From the cliffs he could see them arrayed below like toy soldiers, perfect and gleaming in ranks. A small smile tugged at the corner of his scarred mouth as memories of belonging and family ghosted through his mind. He could see the inner circle before the ranks, no doubt addressing them in some ceremony or other. Vaknor had always been one for ceremony, more so than he could stomach sometimes but for all that he still loved him. Loved them all, to be honest to the Light, and that made what was to come all the harder.
Sunlight glinted off polished and barding, the ranks of Templars more than ever seemed like true vessels of the Light. Aye, true they were, pious, holy, zealous and free of doubt. Long gone were the days he could think himself free of doubt. Gone too were the days he could truly count himself one of their number. A lifetime walking the shadows had not tainted him, no this was something that had long been written in his destiny. His struggle for redemption had been long and bloody and was finally at an end. The sins of the past must finally be atoned for.
The wind dragged a ragged cheer from the serried ranks below up to his ears. A slight young figure had stepped forward, bearing the Holy Standard of the Order and the assembled Brothers and Sisters had reacted as though an Angel of the Light walked amongst them. He could see the distant figure of Evangelist, arms spread wide in benediction alongside Castorr and Tokken. Even now, a pale hate washed through him at the sight of the Scion. But it was a tired and weak hatred. The Tree...the Tree had taken everything from him. Wrists still ached in the cold air and remembered the harsh kiss of the iron spikes. He was unsure how long he had hung there, how long the iron had tethered him to the gnarled trunk of the withered Tree, but however long it had been it had stripped everything from him. No longer a Templar, no longer the Edge of Hate, he was simply...done.
There. His closest Brother. Dear Azeem, impassive and huge, mounted next to the Lord Militant. He knew that Azeem alone would not be cheering, that his dark features would be scanning the faces of all present. The Shadowbane would always be seperate to the ranks, always distant from the Fraternity. In truth, he had sometimes walked that road too far, had purposefully turned away from the hand of comradeship, but his sins would not allow him the comfort of friendship.
He pushed back the rough leather hood and unclasped the cloak, letting it fall away. He was barechested, arms and torso riven with scars, gaunt and emaciated from the crucifixtion. The chill wind bit at him, leached away what little warmth remained in his bones. She moved up behid him, lay one grave-cool hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. To say he had not expected this was a lie, he had known for a long time that they would meet again. He nodded at her words and dropped to his knees. Looked to the sky and the Light. The Order filled his memories and then...he was ready. In truth he had always been ready been ready, his whole life from that one night long ago had been a journey to this one point.
His sister raised her Runeblade, sunlight glinted once from the razor edge and then it fell...
And Cartheron Desant Severus smiled.
Subject: Order Of Illumination - ENdings and Beginnings 
