The city was particularly dark in his eyes. A man who came to this city to do good, to try and strengthen the Synod. Instead he arrived just for it to fall.
Of course this was conflicted in the paladin's head, as he had failed his duty, but it was the will of the Spirit. All he had known was gone with a snap of his fingers, one night of sleeping and life for Unionists everywhere had changed.
He had awoken as he always did, his children waking him for breakfast. Honey rolls was the plan, though the news his eldest son carried was tragic, and honey rolls no longer seemed appropriate.
His eldest son was preparing to be sent to the school of Sancella, his dream to be a reverend, so it was only natural he had heard the news. He spoke in their Alt-Regalisch tongue, it just seemed more decent than Common.
"Dad, the Supreme Reverend was murdered."
Hearing these words the Gosselle code bound man grew stern, coming from his bed as he spoke towards his son to ridicule him, to be cross for the words he spoke. But before he could get a word out his son had continued.
"He discovered the tenth creed, dad. People didn't want it to get out, the Supreme Reverend died to grant us the knowledge we were meant to know. But, I don't think Sancella will work for me anymore."
The Breizh-Regalian mix of a man was beyond confused and overwhelmed with the words his son spoke. The devastation of a lost Supreme Reverend, the joy of the reveal of the tenth creed, but also the torment of not yet knowing what it carried.
Then he did the only action known to him and his clouded mind in these troubling times. He told his children he would be gone a few days, told the right people to ensure they'd be looked after, and left.
He left his Ithanian Court situated house and went off to the Cathedral. The house of the Dais of Faith. Though he did not dare request admittance in to such a Holy place, for he knew his actions recently would not warrant favor. Instead he moved to the main chamber of the grand building, taking a seat among the pews, where he began to pray to himself.
Not sat in the pews but between the rows he kneeled to the ground, his head low in respect, shame, and humility. His right hand pressed on the ground, a closed book of creeds pinned under the hand. His left hand raised partially, forming the eye of Unionism with his index and middle digits, signing for the Spirit to see, praying internally for only the Spirit to hear.
The Villiers-Eclaire remained in this position, he didn't dare to move for he had to prove himself once more to the Spirit. To prove his devotion, loyalty, and his fear. He kneeled on the ground, going through every prayer of strength, guidance, and wisdom he knew- repeating them dozens, hundreds of times to himself. A few times a stray nun or curate would try to offer him food or drink as he had been there for hours, but each time he kept steadfast in his prayer, by default refusing anything provided to him. So, he starved. He remained in this place even when he should have been sleeping, when he should have eaten and drank at least water. He vowed it all off while in this building, swearing to only pray for the duration of mourning for the Spirit to hear his need, to solve his lost nature.
The three days seemed to tick past so slowly for the man, the same prayers echoing through his head, until finally, the third night came and mourning was over. The midnight chime of the church bells on the final day seemed to bring with something entirely different than the normal booming gong. Instead, only the first struck, then to him the entirety of Aloria went silent, it just, vanished. In his mind he was beyond Aloria, beyond the reachable from the living. He could suddenly see the fallen, those who had passed away and were judged fairly by the Spirit. They all spoke to him, in harmony. A beautiful and graceful tone to their combined voices, though it was clear it wasn't them speaking to him. He knew who it was, for he had heard the voice before in his dreams, it was the Spirit. And the Spirit was speaking to him.
"Karp Kippings, I was beginning to think you would not return to me."
The voice began simply, all of his fallen friends and family looking to him as one entity despite there being dozens of people.
In Karp's vision he dropped to his knees and wrung his hands together, peering upwards on the figures conjured as he spoke in desperation.
"Forgive me, your most Holy and Divine Spirit. I have been wrong, I have been lazy, greedy, and distracted with the physical distractions of Aloria. I failed my duty, the Synod has fallen!"
"Silence."
Is what Karp had heard in return, the voice continuing soon after
"You fail only yourself, child. You hold yourself still in my presence to physical expectations, you hold yourself to what you learned to be correct instead of what truly is. So listen closely, Karp Kippings. The actions performed were by my will, performed by my strings in the hearts of good and devout Unionists. The Supreme Reverend did what he had to, and in his death came clarity and a push for change. A change you must go along with. You have only lived in a physical realm in your service as a Knight, defending Unionism with a sword but never your voice. Do your duties thoroughly, with more than a sword, and more than a voice. You desire to be a leader, I know this.. So Do It."
With the final three words the vision had gone black, everyone Karp had lost vanished again, the voice going with the figures. Karp stood in the blackness that surrounded him. He spun, scared and so suddenly alone. Until finally, he fell. In the black abyss that was everything around him the man began to fall, a complete lack of control, a show that his physicality could do nothing. So, he held on to his faith, he had belief the Spirit would not let him die after such words, and he was right. The darkness faded, and there was the cathedral floor which he hit against like a sack of bricks, falling unconscious.
Time passed and finally Karp had awoken in his own bed, drenched in sweat and pale as a ghost. He looked around to see the morning sun, then his children who gathered around his bed. He didn't understand, he tried to speak but instead his eldest spoke for him.
"Dad, the Supreme Reverend"-
But this time he knew all too well and cut his son off, speaking in his own voice
"I know, son. Now go and get your uncle, we'll eat our honey buns and then attend mass."
With those words his children scurried out and Karp came to his feet to prepare for the day, and despite not understanding what had occurred, if it was all a dream or truly a vision, what he did know is that he had a goal he now had to achieve.
