, seers and sinful sycophants alike, they all were led to wander. Lost their pattern. Fell from their place. I have spent plenty of time, though, scouring the small spaces and tiny towns to set them straight. And the alternative, you ask? What happens if they don't come back to the light? Well...

“It is a heavy burden,” Deacon Silas leans forward in his chair, gesturing to another, more modest one opposing his desk. A simple action, albeit surprising. “But I know you are equipped to handle the task of purging out those pests. The Brotherhood speaks highly of you, and your reference from Friar Joshua is nothing if not glowing.” The man in question looks from the Deacon over to me. He nods, and I take my place in the seat next to him. To go anywhere outside the Cloister's walls requires an attendant; the Umbra must have someone to lay claim to them, no matter the situation. We are tools for the Church and Crown, like a holy book. Like a knife. Nothing more. You do not leave property like that to its own devices. Especially when its on loan a full three days ride away from where it tends to reside.

The referenced papers are pushed forward slightly on his desk in my direction. Friar Joshua remains silent in the chair next to me, thoughtfully reposed. I shake my head and avert my eyes, as is custom. Patterns are in place for a reason.

“I need not read the praise. Your belief in him is enough.” A curt nod from the Deacon, a satisfied one from my ward. He leans back once more.

“Right. Well, the city of Lightwelle is honored to host you, Friar Joshua, and your charge, the Fourteenth, for the duration. We just hope that the change in scenery will not mar their handiwork. The Cloister at Rue D'Mar is quite a journey from here,” I right the papers in front of me, the pattern in place once more. My ward's attention lingers as the Deacon continues, “quite a different place, too. Bigger than any port town you've probably ever been to. Far more people, far more secretive spaces for them to hide away.”

There is a quiet beat where the summer rain is heard against his office's window. When it is evident both are waiting for me to respond, I stand from my seat. The light from behind the Deacon catches the small silver mantle laying on my chest, playing off the collection of Sins I have purged so far. Seventeen in total, one for every witch I've had to deal with. The only decoration the Umbra may wear, a badge of honor. Or a warning. If Friar Joshua's recommendations were not enough to convince him, that sight alone would speak volumes.

“Deacon, allay your worries. God's light shines brighter here than anywhere else under the Prima's just hand. If anything, it will make it easier to find the traitorous souls that dare mock His might.” The old man meets my gaze once more. “Through God, the Prima Coronam doles out purpose to all things, great or small. This is mine to wield in the name of Crown and country. It is also mine to wield against those who oppose it with beliefs of false gods and poisonous power.” At this, there is a knock at the door. Friar Joshua rises now too, and there is a brief exchange as he excuses himself, as the hour is growing late. Our being here no longer fits the Pattern. I'm nearly out the door when I hear Deacon Silas remark one last time, a frown coloring his words.

“God has a purpose for the growing horde of heretical witches in my city?” I stop in the entryway.

“Oh indeed, Deacon.”

“Enlighten me, then, Fourteen.” I turn and face him fully.

“It’s simple: someone must teach the masses what happens when you play too long in the dark.”