Arcanous watched the smoke rise in the distance with a disgusted glare. Having lived in Silsun his whole life, he knew what that meant. It was a bonfire by the Borlasians. They were celebrating their four hundred year-old occupation of Silmoon. Even from the great distance, Arcanous could see the large crescent that made up the city.
The Sil Cities were legendary for their history. The three cities, Silsun, Silmoon, and Silstar, were the three largest cities in all Heranin for a time. They had been the center of Valdaria for ages. As Arcanous looked around, he could only imagine their previous glory. The Sil Cities had lost much of their size and power over the centuries, only enhanced by the capture of Silmoon and Silstar by the Borlasians. However, all put into consideration, they still had a feel of sanctity and a hold over the people.
Shaking his head, Arcanous walked away from his window and toward his bed. It had been a long day. A few courageous, or rather stupid, young soldiers thought they could take a warlock prisoner. Arcanous quietly asked the light for forgiveness as he looked back on the experience. He’d cursed many times when they returned, first at their stupidity, then at the realization of a more serious problem. They reported they’d encountered nothing, a clear lie to one who noticed their wounds. However, after a few key questions and a great amount of experienced guessing, Arcanous concluded they had been possessed. After a few quick exorcisms and a smiting, both with his faith and a little with a stick he found on the ground, they went on their way, a little wiser to the world they lived in.
That was his job. Arcanous was a priest of the light. He was to watch over the people. Healing was the basic job of a priest, but Arcanous specialized in the more spiritual side of things. He could heal a wound as well as any, but when it came to exorcisms and smiting, Arcanous was the best. He could notice a weak spirit a mile away, according to some. He preferred to think the only reason he was better was no one else cared to look that same mile. Still, with his practice and experience, he couldn’t deny it any longer. He was the High Priest.
The High Priest was nearly the equivalent to a king. It wasn’t the exact same. Aldorn III was the king. He held absolute authority over the nation. He was the leader of the armies, representative of the kingdom, and the head of the Church of Light. Formally, the Valdarian kings led the church and its actions. In reality, though, it was the High Council.
The High Council was made up by three specialties: Warrior, Priest, and Interpreter. The High Warrior was second in command of the armies, the High Priest was second in authority over the church, and the High Interpreter was the leader of the spy networks and foreign relations. The king held a spot in the High Council, but usually allowed it to lead itself. In his absence, the High Priest led the council and, by doing so, led the church.
Arcanous never had wanted this job. He hated the stuffiness of the High Priest’s quarters. Had he not his private combat training, he suspected he’d die from the boredom of the job. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to help the people. He loved the Valdarian people with all his heart. It was the fact that his new “job” required him to speak, not do. So, occasionally, he’d abandon his quarters and formal responsibilities to go heal a few soldiers or even fight alongside his fellow priests.
It had been a tough day. So, in exhaustion, and satisfaction of having done something, Arcanous went to bed.
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