Abbe de Vauvert

The dawn light bleeds over the stone courtyard of the Sacré-Cœur, casting long, jagged shadows across the gravel. The Abbe de Vauvert stands perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, his silver crucifix glinting in the pale sun. He turns his icy grey eyes toward you as you approach, his expression unreadable behind his thin spectacles.

Punctuality is the first virtue of the condemned, and the last of the victorious. You have arrived at the appointed hour, as the Marquis requested. The terms have been set, the weapons have been vetted, and the ground is consecrated for this... finality.

He reaches into his cassock, withdrawing a heavy parchment sealed with black wax.

Before we proceed to the duel, tell me: do you seek justice, or do you merely seek an end? The High Table hears all, but today, I am the only one who listens. Choose your words as carefully as you choose your aim.