As the first rays of the sun began to creep over the far horizon, the city of Lithmore slept. the streets were deserted this early hour save the occasional early traveller, or the merchant setting up his shop for the day. All was as it should, should be save for the great crimson flow that now stretched across Church Square. It was the Great Holy Synod, all the bishops and archbishops of the Holy Church were gathered here, in one place, and among them was Bishop Benedictus Piuso of Lithmore. It was deathly quiet.
Slowly, solemnly, the bells of the Cathedral began to toll as the procession began to move forward like a great flame slowly moving into the Church. Bene mounted the steps, his hands folded before him as they moved through the doors. He could see far at the head of the group, a paled body that was all too familiar: Cardinal Zinadya Tartaryn: a spiritual mother, mentor, and friend. She had been embalmed and now made her last journey as Cardinal of Lithmore through the Church she once guided so well. The moved through the great stone expanse, sweeping tumbling Eld about them. They pass by the Fountis and to the altar, stripped bare in mourning. The only light was by a single tall candle standing behind a great chair, the Cathedra of Lithmore, which now lay empty. Carefully, Bene found his seat, near the back of the area as was customary for the junior prelates, and waited. A thin, aged man got up to speak, dressed in the scarlet and gold of an archbishop. He gave a sermon, instructing them to the grave task they undertook. Lithmore only nearly had a King and Patriarch, and now it was deprived of its Cardinal. He or she who was picked would profoundly effect not only the future of the Church, but of Lithmore as well. There was a great solemnity to this.. naturally.
Then the debates began. Each bishop and archbishop, sitting in their spots began to speak at once. Chaos. Each advocated their own way, though one topic seemed to be central on the floor: the issue of the King. “He is not of Dav!” one prelate yelled, an elderly fellow from the south of Lithmore. “And the Lord Justiciar to boot! And he presumes to rule this Church?” he shakes his head, about him many nodded in agreement, “What we need is a man willing to take the Church on its own terms, not those of a King, one who shall not fixate on Davism, but on the religion as a whole.” At this, whispers began to ripple through the Synod, one word was on everyone’s lips: ‘Purist.’ Bene shifts in his chair, he doesn’t seem to mind this in the least. “The Patriarchate must return to the Church.” the bishop concludes, “And we must elect a Cardinal who can secure it for us.”
The first vote was called. As the paper ballots were counted one by one: no consensus. More debate. A second vote, no consensus. Things were becoming increasingly tense in the chamber two candidates had a lead: Piet ab Dome, and Archbishop from the South of Lithmore. He was an orthodox Davist, strong in Faith, stern, and had served in the Inquisition for the majority of his career. He had a small lead, though not the 2/3 required. The second was Bishop Atheln ab Deler, one of the rural bishops of Lithmore. He was a bit younger, had also served as an Inquisitor, and was a Purist. He was known for his openness, not to anything heretical per-say, but the willingness to work without the Inquisition in many moral affairs. The bickering between the two factions were coming to a peak: “We need experience!” the ab Dome supporters yelled “A man who will stand up and promote the Inquisition. Its absolutely necessary.” The ab Deler supporters countered “The Church is now known only by the Inquisition! We must not lose track of our real goal: the salvation of souls. The laity will react better to a more tender hand.” More yelling. Bene had voted for ab Dome in the first vote and abstained in the second. He was becoming increasingly disillusioned with the prelate, however. Far too full of himself, not good for the Church. As the yelling continued, Bene dismissed himself, falling back to the Sanctum Chapel. With a sigh, he sat before the statue and prayed. “O Zinadya, why did you have to go.. When we needed a strong leader the most, you left. What are we to do?” He put his head in his hands. He heard the signal for another vote. He would abstain this one again. A few moment passed, and the yelling took up again, no consensus. The debate continued and Bene continued to pray. An hour or so passed and he felt a soft touch on the shoulder, “Your Grace?” He looked back to a small acolyte, “Your Grace?” “Yes?” “You should know, Your Grace.” “Know what?” “The Synod-Dean wishes to speak with you. In private.” “Yes, yes, have him come here.”
The Synod-Dean entered, an older cleric with a kindly face. He sat down next to Bene and smiled, “Piuso. I have something you must consider.” “Yes, Eminence?” “There has been a secret election. We have a two-thirds majority, though it won’t be put in the next vote.. not until we speak with the proper persons.” “And I’m a ‘proper person’?” “Yes.” “Who is it then?” There was a long pause, “Your Grace, we have spoken, and its a new candidate. We think we need a new face to the chair. We need someone young, someone idealistic. Your Grace, the Synod is prepared to elect you Cardinal of Lithmore.” “Come again?” “Your Grace, you are to be elected.” “Then I will not accept.” “Your Grace, do not jump to so quick a conclusion. This deal has been secured very delicately. You shall push this on for weeks, months even. The Church must have her leader.” “But why me?” “The Lord has chosen.” “How can you be sure?” “Pray, child. You shall know.”
There was silence as Bene prayed before the statue, one of the first great Cardinals. He prayed, he cried. It was some time before he had his decision. Stepping out to the altar, all eyes were on him. The Synod-Dean stepped forward. “Bishop Benedictus Piuso. This Holy and Great Synod has reached its decision. Shall you accept the mantle of the Cardinalate?” “I- I shall.” Those words, two small words. Suddenly, the entire Synod seemed to collapse. Every Bishop and Archbishop fell to his knees before a man far younger than many there. In silence, he took his seat upon the Cathedra. It was not a comfortable chair, well enough, no prelate should be comfortable. He must always remember the punishment he shall face for laxity. One by one, they all came forward and knelt at his feet. They whispered counsels and fealties. They would serve him until the end. Bene stood to leave, he had now to announce his election. His hand moving in blessing, he began to make his way down the nave. Church bells rang high above. He knew that the call would be spread throughout the kingdom. Soon, every bell would ring as one. Now was supposed to be a time of joy. As he came to the doors of the Cathedral. He finished the ceremony, he knelt at them and prayed, Then, as he rose, a Priest held before him straw which ignited and fell to the floor, “So, Your Holiness, passes the glory of this Urth. Pray, do not succumb to it.” The doors opened and blinding sunlight cut through the Cathedral.
