#60 The Council of Beauvoir

July 17, 2021

#60 The Council of Beauvoir

The rain was lashing down upon the ancient shingles of Barfunweltz Manse. In a ground floor room, a cold fire burned green in the soot-blackened hearth. Three mismatched figures sat silently before the grate - an elderly lady, a blond girl and a hooded man with dirty bandages covering his eyes.

Without warning, the front door flew open and rain splashed across the threshold. An elegant figure strode imperiously into the room, shedding her sodden travelling cloak onto the floor and stepping gracefully into the firelight.

"Lady Beauvoir, welcome back!" exclaimed the girl.

"Anya. Paule," She acknowledged each member of her inner coven with a curt nod. "And I see our blind necromancer has ventured forth from his cell too."

The Hermit of Barfunweltz bowed his head solemnly, while the other two flashed fanged, vampiric smiles. Anya handed Beauvoir a large goblet of thick red liquid which she swiftly drained. Her young handmaiden already had another cup ready for her.

"Ah..." sighed Lady Beauvoir licking her lips, "I have missed my cellar." Her eyes flashed momentarily before she composed herself again. "Are we expecting the Pontifex?"

"He is off 'crusading', my Lady," sneered Anya Liedl, "A necromancer known as the Missioner returned to Barfunweltz and suggested he might spread his power further afield." Beside her, the Hermit's shoulders seemed to stiffen a little. "We rarely see him now, for he is determined to prosecute the Way of the Rose far and wide beyond this land."

Lady Beauvoir raised an eyebrow, though her expression seemed to be one of respect rather than her usual disdain for religious fervour. "Have there been any other significant developments in my absence?"

Paule Weiß looked angry and a little uncomfortable. "Well my lady, I regret to inform you that I am no longer accepted as Marchioness among the Freeguilders of Glymmsforge. The Gravewalkers' Lord-Relictor saw to that!" she spat.

"Yes," drawled Beauvoir, who seemed rather amused. "I heard about that. You made a quite a scene I believe? I wish I could have been there! But it matters not, we have sufficient concerns elsewhere to keep you busy. What news of the Procession of the Foolish Martyrs?"

"Our Lady of the Rose has not been sighted for a while," replied Weiß, "but she has taken control of the gheists through a few key individuals. The Baptist has attacked the Gravewalkers repeatedly, apparently in search of something - or someone."

"What about the Raptured Court and Reformed Society?"

This time the Hermit replied: "The Flesh-Eaters continue their holy war, as does the Reformed Society -”

"What is that?" interrupted Lady Beauvoir with a snigger. From the shadowed corner of the room, a strange undead construct had appeared - the skull of some great beast scuttling on prehensile teeth.

"I took the liberty of broadening Anya's education," answered Weiß. "Her work on the Reformed Society has been prolific, but really, deadwalkers are not becoming for a Lady of the Legion of Blood. I have been instructing her in the mysteries of deathrattle animation."

"Yes, that is seemly Paule." Lady Beauvoir brushed a cold hand across Anya's eternally young cheek. "It is time the three of us lived up to our proper status as the Saviours of Barfunweltz. I am wearied by my travels, but our ascension will come in time."

Anya and Paule exchanged fleeting glances. "But my Lady, you have yet to tell us of your journeys in Ghyran. Did you find what you sought?"

Lady Beauvoir settled sedately into a chair next to the cold, emerald flames of the fire. "Since you ask me for the tale of my pilgrimage..."

Lady Beauvoir & her Coven (counts as Prince Duvalle & The Crimson Court) with The Hermit (necromancer)

As Lady Beauvoir recounted her adventures in Ghyran, Anya listened in rapt silence. Born and brought up in the slums of Glymmsforge and only granted the blood kiss recently (by the measure of eternal Soulblights at least), the young vampire felt acutely aware that she had never left the Realm of Death - or even strayed far beyond the bounds of Barfunweltz. Her powers were growing and she wanted to spread her wings and perform great deeds. Even as she listened, she planned her rise to power.

Paule Weiß was also intent on her Lady's words. Infected with the Soulblight curse whilst afflicted with the doctrinal delusions of the False Apostle, the former Marchioness had always retained some of her religious inclinations. The tales of Beauvoir's pilgrimage and her theological musings stirred Paule's former pietism. Ancient zeal swelled her cold, dead heart.

“...and so my pilgrimage has been a triumph! This wight, the King of Thorns, whom I have brought back with me, is without doubt another 'Petal of the Rose' - fourth of the five shards of the soul of Gulaab Kaphool.” Beauvoir smiled triumphantly, enjoying the expressions of admiration on her Coven members’ faces.

“The Pontifex (curse his equivocation) hinted some time ago that the secret lay in the emblem of the rose: five petals you see, always five. There are five soul shards and we now know four of them: the King of Thorns, plus the three that were once united in the False Apostle - Pontifex, False Messiah and whatever remains in the Empty Hearse.

The known Petals of the Rose

"So the heart of the mystery is solved, yet so many questions remain: For a start, I wish to know what Soulblight granted the blood kiss to the Mad Kaphool, after Nagash had shattered his soul. As a vampire, Mad Kaphool renamed himself The Paladin, and later the False Apostle. But who was his progenitor? For the Pontifex Surrexit will likely show traits of his blood ancestry and feel drawn to that dynasty. If it is not our own Legion of Blood, we may find others believing they have a to claim the Cinquefoil.”

“His battle stratagems might suggest the Legion of Night, my Lady,” interjected Anya, with a scowl.

"Indeed?” Beauvoir paused for a moment in thought.

“But we digress. It is clear to me now that it was the previous shattering of his soul that rendered The Paladin's Soulblight nature vulnerable to the Abhorrent curse when he fought the Blisterskin Sawl Gizzardspittle." Beauvoir chuckled to herself at the irony that the blood-father of the False Messiah was now his thrall. "I am sure the Queen of Mysteries will be pleased to hear how the unique phenomenon of a Soulblight-Abhorrent occurred." Privately, she wondered whether Neferata might even grant her some reward.

Anya was on the edge of her seat and could not restrain her interruption. "My Lady! You are saying there is yet a fifth shard unaccounted for?"

"Yes indeed, you clever girl," Beauvoir smiled indulgently, "So the biggest question is: where is the Fifth Petal of the Rose? At what point was he separated? At the same time as the King of Thorns? Or after Mad Kaphool received the blood kiss and became the Paladin? Perhaps he still resides within the Empty Hearse, or did he escape unnoticed when either the False Messiah or the Pontifex were released from it? Maybe it is nothing more than a formless soul fragment? Has it simply been destroyed? Or taken by Nagash for his own purposes?"

Beauvoir sighed. "I confess there is much we do not yet know, but I believe it has been granted to us to find the Fifth Petal of the Rose. Remember the prophecy:

The bud shall bloom

With petals five

But petals all shall fall.

When petals reunited are

Then blooms the grave cinquefoil."

Anya, Paule and the Hermit stared at Beauvoir in stunned silence. Here was their purpose, their quest: to discover the Fifth Petal; to reunite the 'Grave Cinquefoil' and watch it 'bloom'. To see the prophecy fulfilled.

* * *

Outside Barfunweltz Manse, the rain continued to fall in torrents in the darkness. Its noise on the shingles masked the sound of the creature perched upon the highest roof, water streaming off a nightmarish form. Elohiim crouched unseen and unheard; his preternatural hearing had missed none of Beauvoir's tale. He sensed his moment was approaching...