Our story begins in the heart of a Germany divided, when it was still
ruled by many kings. We bear witness to the year 860 A.D. when the first
of a fateful series of events occurred, the beginning of a chain that
stretches through to our present time.
Deep beneath a small house near Hildesheim belonging to a former bishop, preparations which would have met with the absolute disapproval of the Lord were taking place. Two figures, with their noble, exalted calling long out of sight, busied themselves setting up a forbidden ritual in the vaults of the house. Only their outfits gave away any hint that they were linked to the monastery. Both men, while different in age, had on the cowl and the cross that marked their former profession.
The older of the two preferred to be addressed by his Christian name, which he continued to maintain, although Brother Artimus had long been ejected from his order. His ambition, which far exceeded the bounds of research permitted by Christian doctrine, had been a constant source of difficulty. The abbot who had mentored him was less dogmatic than many of his contemporaries. Very early on, Brother Artimus had learned from him that the doctrines of the Church were not to be taken as immovable pillars. One accursed night, the abbot and his pupil Artimus attempted to disprove that the holy power was beyond possible threats. The abbot had attempted to conjure a Homunculus, but was discovered before he could finish his spell. His brothers in the order had exacted a terrible cost from him for this audacity, burning him at the stake. Brother Artimus, on the other hand, was forgiven but had to choose between spending the next few years in captivity with self-flagellation and compulsory study of the scriptures or the immediate exile from monastery and order.
Brother Artimus did not need to consider for long. He chose exile. In the fifteen years since he had left the order, he had been ceaselessly gathering knowledge of the dark arts, following in the footsteps of his mentor. However, Artimus went about it far more cautiously than his unfortunate mentor once did. The panic on the face of the Abbot haunted Artimus daily, and he sought to avoid that end. He had greater goals to fulfill than what his mentor once had in mind. He wanted to summon a daemon in front of his Holiness, the Pope, and destroy it shortly thereafter. This would, he hoped, make the blinded religious leaders recognise their error and rebuild the Church from the ground up with the aid of his experience. Then they would be suitably prepared for attacks from servants of darkness. He and his abbot would be rehabilitated and beatified. Perhaps, thought Artimus, they might even make him Pope - Brother Artimus, Protector of the Faith, the almighty Church and proven warrior against evil. He liked that thought.
There he stood, deep beneath the derelict ruins of a former monastery. It had been a long and treacherous path to get there. Silently, he watched the backs of the other monks as they went about their business. Brother Septimus, his polar opposite. Septimus had once also been excommunicated from the Church, but for vastly different reasons. Septimus had a weakness for too much wine and very young women. It was his only motivation for his time with the Church, easy access to both of these things. Septimus was quickly forced to realise, however, that while there were circumstances under which drunkenness and sloth would be tolerated, the pregnancies of young apprentices would not. It was with supreme effort that Septimus managed to make his escape.
One day, while on his journeys, he came across Brother Artimus. Septimus may have been chilled to the bone by stories Artimus shared about conjuring dark creatures, but he saw the possibility. A servant that could deliver him countless virgins and exotic wines on demand. This idea appealed to Septimus, and was the reason for his decision to stay with Artimus as an apprentice.
Brother Artimus was not unaware of the desires of his disciple. He had to keep Septimus within reach at all times. One act of negligence from his disciple could mean much worse than just failure. Artimus knew about the dark powers and their dangers. On his journeys, he had seen the consequences of negligence. Artimus had been a witness at a conjuring. A satanic cult had wanted to summon a lower demon, and yet foolishly sought celestial support from a priest. He happened to be the one they chose. Artimus kept the cultists unaware that he had long been exiled by the order; and that he, should they succeed, had no idea how to tame a demon.
The conjuring succeeded. The creature, summoned from the depths of Hell, looked just like a rat. Except this rat was as large as a calf, and had wings. The cultists had prepared wards of banishment in a circle around the creature, but had not thought to seal it in from above.
There are a few rules which must be followed when summoning a demonic creature:
1. Never conjure a higher creature.
2. Make absolutely sure that the summoning takes place in an enclosed space.
3. Prepare sufficient defensive spells (below, over and around the summoned creature.)
4. Never underestimate the cunning of a creature.
The summoning of the corrupted rat-creature took place in the ruins of a chapel. None of the cultists wanted to risk breaking their necks in the treacherous crevices of some cavern. That error, on hindsight, was a grave one. The creature swept upwards, high over the cultists and the circled wards, obscuring the only exit in the room with its monstrous bulk. None of the cultists were spared the demon's wrath as it broke neck after neck. Finally, as it turned to face Brother Artimus, preparing to send him after the unfortunate cultists, the rat demon dissolved into a pile of dust.
It was years before Brother Artimus discovered the reason: the larger a creature is at the beginning, the less time it has in our world. In the case of the rat demon, it had had enough time to end the lives of the six careless summoners. Just as it was about to the same to him, its time was up.
