*Minuvas huddles around a tree, the people of this land call it the Silverwind Tree - and he gladly welcomes the crowd that comes to see him, awed by his impressive and expensive decorations - ankhs of a God they have never heard of adorn his body*
"People, oh tattered people. This tree, this gift - this very gift from Iaosia. It rots like the creature that threaten your lives at every turn. But I come bringing hope, I come to bring you zeal, I come to bring you new-found energy.
For my god is a glorious god, my god is a true god, my god is the One and all powerful Lochwar"
Some in the crowd look confused.
"You know of my Lord's sister, Iaosia - or whom you have falsely been believed to have known as Ki. Consider that she is his younger, his frail sister - and he is mightier, and thrice as magnificent. This tree wilts, but I have come to plant a new seed in this town.
It is the seed of faith in the almighty. To show these good graces, I have already dispatched the Druids of the nearby Coven to look at this tree of yours, to nurture and foster and restore it to its true state.
I have Neophytes of my church to arrive in small crowds for small periods at a time. They come to bring you food, they come to bring you clothing, and they come to bring you faith. For we are all Children , we humans, of the mighty and powerful Lochwar.
Any who doubt his word watch and be amazed!" *Minuvas climbs to the top of one of the walls, the Dead seem to gnaw at the gate. He holds up his ankh and a light crashes from the sky onto the bodies igniting*
"Yes! My Lord god is even King of the Grub Lord, whom we of Varana know as Culnul. Find true worship in the name of Lochwar and we may restore your faith, we may restore your people, and we will end this intrusion by these blasted shadow monsters.
*With another sleight of his hand, Minuvas seems to increase the bulge of his muscles twice fold.*
"He is no god of illusions, what you see is no false Magic!" *Minuvas lifts a boulder that doesn't seem lift able by a man of the cloth, he drops it to the ground soon before the spell wears off*
"His glory too may bless unto you , your home, and of your children.
What do you need to receive the bounties of my God?
What do you need to do , to ask that the Neophytes of my lord will come during dark nights and fight along side you to put down the dead.
What do you need to do, to be saved - to be filled with hope. To see green leaves, dark brown roots, and a glisten on your Gifted Tree.
What do you need to do, to be all that you as humans deserve to be?
You need only believe. Kneel before me and proclaim your faith in the true God's, in the name of the Pantheon of Varana - I come to bring you this great learning. He who doubts my word and wishes to continue to succumb to faithlessness - your actions will not go unheeded.
The Gods have opened the path to your city, for we of Varana come with the blessings of our Lord. It is a sign! You are destined to heed the word of Lochwar the King of God's, and share in his bounty. For he wishes you to overcome, and for your suffering to end.
Kneel before the King of God's! For he is eternal, and so is his salvation"
*As requested by the Marshal, he has come with only a few Neophytes. Carrying with him food and clothing, he presumed it to be exotic by Kargov standards - who have probably been living with the same materials for ages. He also distributes books, and although he understands the people here are largely illiterate he encourages the Neophytes to attempt to teach them small sections.
The Church continues to send these very small group of Neophytes to offer what hope they can to Kargov. The Church states that their only motive is to enlighten these people of Lochwar, and to give them the ability to redeem themselves before the True God's at this time*
You need only kneel
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Starkwold
- Dasarian World Builder
- Posts: 1035
- Joined: Fri Sep 22, 2006 4:11 am
- Location: NS, Canada
- Contact:
Most of the townsfolk smile and nod as Minuvas speaks, watching with interest as he showcases the divine talents of Lochwar's gifts. Towards the end, none of the villagers actually kneel, but are still quite pleased with the many gifts having been brought before the town.
At the mention of the "rotten" tree, many of the townsfolk frown in confusion. Some of them even appear upset. One or two townsfolk turn, and leave the congregation.
The Marshal, Eganon Gildyr, stands quietly in the back, arms folded casually across his chest. He watches the Father perform, a pleased smile touching his face.
As the Neophytes distribute the gifts of the Church, the Marshal approaches the now finished Minuvas. He inclines his head politely in greetings, folding his arms behind him as he begins to speak.
"You are very kind, Father Minuvas, for bringing these gfits so speedily to the folk of Aucklorn Mill. Your clothes, food, and literature are much appreciated. I wouldn't want to trouble you, nor whittle away at your church coffers, though—Aucklorn Mill has food enough to last, and to feed the travellers that do frequent the region. We have tailors to mend and craft the clothes of our people. We are not derelict, nor incapable.
We accept your gifts regardless, though. You are also quite generous to offer the skills and talents of your Neophytes. Perhaps with a bit of training, Cooper Yanein will finally grapple the written word. Reading has always been a weak point for him.
While the Silverwind Tree appears old and gnarled, Father, she is far from rotten. She had stood in this village for nearly seventy-five years, and will stand for another seventy-five, I am sure. She is the healthiest tree in the valley, I have no doubt. Her appearance is merely a reflection of the task she holds in protecting us Aucklorners.
I would like to apologize on behalf of the Mill, as well. They are certainly impressed with the Great Lochwar's prowess and divine capability—that is evidenced in your faith and dedication. They acknowledge Lochwar's strength, this is for certain. Your attire, your following, and your conviction is a testament to that.
Most of these folk, however, have an affinity with Ki, whom you call Iasoia. I apologize, Father, if my nomenclature offends you. I am sure you will hear much of it in the future. We Aucklorners have much to learn, I assure you. The people here are rooted in their ways—they are from a world one century in the past, and must catch-up.
The only thing I ask, good Father, is that you give them the time to do so."