((Whole story other than the final detached part was a dream in Karp's head))
Of course this was conflicted in the paladin's head, as he had failed his duty, but it was the will of the Spirit. All he had known was gone with a snap of his fingers, one night of sleeping and life for Unionists everywhere had changed.
He had awoken as he always did, his children waking him for breakfast. Honey rolls was the plan, though the news his eldest son carried was tragic, and honey rolls no longer seemed appropriate.
His eldest son was preparing to be sent to the school of Sancella, his dream to be a reverend, so it was only natural he had heard the news. He spoke in their Alt-Regalisch tongue, it just seemed more decent than Common.
"Dad, the Supreme Reverend was murdered."
Hearing these words the Gosselle code bound man grew stern, coming from his bed as he spoke towards his son to ridicule him, to be cross for the words he spoke. But before he could get a word out his son had continued.
"He discovered the tenth creed, dad. People didn't want it to get out, the Supreme Reverend died to grant us the knowledge we were meant to know. But, I don't think Sancella will work for me anymore."
The Breizh-Regalian mix of a man was beyond confused and overwhelmed with the words his son spoke. The devastation of a lost Supreme Reverend, the joy of the reveal of the tenth creed, but also the torment of not yet knowing what it carried.
Then he did the only action known to him and his clouded mind in these troubling times. He told his children he would be gone a few days, told the right people to ensure they'd be looked after, and left.
He left his Ithanian Court situated house and went off to the Cathedral. The house of the Dais of Faith. Though he did not dare request admittance in to such a Holy place, for he knew his actions recently would not warrant favor. Instead he moved to the main chamber of the grand building, taking a seat among the pews, where he began to pray to himself.
Not sat in the pews but between the rows he kneeled to the ground, his head low in respect, shame, and humility. His right hand pressed on the ground, a closed book of creeds pinned under the hand. His left hand raised partially, forming the eye of Unionism with his index and middle digits, signing for the Spirit to see, praying internally for only the Spirit to hear.
The Villiers-Eclaire remained in this position, he didn't dare to move for he had to prove himself once more to the Spirit. To prove his devotion, loyalty, and his fear. He kneeled on the ground, going through every prayer of strength, guidance, and wisdom he knew- repeating them dozens, hundreds of times to himself. A few times a stray nun or curate would try to offer him food or drink as he had been there for hours, but each time he kept steadfast in his prayer, by default refusing anything provided to him. So, he starved. He remained in this place even when he should have been sleeping, when he should have eaten and drank at least water. He vowed it all off while in this building, swearing to only pray for the duration of mourning for the Spirit to hear his need, to solve his lost nature.
The three days seemed to tick past so slowly for the man, the same prayers echoing through his head, until finally, the third night came and mourning was over. The midnight chime of the church bells on the final day seemed to bring with something entirely different than the normal booming gong. Instead, only the first struck, then to him the entirety of Aloria went silent, it just, vanished. In his mind he was beyond Aloria, beyond the reachable from the living. He could suddenly see the fallen, those who had passed away and were judged fairly by the Spirit. They all spoke to him, in harmony. A beautiful and graceful tone to their combined voices, though it was clear it wasn't them speaking to him. He knew who it was, for he had heard the voice before in his dreams, it was the Spirit. And the Spirit was speaking to him.
"Karp Kippings, I was beginning to think you would not return to me."
The voice began simply, all of his fallen friends and family looking to him as one entity despite there being dozens of people.
In Karp's vision he dropped to his knees and wrung his hands together, peering upwards on the figures conjured as he spoke in desperation.
"Forgive me, your most Holy and Divine Spirit. I have been wrong, I have been lazy, greedy, and distracted with the physical distractions of Aloria. I failed my duty, the Synod has fallen!"
"Silence."
Is what Karp had heard in return, the voice continuing soon after
"You fail only yourself, child. You hold yourself still in my presence to physical expectations, you hold yourself to what you learned to be correct instead of what truly is. So listen closely, Karp Kippings. The actions performed were by my will, performed by my strings in the hearts of good and devout Unionists. The Supreme Reverend did what he had to, and in his death came clarity and a push for change. A change you must go along with. You have only lived in a physical realm in your service as a Knight, defending Unionism with a sword but never your voice. Do your duties thoroughly, with more than a sword, and more than a voice. You desire to be a leader, I know this.. So Do It."
With the final three words the vision had gone black, everyone Karp had lost vanished again, the voice going with the figures. Karp stood in the blackness that surrounded him. He spun, scared and so suddenly alone. Until finally, he fell. In the black abyss that was everything around him the man began to fall, a complete lack of control, a show that his physicality could do nothing. So, he held on to his faith, he had belief the Spirit would not let him die after such words, and he was right. The darkness faded, and there was the cathedral floor which he hit against like a sack of bricks, falling unconscious.
Time passed and finally Karp had awoken in his own bed, drenched in sweat and pale as a ghost. He looked around to see the morning sun, then his children who gathered around his bed. He didn't understand, he tried to speak but instead his eldest spoke for him.
"Dad, the Supreme Reverend"-
But this time he knew all too well and cut his son off, speaking in his own voice
"I know, son. Now go and get your uncle, we'll eat our honey buns and then attend mass."
With those words his children scurried out and Karp came to his feet to prepare for the day, and despite not understanding what had occurred, if it was all a dream or truly a vision, what he did know is that he had a goal he now had to achieve.
((Whole story other than the final detached part was a dream in Karp's head))
