High Chancellor Grimwald sipped a hot cup of bergamot tea while staring out the side window of his horse drawn carriage. A red sun was just beginning to rise over Drezna, the capital city of Bohlkov. Sunlight washing through ornate stained-glass windows painted the streets with a full artist’s pallet of hues.

The cobblestone road ended abruptly, and the carriage skidded to a stop before a towering cathedral. His wrist jerked and a bit of tea escaped its porcelain prison, finding a new home on Grimwald’s fine politician’s overcoat. The High Chancellor cursed, dropping the teacup to the floor. Before he exited his carriage, he took one last glance at a wooden toy horse. Face turning soft like wet clay, he quickly tucked it away into his cloak and steeled his expression. With a nervous knock, servants opened the door to the transport in obedient silence, clearly hoping Grimwald wouldn’t beat them as payback for the rough ride. High Chancellor Grimwald stepped out onto an intricately woven red rug that led up to a set of granite steps with an immense oak door just beyond.

The cathedral featured prominent pointed arches that from the street appeared to reach up into the morning sky as if it were a bridge to the heavens. There were many wonderful buildings in Drezna, but this impressive structure made all the rest look like the slums of the Undercity. There was no snow on the ground like back in Cloudreach, but it was unmistakably cold. When Grimwald walked up the steps, he reflected on his decision to work with the Church of Embers, and he hated the ambitious man he had been a decade before. His visits to Bohlkov always made him feel a bit like a tight rope walker experiencing a bout of vertigo.

The doors opened and he followed the carpet into the building—inside hundreds of Bohlkovian citizens kneeled reciting prayers to the Lord of Embers.

Walls lined with elaborate and colorful glass windows depicted the origin stories of the religion dating back thousands of years. Grand columns flanked the carpet leading all the way to an extravagant pulpit. Flying buttresses protruded inward from the domed roof with iron gibbet cages hanging down from them. Inside of the cages were elves with heavy iron masks bolted over their faces. The masks were sculpted to ensure the unfortunate wearers resembled demons. These malnourished elves were a parable to the congregation of how the Lord of Embers punished enemies of the faith.

When High Chancellor Grimwald reached the pulpit, he got on his knees and bowed low, touching his forehead to the stone floor. The bear of a Bohlkovian man leading the congregation was Divine Prophet Alexander Venyov. He wore a sturdy suit of plate mail with a red tabard draped over it and he had a crimson tattoo of the sun around his left eye.

“You may rise, Chancellor.” Venyov said. Grimwald rose to his feet, dusting his robe off and standing at attention. “How are our affairs in Cloudreach progressing?”

“Everything is moving along as planned, my lord. Denethor is beginning to crack. I’ve taken steps to ensure the situation in the Undercity is increasingly volatile, just as I assured you I would.”

“We will require more amethite if we’re to finally wipe out the elven heathens. Tyriel and his rabble refuse to fight with honor. They ambush our supply trains, attack in the dead of night, and kill innocent famers. Each day he draws breath is an affront to the Lord of Embers.”

High Chancellor Grimwald shifted side to side nervously. “Of course, my lord. I brought as much as I could this trip without Denethor noticing. My servants will bring it in from the carriage.”

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The Divine Prophet turned away looking out a stained-glass window. “You were to send regular shipments. What you’ve managed thus far is pitiful. It would be quite a shame if Albie were to suffer an unfortunate accident. The boys home can be a dangerous place afterall… ”

“Yes, my lord. My caravans have been ambushed as of late. But I’ve dealt with the problem. Regular shipments should resume shortly. Y…y…you know I can do better.” Stuttered Grimwald, wrinkled lips pursing like worms.

Venyov turned back around, looking down at the elderly Grimwald. The Divine Prophets vast blue eyes made Grimwald feel as if he were drowning. “Ensure they do. The Lord of Embers won’t be pleased if you fail him again.” The Divine Prophet looked up at the caged elves overhead and put his hands together in a gesture of prayer. “The Lord of Embers has a way of making life very uncomfortable for those who displease him.”

High Chancellor Grimwald glanced up at the moaning captives and begun sweating uncontrollably. Not for the first time he questioned his decision to ever get involved with the Church of Embers. He cursed the ambition of his past self, but there was no turning back now, he was in too deep to ever believe he could escape. “If the lord wills it, m…m…might it be possible for me to see my son while I’m in Drezna?”

“I’m afraid that is not possible at this time. The lord’s will requires you return to Cloudreach at once.”

For a moment Grimwald’s temper threatened to overtake him. With a deep breath, he steadied his quivering voice. “Y…y…yes, my lord. I will ensure his will be done. Provided regular shipments are resumed, am I to proceed with the next step of his divine plan?”

The Divine Prophet Alexander Venyov looked up and closed his eyes. What felt like an eternity passed as the congregation watched, jaws agape, without warning Venyov’s body began convulsing violently. He resembled a man struck by lightning Grimwald thought, though truthfully, he’d never seen anyone hit by lightning.

The prophet spat an incoherent string of vowels and consonants before recoiling like he had just taken a punch from the nastiest street-boxer in the Undercity. A woman giving away golden coins wouldn’t have been able to divert the attention of the citizens in the cathedral. They shared looks of wonder and elation at the notion they would be privileged enough to witness something truly divine and unexplainable. The envy their friends and family would feel when they told them would be absolute.

Old Grimwald knew better, he knew that Venyov was like a cold, calculated puppet master, pulling the strings and watching his puppets dance. Grimwald had known Venyov’s father, Kyir, and he was a hard but fair man. Kyir had also utilized religion to control his people, and Grimwald never resented him for it, after all there were many ways to rule a kingdom. When Kyir died in an unexpected hunting accident, Alexander inherited the throne.

Grimwald could remember the day he received the news. He had been sipping wine imported from across the sea at an engineer’s guild gala. Grimwald could remember the bitter taste of the drink and how he had debated Kelin Granhois about what kind of king Alexander would be. Watching the terrifying scene playing out around him, Grimwald wondered how the shards he could’ve been so wrong.

Once the frenzy of the crowd reached its peak, Venyov stood still as stone and addressed his flock, “Our Lord of Embers has spoken. We commence Operation: Parasite.”