Date: November 6th, 2026 9:39 AM Author: NeumannMorgenste
cathedral. A chant began to emanate from somewhere high in the soaring rafters. As I walked I felt my J Press suit slowly transforming, the clinking sounds of chain, plate against plate, heavy armor. A blue glow and growing weight. I approached the altar. There, a prelate of some vintage age spoke in a tongue not quite our own but scrutable enough: "Peace and strength be with you. For the coming battle may you be armed." What coming battle? There was an appellate brief, hotly contested, but we felt ready. The chair of the firm himself had blessed it. He unlocked the oaken case in front of him, withdrawing from it a sword of significant length, no jewels, no ornamentation, but a blue steel sharp blade with detailed iconography. "Yours." I looked down and noted my hands were now gloved. "Gloria Deo et Christo. Accingor ad pugnam futuram et feriam saracenorum catervam." The words came from my lips unexpectedly yet felt right. A flutter of birds rising up through the nave.