It is in my sixty fourth year that I have come to Gethsemane, to the Court of the Graveyard of Kings, to engrave in the golden plates of The Book of Kings, an account of my proceedings in my days. The first record that I shall make, will be an account of my transition into Priesthood.

  I was born of nobility, to goodly parents. Therefore, being somewhat familiar in the order of natural law, by the time I was seventeen years of age, I was ripe to receive my priesthood training. I traveled with the great mage and high priest, Abram of Adonai, to Dweller’s Inn, to begin my studies. The training took place over the course of three weeks. After which, I was left on my own to venture forth on my mission, to withstand the forces of nature and the evils that live among us, to put into practice everything I had learned prior, to reach Gethsemane, and receive my endowments and my Patriarchal Blessing. And to return to my Kingdom as a member of the Priesthood Authority, where I would be wed to my promised one. This account begins with my departure from Abram at Dweller’s Inn, the cottage in the Westward Woods.

  It begins at the final fireside. The moon was new, and we sat outside by the fire. Drinking tea made from berries and leaves, which we had brewed in a pot over the fire, and we were eating nuts. I was confident in my knowledge, and in the morning, I would embark on my mission to Gethsemane, to The Temple of the Eight Immortals to make my covenants. I had been studying for weeks and was now well versed in my understanding of the doctrine. There was only one thing left to do…

  “Dig.” Abram said, handing me a shovel.

  “Where?”

  “Twelve steps that way.” He pointed to the left of me. I stepped, and said, “Here?”

  “That’s about right, yes.”

  “How deep?”

  “Until you find what it is you’re looking for.”

  I dug the shovel into the ground, and then kicked it in deeper, and then heaved up a chunk of dirt and wild grass. I repeated this, over and over. As Abram sat eating nuts and watched. I dug and I dug. Until the shovel slammed into wood. And I revealed a small crate, and pulled it up out of the hole.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The lid separated with ease, and inside was a green pack. “In that pack sack you will find your provisions.”

  I opened the green sack and looked in. I had to pull everything out. A flint and striking rod, a small gardening knife, a copper cup with a handle, a thin grey throw blanket, a sewing kit, a red cotton map, a small black velvet pouch, with five gold talents, and a bar of soap. I sat at the fireside, with my provisions surrounding me. I took the knife in my left hand. It was small, but pointy and sharp.

  “Your sword…”

  I picked up the copper mug.

  “Your cup…”

  I picked up the throw.

  “Your blanket…”

  “And the sewing kit is in case I split my pants?”

  “To customize your map…”

  “And the talents?”

  “In case you need to pay a toll.” Abram arose from his log, “Take your knife and stand up.”

  I shuffled to my feet.

  “Hand me the knife.”

  I did.

  “It is time for your baptism by blood.”

  He took my right hand with his left, and with the gardening knife in his right, he slit my palm about the length of an eyelid, and deep enough to draw much blood. Then he proceeded to cut his own hand in the same fashion. Then he tucked the knife in his sash. And as I held my bleeding palm face up, he squeezed his fist causing blood to seep into my hand. Then he closed my hand, and I clenched my first, and I felt… nothing at all.

  “Declare your intentions.” He said.

  “I, Dyzander, desire to serve the order of natural law, and to harm none, and to minister the priesthood as ruler of Adonai.”

  He stared at me unflinchingly as he spoke, “I, Abram, Priest of Adonai, do dedicate thee Dyzander, to the Priesthood Authority, and hereby pledge to thee, the gift of the Holy Spirit. In the name of The Everlasting. Forever and ever.”

  There was a long silence as he wrapped my hands in bandages. Then he removed the knife from his sash and placed it in my hands.

  “Your sword.”

  I grasped it.

  “Congratulations, Dyzander. You are now an initiate.”