The Marshal smiles, then, tipping his head forward once more in a sign of respect, and kindness.
"I must make my rounds, Father. The dead ne'er sleep, and it seems that neither can I, at times."
With a broad smile, and a wave of his hand, the Marshal heads to the gates, lit torch in his left hand and drawn blade in his right. The glow of the torch slowly bobs out of view as the man exits into the void.
At the mention of the "rotten" tree, many of the townsfolk frown in confusion. Some of them even appear upset. One or two townsfolk turn, and leave the congregation.
The Marshal, Eganon Gildyr, stands quietly in the back, arms folded casually across his chest. He watches the Father perform, a pleased smile touching his face.
As the Neophytes distribute the gifts of the Church, the Marshal approaches the now finished Minuvas. He inclines his head politely in greetings, folding his arms behind him as he begins to speak.
"You are very kind, Father Minuvas, for bringing these gfits so speedily to the folk of Aucklorn Mill. Your clothes, food, and literature are much appreciated. I wouldn't want to trouble you, nor whittle away at your church coffers, though—Aucklorn Mill has food enough to last, and to feed the travellers that do frequent the region. We have tailors to mend and craft the clothes of our people. We are not derelict, nor incapable.
We accept your gifts regardless, though. You are also quite generous to offer the skills and talents of your Neophytes. Perhaps with a bit of training, Cooper Yanein will finally grapple the written word. Reading has always been a weak point for him.
While the Silverwind Tree appears old and gnarled, Father, she is far from rotten. She had stood in this village for nearly seventy-five years, and will stand for another seventy-five, I am sure. She is the healthiest tree in the valley, I have no doubt. Her appearance is merely a reflection of the task she holds in protecting us Aucklorners.
I would like to apologize on behalf of the Mill, as well. They are certainly impressed with the Great Lochwar's prowess and divine capability—that is evidenced in your faith and dedication. They acknowledge Lochwar's strength, this is for certain. Your attire, your following, and your conviction is a testament to that.
Most of these folk, however, have an affinity with Ki, whom you call Iasoia. I apologize, Father, if my nomenclature offends you. I am sure you will hear much of it in the future. We Aucklorners have much to learn, I assure you. The people here are rooted in their ways—they are from a world one century in the past, and must catch-up.
The only thing I ask, good Father, is that you give them the time to do so."
The Marshal smiles, then, tipping his head forward once more in a sign of respect, and kindness.
"I must make my rounds, Father. The dead ne'er sleep, and it seems that neither can I, at times."
With a broad smile, and a wave of his hand, the Marshal heads to the gates, lit torch in his left hand and drawn blade in his right. The glow of the torch slowly bobs out of view as the man exits into the void.
Builder of the Third Order and Holy Guardian of the Coveted Placeable
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Will
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 1251
- Joined: Sat Sep 23, 2006 4:38 am
- Main Player Character: William Dearborn
- Other PCs: Ganrai
- Location: At A Crossroads
From a tidy but largely unfurnished room, aside from a few of his own papers and materials, William drops the curtain on the scene outside in the center of the dusky village. Turning to the plain desk in the corner of the room, his eyes rest on his mother's tome. He traces the symbol of nature engraved on its worn leathery cover and proceeds outside to the front of the inn to read its pages beneath Ki's tree, where he feels a sense of peace that seems to cry out to him in a whisper.
*At the Marshal's mention that the tree is the 'healthiest' tree in the Valley, Minuvas double-takes looking at the tree than at the marshal.
He presumes that these people obviously have not seen a blossoming and fruitful tree growing in one of the many Forests of Varana*
"Ahh yes..of course...Healthy as ever" Wishing to not press the obviously sensitive issue.
As the Marshal goes to the gates and the sound of the bell, Minuvas makes a small prayer - hoping that the coven of Iaosia recently formed near Caer will answer their call - and come to these people, show them of the Lady and her servitude to Lochwar.
He presumes that these people obviously have not seen a blossoming and fruitful tree growing in one of the many Forests of Varana*
"Ahh yes..of course...Healthy as ever" Wishing to not press the obviously sensitive issue.
As the Marshal goes to the gates and the sound of the bell, Minuvas makes a small prayer - hoping that the coven of Iaosia recently formed near Caer will answer their call - and come to these people, show them of the Lady and her servitude to Lochwar.
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Frozenflame
- Commoner
- Posts: 18
- Joined: Sat Apr 14, 2007 9:07 pm
- Location: Southpark :)
- Contact:
*Jaymes Markham leans against a wall of the willows eave, hand wrapping and unwrapping around the hilt of his greatsword, an old habbit...watching the progressions of the night with apparant indifference, but taking note of each word spoken, and the motives behind them, with the hour getting late, and the commotion quieting down, jaymes, with not but a sigh, disappears into the inn*
The Queen of air and darkness
Begins to shrill and cry,
`O young man, O my slayer,
To-morrow you shall die.'
O Queen of air and darkness,
I think 'tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you will die to-day.
Begins to shrill and cry,
`O young man, O my slayer,
To-morrow you shall die.'
O Queen of air and darkness,
I think 'tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you will die to-day.
*Another disturbing letter from his Maiden arrives in his hands , foretelling grim tales of the Baron and the Sealed Monastery.
This does not seem to deter the actual things the Neophytes are bringing, but you may notice they have become increasingly inquisitive - asking questions at every opportunity, particularly information on the monastery*
This does not seem to deter the actual things the Neophytes are bringing, but you may notice they have become increasingly inquisitive - asking questions at every opportunity, particularly information on the monastery*