Many years had passed since the dark incident. Artimus had gathered more knowledge. He would never let the cultist disaster repeat itself, except of course if Brother Septimus were to do something catastrophically stupid.
Deep beneath a small house near Hildesheim belonging to a former bishop, preparations which would have met with the absolute disapproval of the Lord were taking place. Two figures, with their noble, exalted calling long out of sight, busied themselves setting up a forbidden ritual in the vaults of the house. Only their outfits gave away any hint that they were linked to the monastery. Both men, while different in age, had on the cowl and the cross that marked their former profession.
The older of the two preferred to be addressed by his Christian name, which he continued to maintain, although Brother Artimus had long been ejected from his order. His ambition, which far exceeded the bounds of research permitted by Christian doctrine, had been a constant source of difficulty. The abbot who had mentored him was less dogmatic than many of his contemporaries. Very early on, Brother Artimus had learned from him that the doctrines of the Church were not to be taken as immovable pillars. One accursed night, the abbot and his pupil Artimus attempted to disprove that the holy power was beyond possible threats. The abbot had attempted to conjure a Homunculus, but was discovered before he could finish his spell. His brothers in the order had exacted a terrible cost from him for this audacity, burning him at the stake. Brother Artimus, on the other hand, was forgiven but had to choose between spending the next few years in captivity with self-flagellation and compulsory study of the scriptures or the immediate exile from monastery and order.
Brother Artimus did not need to consider for long. He chose exile. In the fifteen years since he had left the order, he had been ceaselessly gathering knowledge of the dark arts, following in the footsteps of his mentor. However, Artimus went about it far more cautiously than his unfortunate mentor once did. The panic on the face of the Abbot haunted Artimus daily, and he sought to avoid that end. He had greater goals to fulfill than what his mentor once had in mind. He wanted to summon a daemon in front of his Holiness, the Pope, and destroy it shortly thereafter. This would, he hoped, make the blinded religious leaders recognise their error and rebuild the Church from the ground up with the aid of his experience. Then they would be suitably prepared for attacks from servants of darkness. He and his abbot would be rehabilitated and beatified. Perhaps, thought Artimus, they might even make him Pope - Brother Artimus, Protector of the Faith, the almighty Church and proven warrior against evil. He liked that thought.
There he stood, deep beneath the derelict ruins of a former monastery. It had been a long and treacherous path to get there. Silently, he watched the backs of the other monks as they went about their business. Brother Septimus, his polar opposite. Septimus had once also been excommunicated from the Church, but for vastly different reasons. Septimus had a weakness for too much wine and very young women. It was his only motivation for his time with the Church, easy access to both of these things. Septimus was quickly forced to realise, however, that while there were circumstances under which drunkenness and sloth would be tolerated, the pregnancies of young apprentices would not. It was with supreme effort that Septimus managed to make his escape.
One day, while on his journeys, he came across Brother Artimus. Septimus may have been chilled to the bone by stories Artimus shared about conjuring dark creatures, but he saw the possibility. A servant that could deliver him countless virgins and exotic wines on demand. This idea appealed to Septimus, and was the reason for his decision to stay with Artimus as an apprentice.
Brother Artimus was not unaware of the desires of his disciple. He had to keep Septimus within reach at all times. One act of negligence from his disciple could mean much worse than just failure. Artimus knew about the dark powers and their dangers. On his journeys, he had seen the consequences of negligence. Artimus had been a witness at a conjuring. A satanic cult had wanted to summon a lower demon, and yet foolishly sought celestial support from a priest. He happened to be the one they chose. Artimus kept the cultists unaware that he had long been exiled by the order; and that he, should they succeed, had no idea how to tame a demon.
The conjuring succeeded. The creature, summoned from the depths of Hell, looked just like a rat. Except this rat was as large as a calf, and had wings. The cultists had prepared wards of banishment in a circle around the creature, but had not thought to seal it in from above.
There are a few rules which must be followed when summoning a demonic creature:
1. Never conjure a higher creature.
2. Make absolutely sure that the summoning takes place in an enclosed space.
3. Prepare sufficient defensive spells (below, over and around the summoned creature.)
4. Never underestimate the cunning of a creature.
The summoning of the corrupted rat-creature took place in the ruins of a chapel. None of the cultists wanted to risk breaking their necks in the treacherous crevices of some cavern. That error, on hindsight, was a grave one. The creature swept upwards, high over the cultists and the circled wards, obscuring the only exit in the room with its monstrous bulk. None of the cultists were spared the demon's wrath as it broke neck after neck. Finally, as it turned to face Brother Artimus, preparing to send him after the unfortunate cultists, the rat demon dissolved into a pile of dust.
It was years before Brother Artimus discovered the reason: the larger a creature is at the beginning, the less time it has in our world. In the case of the rat demon, it had had enough time to end the lives of the six careless summoners. Just as it was about to the same to him, its time was up.
Many years had passed since the dark incident. Artimus had gathered more knowledge. He would never let the cultist disaster repeat itself, except of course if Brother Septimus were to do something catastrophically stupid.
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