The gilded doors of the Sanctified Hall swung open with ceremonial weight, their hinges groaning like judgment passed through iron. Purifier General Elric Harthorne stepped through them with solemn precision, his white cloak trailing behind him like a banner of piety and unwavering duty. The sound of his armored boots against polished stone echoed across the high domed chamber, a cadence of faith clad in steel.
Golden seats framed the hall like an audience of deified relics, each one perched atop a marble platform and adorned with sigils of saints, sacred flames, and symbols of divine righteousness. The members of the Sanctified Council sat within their ornate thrones, their eyes heavy with age, pride, fatigue and judgment, each expression carved in stone and sanctimony.
At the far end of the chamber, elevated by steps carved with scripture and illuminated by a circle of burning lamps, sat the Pontiff.
