KNOCK. KNOCK.

"You may enter," a piercing, preoccupied voice echoed through the enormous hollow chamber.

The gargantuan fifteen-foot tall door of the Cathedral Office creaked open.

"Ah, I have been anticipating your visit," the elderly man draped in pristine black robes laid down his quill and rose to greet his guest.

Flourishing a deep Tartessian ebony cloak lined with gold, the guest entered, a glistening silver sheath fastened to his belt clattered as he advanced. Disheveled shoulder-length hair framed his boyish features, which served to reaffirm his noble birth. With deliberate, leaden steps, each clang of his steel boots on the marble floor was infused with seething hatred and loathing.

"Lieutenant General of the Third Legion," a sardonic grin spread across the old man's dilapidated face, "Gabriel, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

Gabriel parted his cloak and bowed reluctantly, "The pleasure is mine, Arcebispo dos Arquipélagos Orientais."

"Please, take a seat."

Gabriel proceeded down the long hall. With each pace he took, he hoped dearly to get under the skin of the octogenerian he despised with every fiber of his being. But the man did all but flinch; each wrinkle decorating the geriatric's face appearing to smirk condescendingly.

"I have heard," the Archbishop retreated into his seat and began to scribble Atlantean runes onto fresh parchment, "that you do not approve of some of the rituals we practice here in Gehenna."

Indeed, the person irked the most in this entire exchange was Gabriel himself. He unbuckled his sheath and rested it to the side as he took his seat.

"Gibberish. I am but the Arm that executes the decisions of the Crown. If the Crown chooses to support your enterprise in these lands, I do not oppose," he lied through his teeth.

The Archbishop chuckled, "Oh settle down now, young one. Thou shalt not partake in excessive solemnity amidst thy meagre impermanence, surely you must have perused the Holy Scriptures," he drank from a chalice that lay beside him, "How I so miss having conversations with educated men such as yourself, to think it has been nearly seven years since I last stepped foot into the Capital.."

"You are always welcome back to Tartessos if you so wish."

"Oh ho ho," a chortle turned into a wheeze, "You really do wish our services here to end."

Gabriel got more irked every second he indulged this man.

"Let us cut short the pleasantaries, Arcebispo. You know the business I come here for."

"The business, yes," the Archbishop set down his quill and rested his chin on the feeble knuckles of his clasped hands, "The business for which your beloved King condemned a man of your stature to these realms."

Gabriel's voice became stern, "The Crown's decision is mine to fulfill."

"And the Papacy's is mine, your point being?"

"You are well aware, Arcebispo Bartholomew," he further raised his voice, "That the silver you squander akin to water derives from the coffers of the Crown."

A haughty grin spread across the Archbishop's wrinkled face, "And the Crown bows to the Papacy."

Gabriel grit his teeth, holding back the urge to knock the senses out of the man in front of him; but remembrance struck him, the reason why he chose to come to Gehenna, he recalled the promise he had made to the King.

"The Crown's decision," he collected his thoughts, "is to halt the sponsorship of money and resources for the Mission's ventures in Gehenna, conditional to your support of our operations."

"Pardon?" The Archbishop was taken aback, not expecting this news, yet composed himself as if unaffected.

Taking full advantage of his temporary upper hand, Gabriel continued, "The King has reviewed the progress of the Mission and he is immensely displeased. The construction of docks, barracks, fortresses, basic amenities like hospitals and institutes of learning, the conscription of a standing army - none of the expectations for the Mission have been met thus far."

The Archbishop scoffed, "What need is there for a standing army when there is no threat to the Empire? And besides, the success of the Mission is entirely dependant upon the number of converts, and that is proceeding as intended."

"If your definition of conversion of the local populace is making them so very incapable of serving the Crown, or even tainting them insofar as to despise the Crown, you are quite possibly the Holiest of Holy Men I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

The Archbishop slammed his desk with a firm fist, at first a solemn countenance, which then gradually morphed into a hearty laugh, "Come now, Gabriel, you are an educated man, do you genuinely believe you could control these barbarians? I have heard of the proportions delineated for this new 'standing army' of yours. The aged men back in Tartessos might live up high in their ivory spires, but I have spent seven long years of blood and sweat here, and we have not even scraped the surface of controlling these worthless animals. And you wish to enlist them into your army? Hah!"

Gabriel smiled, he was victorious, "That is all for today, I shall meet with you in three days hence, and I do hope you rethink your decision to support us by then."
He stood up, picking up his Tyrian steel sword and buckling it back to his belt, "I shall take my leave. May God be with ye."

Right as Gabriel turned to leave, the Archbishop spoke, "Beware of whomsoever you let into your command, my dear Gabriel. There exist powerful forces of disruption and chaos among the savages, and they are well organized", he grinned eye to eye, "May God be with ye."

Gabriel did not deign the Archbishop his gaze, he adjusted his sword and proceeded to leave; his heavy steel boots making no sound as he exited the gargantuan fifteen-foot tall door.