The Scrutator Semper Chronicles VII

Chapter One: The Relics of Saint Malathric

Part Seven: Following the Trail

“‘Stop! Here; this is the place.’

Grand Scrutator Alphonse Severius pointed a gloved finger at a nearby copse of trees. His troops watched while the workmen they had brought with them hefted shovels, picks and other tools and went to regard the situation. After a short while, their foreman returned. The morning sun glinted off his bald head as he rubbed his jaw.

‘My lord, how far down would you say these items are buried? We may need most of the day if we have to uproot a tree or two.’

Severius waved his hands to dismiss the man. ‘Then begin now! It will take as long as it takes, no service is too great or small in the service of the Lawgiver. This is the spot, mark my words!’

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The Scrutator Semper Chronicles V

Chapter One: The Relics of Saint Malathric

Part Five: It’s Strong, And It’s Sudden, And It’s Cruel Sometimes…

The field guns thundered, and the Menite camp was sundered by concussive blasts. The gun crews paused as their officer sighted down a telescope. There were still pavilions left standing, even as others were consumed in flames. He raised a hand, and the gun crews went about their work, priming the huge cannons and loading them, soon ready to fire again. He dropped his hand, and the volley roared forth. To the west of the artillery in the foothills that surrounded Tighrael there was a rustle of undergrowth and the sound of boots moving quickly. This strikeforce of Exemplars, led by High Exemplar Gavram Kreoss, had left their camp under cover of darkness, leaving most of the tents still standing but empty as a prime target for the enemy guns.

The Exemplars sally forth!

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The Scrutator Semper Chronicles III

Chapter One: The Relics of Saint Malathric

Part Three: The Standoff at Tighrael

“The weak winter sun reached its zenith as the Errant phalanx moved into position behind the abandoned shell of the clocktower. They were the forerunners for the small exploratory force, sent to see how far the Cygnarans had taken control of the town, known as Tighrael in ages before. Now it was nothing, just a collection of ramshackle buildings that even the rats had abandoned. Grass grew waist-high in the streets, heavy with frost, and the Errants took full advantage. Their white armour and chainmail belied their ability to move in silence and blend in to their surroundings. They hunkered down against a collapsed wall and waited.

After a few minutes’ wait the forward scout of these forerunners returned to his brothers-in-arms. He emerged from a clump of grass running and bent almost double, keeping his head below any windows that might give him away. He stopped beside the phalanx leader, and whispered urgently into her ear. She risked a glance over a nearby window sill, off to the southwest. Sure enough, a faraway flash of blue confirmed the report, and soon the telltale clank-clank-hiss of a warjack carried on the afternoon air. The Cygnarans were on their way.

She swept her hand back towards the north, the way they had come, and the phalanx was on the move once more. Keeping the clocktower between them and any keen-eyed Cygnarans, they hit the tall grasses on a near rise and disappeared from sight.”

The Menites surge into Tighrael to find the sacred relics.

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