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The Creator's Will

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Archbishop Castus II braces himself against the altar in the cathedral as the ground shakes with violent tremors. The various items of religious import shake with the world-moving quakes. A gold-gilt chalice hits the stone floor with a violent and resounding echo. The reverberations of the sound echo throughout the vaulted ceilings. "OUR LORD SPEAKS!" shouts Castus to the terrified assortment of men and women cowering under the pews in front of him. The uneasy ground begins to settle. Motes of dust still float in the air, catching the light of a dagger of sun shining through where a stone brick had fallen out of the roof during the quakes. "THE CREATOR BIDS US HEED."

 

Castus pushes himself up, straightening and adjusting his vestments. He picks up his staff and dips it in the sun illuminating the eddying dust, the iron Kaedrini cross that tops it glimmering as if it were gold. He takes a few assured steps forward, his feeble form for a moment seeming as mighty as a warrior. "We sheep," he whispers, "We sheep to the great shepherd of the Seven Skies. We run amok as if the Lord throws chaos in our midst. We forget the true might of the Creator." Castus's face contorts with a passionate zeal as he gestures with his free hand, towards the skies, raising his voice to a resounding boom, "The Creator shall guide us! And we shall obey! Too long has this forsaken land kicked around like a horse without a head, bleeding itself dry of our moral obligations and our observations to the Creator, to the Empire!" The clergyman's left hand flies to his chest, clutching the stone pendant of a dragon below the folds of his robes, "The divine Godfrey led us through division, through the nights of humanity, to the glories of our birthright! This man, neigh, this divine! He brought the Creator's will to the inferior races. But he saw us for what we are. We fickle flock! We disobedient sheep! He left us to our corruption!"

 

"LOOK TO THE LIGHT OF THE CREATOR! HE WILL GUIDE US!"

 

The Archbishop is interrupted as a messenger runs through the cathedral, his footfalls echoing through the whispers of the frightened flock. The messenger whispers in Castus's ears, and then runs off. A smile spreads across the man's hollow cheeks, "THE CREATOR HAS HEARD OUR CRIES! THE GREAT PITS OF DESPAIR, OF CORRUPTION, HE HAS MENDED THEM. HE SENDS US A MESSAGE! OUR PRAYERS WILL BE ANSWERED!" A faint glow seems to surround the Archbishop as the words, "Deus Vult, and so it will be," roll off his tongue and into the quiet of the chapel. The flock echoes his words back. "Deus Vult. Deus Vult."

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Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.

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