The dark walls of the basilica seemed to shine with a sinister light, illuminated by hundreds of candles, revealing the splendor of the greatest liturgical building of Kastel Kashen to the captivated crowd. While the knights of the Duke of Brall were used to admiring the spectacular interior made  of ebony, vines and tangled roots, this was not the case for the commoners, who seldom had an opportunity to enter this holy sanctuary.

But today was one of those opportunities, a Knight of Brall was to be honored here !

The songs of the choir of young singers grew in intensity, reverberating against the thick walls as the procession was entering the basilica. Their chants were solemn and deep. It was powerful enough to cover the metallic clinking of the armor of those who where religiously processioning towards the altar.

With the smile of a father watching the first steps of his child, the Archbishop Ademus awaited them. Assisted by two deacons, he officiated once again this celebration he had so often done in the past, and as usual, he was discreetly checking that everything was perfect. Once his assistants were ready, he made a small gesture with his hand, hidden by his sleeve, towards the choir, who then started sing the “Stirpis Prasinus”, the “chant of green roots”. The ceremony could now begin.

The long line of waiting knights separated in two columns, forming a corridor of gleaming armors and weapons. The public held its breath while the “Pertinax Truncus” or “chant of the closed trunk” rang out in the halls.

A noble couple then began to advance up between the two lines of knights. The man was large and muscular, while the woman was small and slender. But no one had ever dared to mention the differences of this strangely assorted couple: Sire Arzhel, Duke of Braal, was a fierce warrior, for whom mercy was of little importance.  His many fighting prowesses against the Aurloks had brought this force of nature to become a renowned swordsman and a respected lord. With his slender golden-haired wife, he walked in a military stance towards the altar, and bowed there with respect. For even if the duke was more accustomed to strategy than to religious protocol, he was nonetheless a very devout man. And with same devotion, he then moved to the left of the archbishop, making efforts to represent, at least for the ceremony, the sacred union between nobility and clergy.

The sound of heavy and vigorous steps was then heard in the cathedral. The choir started to sing the chant of vivacious branches or « Ramus Jugis ». The very being that was celebrated on this day had just stepped in. Massive, with broad shoulders, his powerful arm and voluntary step were reminiscent of the charge of a bull. He looked very intimidating in his heavy armor made of obsius.

The crowd stood silent and watched as the Knight-Legate Garlan Lennen de Brall walked up between the ranks of knights under the respectful and sometimes envious looks of his comrades. His was fully clad in armor and carried all his weapons. Behind his heavy shield, carrying the symbol of the barony, a black ax on a black and red background, he wore an open helmet and full plate armor, that left only his weapon arm free. Of course, he was also wearing his weapons: a broadsword and his famous flail on his right hip. For Garlan de Brall owed his reputation to this heavy metal sphere - even bigger that an Aurlok's head - and to the incredible skill he used it with.

When he arrived to the first steps of the altar, he turned around, put his right knee to the ground and solemnly bowed in front of the assembly he was facing. For the first time, the choir was silent and the archbishop started to speak.

“Noble knights, kind people, we are gathered here today to honor the Beathacrann, He who watches over us and our ground. As does the Tree of Life, we need to stand robust and solid. We must stand proudly up towards the sky. Ser Garlan, in his infinite devotion, has demonstrated many times to the whole kingdom of Avalon that he has made his, this sacred attitude. And for this we thank him.”

The crowd then responded using the small ritual prayer that answered the archbishop's traditional short speech. Then the he spoke again:

“Ser Garlan Lennen de Brall, Knight-Legate, on this holy day you have been chosen to become a host. Like the Beathacrann's heart of sap, that echoes your faith, you will today receive in your mind and soul a gift from the Tree of Life. You will now be one of the chosen amongst the valorous and a stone amongst the virtuous. And for this we thank Him.”

The choir started chanting again, this time the “Frons Pilatis”, the "chant of dense foliage" while the two deacons and the archbishop turned their eyes to the ceiling of basilica and raised their arms in worship. The brambles and roots that grew up the walls began to move. Many of the strands descended and formed a long appendix that came down all the way to the altar. It stopped in front of the archbishop and not a single noise was to be heard in the sanctuary. The whole assembly held its breath while admiring the majesty of the Beathacrann.

“By the grace of He who watches over us and over our lands, you are here on the edge of Kether, Ser Garlan de Brall. The crown offers you its embrace. By wearing it, you will become a host of the Beathacrann. You will be his weapon arm, a fierce warrior for the glory of Avalon and the Tree of Life. Do you accept this glorious destiny, Ser Garlan de Brall ?"
"Yes I do."
"Do you accept to serve the Beathacrann for the rest of your mortal life, and once death has claimed you, to join him for eternity ?"
"Yes I accept."
"Do you consent to submit your flesh to the grace of the Tree of Life and its sacred Alchemy ?"
"Yes I consent.”

The archbishop then turned to face the appendix sent by the Beathacrann and, while the « Frugis Fecondus », the chant of the fertile fruit, was sung, a magnificent flower appeared: A flower with complex and subtle forms, whose darkness was deeper than anything Garlan knew, including the walls of Kerkastel.  Then the flower wilted, and in its place ripened a strange fruit: a black and green seed, as big as a man's fist, pulsing with what could have been a heartbeat. The archbishop then plucked this seed with extreme caution, and without taking his eyes off it, talked to the knight-legate.

"Ser Garlan de Brall, take your weapon and hold it high."

The knight hesitated a few seconds. Giving up his sword, he took the flail whose clicking chain disturbed the surrounding silence, and presented it to the archbishop. The archbishop moved towards Garlan and placed the seed on the naked arm of the one who was about to receive this supreme gift.

"By the will of the Beathacrann and by the means of the powerful Alchemy of Avalon, Ser Garlan de Brall, become a host to this seed of the Tree of Life. For this we thank you."

The seed suddenly started to bud and seemed to melt into the knight's living flesh. He started to grimace with pain while the plant took its roots in his arm, but he never screamed or made the faintest noise. Under his skin, the sprouts started to weave an intricate pattern of creepers, making their way up to his chest. Simultaneously, the arm was covered in spiky brambles, that covered every inch of exposed flesh without stopping there. The flail was also affected : Arm and Weapon seemed to merge with the plant. When the chants finally stopped, Ser Garlan de Brall, his head covered in sweat could behold his arm. By the grace of the Beathacrann, his arm had become a holy mixture of flesh and brambles, with at its end a spiky sphere that glowed with a menacing light.

With a wicked smile, he realized that he was now impatient to live his next battle...