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The Story:
The catacombs could not be reached, except through a door in the inner room that only the priest could unlock. And he wasn’t exactly the priest’s favorite person.
He let the palm of his hand graze the top of each pew as he walked down the side aisle. The feel of the wood reminded him of what it was like to sit in those pews as a boy, listening to the same tired sermon he’d already heard hundreds of times. The priest didn’t like him then either.
Candlelight illuminated the windows of a room in the back. That’s where he had to go.
The door to the room was cracked open, allowing the candlelight to bleed out. When he pushed open the door, the priest sat at a desk, writing, his quill wiggling feverishly.
“Hello, sir,” he said to the priest.
“I expected you earlier,” the priest snapped as he continued writing.
He sighed at how time seems to leave unchanged only that which makes for cruel irony later.
“I need to speak with Sir Faleur.”
“Well, that would require passage into the catacombs and a communion with the dead, both of which require me. Seeing as how you’re you, I’m going to have to say no.”
Like everyone else in the world, he knew that the priest wanted something. He had rarely met a hatred that couldn’t be remedied by a humiliation of the hated. It was crucial that he speak with Sir Faleur.
“What is it you want?”
The priest looked up at him and smiled.
“Is that your grandfather’s sword on your hip, Eglin?”
“It’s Sir Eglin. And yes, but you have no use for a sword.”
“On the contrary, it belongs with our relics. It’s been on our list for some time.”
His grandfather had won the sword in a tournament. It had become part of his family and an extension of himself. But the sword wouldn’t matter, not even his life, if he didn’t speak to Sir Faleur.
“Very well.”
He slammed his sword down on the table. The priest lightly touched it, awed that he had acquired the legendary sword of the Eglin family.
“Alright, Sir Eglin. Let’s visit the catacombs.”
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