Prudence Over Wisdom

The Archangel of Wisdom, Maltheal. The Font of Knowledge, Hallowed Curator, Mentor of Heroes and of the Highest Seat of the Celestial Court. In his veracity and his sanctity, it was impossible for the denizens of Arcadia, even among his most cherished Archangels, that evil and twisted will could sully and wretch such a being of light from grace into such foul abandonment of what he had once nurtured and cherished. Only by the perseverance and leadership offered by Imperious, Arch Angel of Valour, could all others even hope for peace to return. For in his spurned state, Maltheal had driven more and more of Arcadian society into the demented reality to which he now perceived the world. The stalwarts of Valour spurned on by the call of their lord, their god, led the forces of Arcadia against the grasp of demonic and intangible grasp of Maltheal’s poison and corruption. After years of strife, war, fury and death, the battle was one by the denizens of light. It is known that Imperious laid Maltheal to rest. Although it is not a day that Imperious speaks often off. Imperious often would reflect on how if even a being as perfect and as pure as Maltheal could be corrupted, Arcadia had little recourse other than to fight.
Much of the corruption seemed to ease as Maltheal fell, he was seemingly perpetually tortured into becoming an engine for chaos, the embodiment of death. In the places however tied closely with the soul of Maltheal, the cerebrating heart of anguish still lingered. For these places needed to be purged. No place was this truer than the Library of Maltheal, the “Forma Scientia”. The force required to sanctify this place required Stalwarts of Valour such as I, Uther the Consecrated, focused on the tactics required to complete the job as well as fight any lingering corruption. Stalwarts of Protection would ensure hat the purging ritual could be completed as well as aid all members of the force from falling to Maltheal’s despair. Finally, Stalwarts of Life and of Hope in order to ensure that anyone drawn to the darkness as well as anyone already ailed, could once again see the light.
Cold. Rot. Woe. Feelings of such pity filled our minds like a whisper upon opening the locked doors of the once priceless of monuments. Between the endless corridors of books and tapestry, beyond each corner of history and science, in the centre of the library laid one relic of once incomparable allure. The Soul of Ages, a relic used by Maltheal in which he passed on all thoughts and reflections, learnings, and teachings. Alas the once brilliant Aurora shine that once shone of it was now as black as an eclipse, hallowed to the core. Upon staring into the void seemingly fragments of wisps attempted to flee the constraints of the stone. Wheezing. Begging. Pleading. Pain. And upon getting closer a visage appeared. A stalwart. But not one of the 9 seating members. But one of Wisdom. In fact, it was the oldest Stalwart known to all Arcadia, Epoch, Grand Scribe of the Stalwarts of Wisdom. Within a but a moment, we Stalwarts of Valour had him surrounded. “…you have all been fooled” Epoch said, with a scent of pity rolling of his tongue. Within an instant I swear that his face altered from grief and desperate to the visage of corruption. As his eyes became coaxed in mist and enveloped by fog. 1. 2. 3. 3 of my kin cut in an instant as Epochs now poisoned feathers unfurled from his grand wingspan and lodged within their hearts. We fought in tandem my brother and I, battling against the seemingly unyielding tact, each attack with purpose, each missed attack seemingly falling into Epoch’s favour as though notes on a music script leading to his planned eventuality. Fortunately, Arcadia is not ruled by one, nor will it be bested by one. The other stalwarts had got in position. From the rafters the Stalwarts of protection chained Epoch. The Stalwarts of Life had coaxed the Soul of Ages into a moment of calm, and the Stalwarts of hope had ensured that we stalwarts of Valour were of enough strength to plunge our 2 remaining spears into the heart of Epoch. Epoch writhed onto the floor, his 4 mighty wings disintegrating into bone and flesh. Further Stalwarts of protection claimed the refuge of the site and off Epoch. What visons must by brothers, and indeed my lord Maltheal see in which could bring such ruin? I hope never to find out.