The Chapter of Devils
Where the righteous falter and the fearful flee, the Chapter of Devils stands ready. Founded by Harlan Duran, a retired knight of the Hallowed Order, the Chapter of Devils is a mercenary brotherhood devoted to one grim purpose: the destruction of the restless dead. Whether it's a lone revenant clawing free from the grave or an entire coven of vampires weaving their influence through a crumbling city, the Chapter answers every summons with blade, fire, and relentless resolve.
Unlike the rigid austerity of Harlan's former brethren, the Chapter operates with a mercenary’s practicality. They do not demand oaths of faith, nor expect sainthood from their members. What binds them is simpler — a shared understanding that the dead have no place among the living, and that someone must have the steel to send them back to the grave. For the right price, the Chapter of Devils will take the fight to any tomb, crypt, or corrupted cathedral, delivering final death with brutal efficiency.
Yet they are no mere sellswords. Among those who know the truth of the world’s darker corners, the Chapter is whispered of with a mix of gratitude and grim respect. They are hunters of horrors, slayers of nightmares — those who walk willingly into the maw of death so that others may see the dawn.
Unlike the rigid austerity of Harlan's former brethren, the Chapter operates with a mercenary’s practicality. They do not demand oaths of faith, nor expect sainthood from their members. What binds them is simpler — a shared understanding that the dead have no place among the living, and that someone must have the steel to send them back to the grave. For the right price, the Chapter of Devils will take the fight to any tomb, crypt, or corrupted cathedral, delivering final death with brutal efficiency.
Yet they are no mere sellswords. Among those who know the truth of the world’s darker corners, the Chapter is whispered of with a mix of gratitude and grim respect. They are hunters of horrors, slayers of nightmares — those who walk willingly into the maw of death so that others may see the dawn.
Structure
The Chapter of Devils operates with minimal formal hierarchy. While nominally organized under the watchful eye of Harlan Duran, there are no grand ranks, no gilded chains of command. Each member is expected to act independently, trusted to choose their own hunts and carry out their work without constant oversight. In many ways, the Chapter is less an army and more a fellowship — a loose network of specialists bound together by shared purpose and grim necessity.
Veteran hunters — often called Wardens by younger members — are afforded informal respect, their knowledge and experience acting as natural pillars of authority when the need arises. However, leadership is fluid. When a hunt demands it, the hunter best suited to the task leads; when the battle is over, the mantle falls away. Pride and ego have no place among the dead.
When a threat rises beyond the scope of any one hunter — a roving wight-lord, a vampire cult, a mass grave stirring with restless anger — calls for aid are sent across the Chapter’s hidden networks. Hunters answer not by obligation, but by honor, knowing that while they often stand alone, they never truly stand alone. In this way, the Chapter remains flexible, swift, and stubbornly alive — much like the men and women who form its battered heart.
Veteran hunters — often called Wardens by younger members — are afforded informal respect, their knowledge and experience acting as natural pillars of authority when the need arises. However, leadership is fluid. When a hunt demands it, the hunter best suited to the task leads; when the battle is over, the mantle falls away. Pride and ego have no place among the dead.
When a threat rises beyond the scope of any one hunter — a roving wight-lord, a vampire cult, a mass grave stirring with restless anger — calls for aid are sent across the Chapter’s hidden networks. Hunters answer not by obligation, but by honor, knowing that while they often stand alone, they never truly stand alone. In this way, the Chapter remains flexible, swift, and stubbornly alive — much like the men and women who form its battered heart.
Culture
The culture of the Chapter of Devils is one of gritty pragmatism, muted honor, and unspoken brotherhood. Its members are shaped by the knowledge that the world they defend will never truly understand them — and that this is exactly as it should be. They fight not for glory, not for recognition, but because the alternative — allowing the dead to rule the living — is unthinkable.
Each hunter is taught from the moment they join that survival is a choice made over and over again. They are expected to be resourceful, adaptable, and ruthless when necessary. Sentimentality is not forbidden, but it is tempered by the realities of their work: hesitation can mean death — or worse. Mercy is a luxury only afforded when it does not imperil the living.
Despite their solitary lifestyles, there is a profound, if often unspoken, camaraderie among members of the Chapter. To meet another hunter on the road is to recognize a kindred spirit — someone who carries the same burdens, who knows the same coldness at the edges of every campfire. They rarely speak of their pasts, their fears, or their regrets, but there is a quiet respect that passes between them in a nod, a shared meal, or a blade offered without question.
Death is ever-present in the Chapter's culture, but it is not feared. When a hunter falls, their passing is honored not with grand funerals, but with simple rites: a weapon broken, a name carved into stone, a moment of silence under the open sky. To die in service is expected. To die forgotten is the only true failure — and thus, the Chapter ensures that no one falls alone.
