The city of Miral was a booming city, a hubbub of trade and the capital of the kingdom of Eril. The walls were tall, foreboding, a promise of vengeance on any who might threaten its sturdy architecture. Within these walls, streets criss-crossed like a spider web, lined by sturdy houses, inns, taverns, shops.
At the centre of the city stood a large, circular plaza in which a truly magnificent building stood. Built of a pearl white stone with a seemingly gold-tiled roof, the building was a beacon both night and day. Stained glass windows adorned the walls and thick stone buttresses enforced the religious stability and security the building seemed to exude throughout the plaza.
In front of this church, a statue of a woman stood, her robes made of flowing marble, melding with jewel encrusted hair that came down to her back, her feet barely touching the ground, supported by two wings protruding from her back, feathers unerringly straight. The crown of her head was adorned with a tiara complete with diamonds while her two hands clasped each other in prayer.
It was here one night that two people came, strolling down the street without a care in the world.
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“So, he’s dead?” One asked, clad in the robes of a priest and yet with an aura of command and confidence.
“Yes, we found the phylactery.” The other replied, clothed instead in a dark leather armour, two sheathed swords held on her hip, a hand resting on the plain wrapped hilt of one, eyes glancing around as if daring someone to approach.
“I see. Was there anything else?” the first asked once again.
“Yes actually, there was a library.”
“A library? Hmm, unusual, but not unheard of. They often like writing texts about their discoveries.” The priest replied suddenly perking up, “Are the books at all accurate, do you know?”
The woman looked over at him as if incredulous. “Come now Alcaro, you think I would know anything about a Lich’s books? If anything, it seemed like a mages study rather than an evil lich’s home, which, considering his reputation, is not what I expected.”
“I assume you expected blood rituals and altars when you burst in? Perhaps a few cages, torture devices?” The man shook his head and chuckled before pushing open the doors of the church in the plaza.
“Oh, one more thing,” the woman said before the man could fully disappear into the recesses of the building, “We found a diary, I thought you might want a look at it.” Saying this, she took out a worn book that had obviously seen the test of years and handed it over.
“Most certainly; you know me too well.” He turned away but not before leaving a message hanging in the air, “Don’t die Cecelia.” The woman just smiled and left.