[h1][center]Defenders and Scholars of the Consecrated Seal Of Trismigestus[/center][/h1]

	For hours they had marched, tabards blowing in the gentle breeze that carried over the dunes. Knights in mail and champions in plate rode upon fine steeds; banners and icons of faith proudly displayed, as their retainers and squires kept close behind on foot. Sergeants marched in well drilled lines, lugging with them the tools of their trade, beasts of burden, and great war machines of the Order. Grim-faced confessors in tabards of black lead the host of warriors in prayer, shouting in unison the praises of God and litanies against their hated foes, while the congregation of hundreds replied flawlessly again and again. Censers hung from staves and bridles burned sacred herbs and incense, as monks and retainers applied holy oils to the armor of their lords. They were inspiring, a tide of steel and flesh, driven by the greatest of causes: faith. Every word that left their lips glorified the All in All, spoke of the righteousness and necessity of their mission, and decried the evils of weak willed men such as Gargth. Their cries would be a comfort to some, and a warning to others beside them.

	Jeremiah Nagel sat upon his horse, accompanied by Theurgist Primarist Rantheus. They were quite the site to behold, so unlike one another in manner and appearance. Where While Jeremiah was a grim and imposing figure, well built and clad in full plate armor; Zebulon was a tall man of no considerable strength, dressed in the simple scarlet robes of his brotherhood. The Theurgist's face was calm and knowing, pale-blue eyes often distant as the aging magician was lost in thought time and time again. Meanwhile, the Knight-Captain's battle-scared face held a constant look of suspicion, eyes sharp and quick to accuse. Often those eyes would rest upon Zebulon, as was the knight's duty as a brother of the Thrice-Blessed. Though the two had stood side by side time and time again, no man was above suspicion, no man could be pure to a fault. If and when Zebulon, or any of the Order's Theurgists began to stray from the path, Jeremiah and his own would be there to deliver the rightful punishment.

	The pair sat upon their steeds, peering across the dunes as the scouting forces made the reconnaissance. Black smoke wafted from the old city, and wails of outrage and anger came from the men. Jeremiah gripped his reigns tightly, knuckles white with frustration that their delay had cost innocents so much already. Good people struggling day by day to feed themselves and their families, now they were set upon a man who dared to claim his damnable Craft could ascend him to the realm of The All. What hubris, what gall! Perhaps it was indeed Divine Providence that brought the Knights of the Seal into being, and led them here. Perhaps it was their divine purpose to punish one who thought they could become one with God yet reject its love, and the Truth which came from the higher arts. 

	"You seem troubled, Brother-Captain." Zebulon called out, drawing his commander from dark thoughts and possibilities.

	"Aye, you can read a man well Theurgist. Or Perhaps you simply use your craft to delve into the minds of others?" The knight often made good jest at his friend for his practice, necessary and blessed as it was. "In truth, I am weary of those we have surrounded ourselves with. Corsairs, pitiable beasts, foul sorcerers... truly this is a desperate time if we must resort to standing alongside one another." There was venom in his voice as he thought of the arch-heretic Gargth.

	Zebulon nodded, eyes staring off in thought for a few moments before he finally responded. "Needs must when a devil vomits into your kettle, as my mother always said. Worry not Jeremiah, we will purge this land of the taint which has taken root. In fact I was hoping to propose that once the vile necromancer is dead, we might-"

	In an instant the sky darkened, as a demoniacle laugh echoed across the dunes. Horses drew back and screamed in fright, and young squires shuddered at the horrible sound. The Order's Confessors were quick to begin shouting over the sorcerer's horrid voice, decrying him for his witchcraft and inspiring Knights and Sergeants alike to take up arms against whatever threat would come forth. Heavy rain began to fall, slowly making the sand beneath their feet moist and unstable. The Knight-Captain cursed as the storm assailed the Alliance, drawing Redemptor and turning to Zebulon.

	"I must go to the men, gather your Sect and deal with this damnable storm!" With that, the knight's destrier charged off towards his fellow Knights and Brother-Sergeants.

	Without a word, Zebulon rushed off to gather his fellow Theurgists, men who had been his peers for decades, each a great font of occult knowledge and power. He would need their assistance. Though he was growing old, his mind and his senses were keen as ever, and his many years of study into the arcane had only helped to highten his sensitivity to the ebb and flow of the vibrations and energies of the world around him. Gargth was among them, his power was horrifying, his presence like a cold hand upon a beating heart. But their faith was strong, The All was greater than any deity or deluded sorcerer could ever be. Gargth would learn humility, he would learn the gravity of his sins before the Order sent him screaming to the hell which he had made for himself.

Surrounded by a circle of  twelve thrice-blessed knights, the six magicians readied staves, scepters, wands, and other ritual objects as they began to walk clockwise in a circle. Zebulon stood on the left-hand side of the circle, holding an ornate chalice of gold. Across from him stood a man with a wand, its head a great red ruby. The others in turn held a sword, an iron pentacle, and two candles: one lit and one unlit. They chanted, voices deep and low, slowly growing louder and louder over the din of battle all around them. Each of the twelve thrice-blessed warriors stood guard with sword and shield, felling any of the foul creatures which approached with their blessed wargear.

	All the while, Jeremiah and his brothers-in-arms fought with all the righteous fury and courage they could muster, slaying the animated earth beneath hoof, blade, and hammer alike. Despite their ferocity however, they remained in well-drilled formations, clearly fighting a defensive battle. As the battle raged onward, the Knight-Captain cursed the shortsightedness of his peers, charging out to face the enemy head on. They were not as men, they could not be routed or intimidated. No, they were constructs of dark magick,. and only by the dispelling of such magick, or the death of the caster would they truly fall. Another curse left his lips as he saw the massive ball of demoniacle energies which soared towards the Guild. 

	Though the magicks of their allies were a boon to them, the storm continued to rage, lightning rendering men to blackened husks, and birthing more creatures from the hardened earth. Jeremiah began to feel something, something pure and magnificent, awe inspiring and yet horrifying in its power. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, the surge of power from behind his lines proof to the ritual of the small Theurgist sect. It was obvious others felt it as well, many of his men began to cry out in the holy tongue, and the confessors wept as a rapture so divine overtook them. It was then the final incantation boomed above the sound of battle.
	
	"By our Word, we call forth the power of All.
	 By our Will we command it, 
	And by the holy names does it take form. 
	Descend from higher places, 
	And bring light to all who suffer in the dark. 
	Raziel, come forth!"
	
Blinding light pierced the dark thunderclouds above, and the Defenders and Scholars of the Consecrated Seal of Trismegestus cried out as one in joy, fury, and supplication. The great beam of light ended the unnatural storm, clouds fading beneath its magnificent radiance. What's more, it stood as a great barrier between Gargth's spell and its intended target, completely dissipating in a painful howl, utterly inhuman in nature. Shadowspawn reeled and crumbled before the light, squealing and mewling like frightened children Never did the light lessen, only did it change in form, from a pure beam from the heavens into something far more divine.

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	The angel stood there in the air, its wheels rotating and revolving around the center of light. Countless eyes stared down upon the mortals below, and those who were bold or foolish enough to look back found that their very souls could not be hidden from its gaze. However, its center-most eye, the most magnificent and radiant of them all, glared directly at Gargth. A voice, or perhaps a legion of voices assailed the dark wizard's mind, both beautiful and horrifying in their choir.
	
[i]"Look upon me, look into me, and thou will look into thyself. Know me to be the Truth you seek. Know that no sin escapes my gaze, and that words of penance fall upon mine eyes, not ears."[/i]
	
Within an instant it was gone, the blinding light vanished into the aether from whence it came.