Above all else, the Chapter values action over words, duty over fame, and the living over the comfortable lies the world tells itself.
They walk through darkness not for praise, but so that others may never know it was there at all.
Each hunter is taught from the moment they join that survival is a choice made over and over again. They are expected to be resourceful, adaptable, and ruthless when necessary. Sentimentality is not forbidden, but it is tempered by the realities of their work: hesitation can mean death — or worse. Mercy is a luxury only afforded when it does not imperil the living.
Despite their solitary lifestyles, there is a profound, if often unspoken, camaraderie among members of the Chapter. To meet another hunter on the road is to recognize a kindred spirit — someone who carries the same burdens, who knows the same coldness at the edges of every campfire. They rarely speak of their pasts, their fears, or their regrets, but there is a quiet respect that passes between them in a nod, a shared meal, or a blade offered without question.
Death is ever-present in the Chapter's culture, but it is not feared. When a hunter falls, their passing is honored not with grand funerals, but with simple rites: a weapon broken, a name carved into stone, a moment of silence under the open sky. To die in service is expected. To die forgotten is the only true failure — and thus, the Chapter ensures that no one falls alone.
Above all else, the Chapter values action over words, duty over fame, and the living over the comfortable lies the world tells itself.
They walk through darkness not for praise, but so that others may never know it was there at all.
Political Influence & Intrigue
Though the Chapter of Devils is not a religious order, their code — the unyielding belief that the dead and their makers must be destroyed at all costs — acts with the fervor of one. This absolute conviction frequently puts them at odds with the letter of the law, especially in more bureaucratic or "civilized" regions of the world. Most governments and city-states, bound by layers of legislation and due process, view the Chapter’s methods with wary tolerance at best, outright hostility at worst.
The Chapter operates in a gray space — unofficial, unlicensed, and unsanctioned — relying on reputation, necessity, and public fear to shield them from serious retribution. In places where the dead are a clear and present threat, city magistrates and local lords are often willing to look the other way, preferring an unsanctioned grave-hunter over a full-scale undead uprising. In wealthier or more politically rigid regions, however, Chapter hunters are seen as dangerous vigilantes: tolerated only when convenient, prosecuted when politically necessary.
Society’s view of them is conflicted. To the common folk, the Chapter are grim heroes — terrifying perhaps, but necessary. Taverns whisper of them in the same breath as ghost stories: hunters who burn out plague-houses before the sickness spreads, who tear open crypts where the dead stir, who put down sorcerers before their blasphemies can rip the sky apart. Respect is given, but it is a fearful respect. People bless the Chapter as they pass, but lock their doors behind them.
The Chapter themselves walk this political tightrope with hardened pragmatism. They prefer to ask forgiveness rather than permission, acting swiftly and decisively before bureaucracy can tangle their hands. When possible, they operate under informal agreements, quiet arrangements with sympathetic officials, or under the direct (but private) patronage of those who understand the stakes. Where necessary, they vanish before authorities arrive — leaving behind only the ashes of the horrors they slew and the complicated gratitude of the survivors.
To a Chapter hunter, legality is irrelevant. Only necessity matters. Their unspoken motto echoes in every decision they make:
"The dead do not wait for permits."
The Chapter operates in a gray space — unofficial, unlicensed, and unsanctioned — relying on reputation, necessity, and public fear to shield them from serious retribution. In places where the dead are a clear and present threat, city magistrates and local lords are often willing to look the other way, preferring an unsanctioned grave-hunter over a full-scale undead uprising. In wealthier or more politically rigid regions, however, Chapter hunters are seen as dangerous vigilantes: tolerated only when convenient, prosecuted when politically necessary.
Society’s view of them is conflicted. To the common folk, the Chapter are grim heroes — terrifying perhaps, but necessary. Taverns whisper of them in the same breath as ghost stories: hunters who burn out plague-houses before the sickness spreads, who tear open crypts where the dead stir, who put down sorcerers before their blasphemies can rip the sky apart. Respect is given, but it is a fearful respect. People bless the Chapter as they pass, but lock their doors behind them.
The Chapter themselves walk this political tightrope with hardened pragmatism. They prefer to ask forgiveness rather than permission, acting swiftly and decisively before bureaucracy can tangle their hands. When possible, they operate under informal agreements, quiet arrangements with sympathetic officials, or under the direct (but private) patronage of those who understand the stakes. Where necessary, they vanish before authorities arrive — leaving behind only the ashes of the horrors they slew and the complicated gratitude of the survivors.
To a Chapter hunter, legality is irrelevant. Only necessity matters. Their unspoken motto echoes in every decision they make:
"The dead do not wait for permits."
“We walk through darkness so others may see the dawn.”
Founding Date
216
Type
Guild, Fighter / Mercenary
Training Level
Trained
Veterancy Level
Experienced
Leader
Location
Controlled Territories
Notable Members
Comments