The Winter Solstice was but a day away, and the ceremony for elevation would be held in our great hall tomorrow evening. At that time I would join the ranks of our Masters, and receive a second mark across the one I had borne for a decade now.

Each Journeyman in our Order wore this mark upon his left breast. It was the image of an axe, the size of a man's thumb. This was the symbol of our craft, and a miniature of the double-bladed weapon I was presently sharpening as I sat in a ray of sunlight behind the stables.

Our order is steeped in traditions that have developed over the span of several centuries, and if you have ever been to a public execution, you are no doubt aware of several. We must be masked and shirtless, bow respectfully to those we are about to behead or hang, and must make a circuit of the scaffold to display the head to all who witness the execution. There are many other...

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