The Flame Drifts From The Fray

[Swgrclan 2682]

Upon the road, not far from the marble temple of the Fringe, one would hear the soft thud of many boots 'pon the soil; an amalgamation of rustling plate, chainmail and equipment carried by many-a-man. The source of this common noise would come into view in the form of three men -- two clad in armor and one in but a crimson, tattered robe. They bear the features of hardened humane men; ones who have witnessed death and have gotten used to it's scarring toils. A bitterness dwells their eyes unmatched by the common traveler or soldier scouring naught the field of battle. They stride with a brisk pace, apparently bearing no time to dwindle upon the road -- for they had work to do. The work of God, and no mere figment of a man's desperate mind; they bore the duties of light. They duties of the Flame, blessed it be.

While one soldier watched the perimeter close, another hefted that of a lightweight flagpole which bore a reddened banner with the pattern of an elaborate flame to match the assumed priest's attire. Upon reaching the marble courtyard itself, they stood threefold at the portal-frame, flag in-hand and raised high as if to exclaim their identity which had not been seen upon this plane, the last or the one before even once. The flag-pattern of a forlorn flame appeared distinct, but unfamiliar.

 

The priest's voice cut the air sharp, akin to a serrated blade through the weak flesh of game. It was hoarse, deep and as bitter as his gaze; but his message was clear for those that had gathered in meager interest or any at all.

"Good tidings, mortal cater-cousins. I come to thou with a message; one of peace, not of war, and of clarity. Mine words sing the song of defiance, but defiance form'd from the honest man's perspective, by the Flame pure it be.

The flock of the Flame hath settl'd it's gaze upon this land; upon this land, the last and the one 'ere the last. It hath watch'd it's people f'r nearly two generations of our own and it hath witness'd their toils, never-minding ours. Thou hast fac'd death and the debacle of fear by the hand of both thy mortal cousins and the darkness that once dwellt North; North, which is no-doubt abask in the waters of an invasive ocean.

But the quarrel of one who agnizes his righteous fire is not of the Dark Ones; only the faults of mortality which hast been evident time and time again amongst those that hast clung to one-another, whe'r they be humane 'r of other long-accurs'd origin. I come to thou, and I speak of the mockery -- the very blatant insult -- of faith in this land. It hath gripp'd the populaces of many nations and settlements with a belief drawn from but the desperations of a confus'd man near the end of his age and upon his deathbed. I speak of thy "True Faith."

Scores upon dozens upon droves hast fallen by the mere wretch'd faith of man which is dominat'd by a church which, just recently, led to the debasing and decimation of the Carrion Rule. Franz was merely crown'd by one man, and in a bout of rage only comparable to a child having it's toy taken from it's feeble grasp, the brief King was murder'd by the deceitful, the sinful and and corrupt. Anon the King of a kingdom built upon an order which is fam'd f'r the genocide of Man's Elven cousins hath taken the title of emporer, an act certes respect'd and endors'd by the "holy" church of this "One True Faith."

This is the state of Man? This is the justice of it's church?" 

The already firm, bitter features of the priest of probable middle-age suddenly contort into that of anger as the gathered crowd ripples in vocal contemplation of his words; anger naught toward the peoples before him, but for the very facts carried upon his words. He barks out his piety with a righteous anger in his eyes, preaching the word of his sacred Flame.



"This is thy God?! I see betrayal when I see thy Creator! I see corruption! I see death! The very kingdom of Oren, of MAN hath been DECIMATED countlessly through the span of merely THREE SHORT-LIVED LANDS 'ere reaching this point in time. Ye art given another emperor, and another empire. What shall come again, shouldst another two lands pass by the fault of a natural disaster 'r dark foe? Shall history repeat itself and lead to another mass of rebellions while this forsaken church of the "One True Faith" stands idly by with their meaningless holy orders and their military comparable to a bawbling nation's while the descendants of man die once more? Shall another Franz be stabb'd in the back? Shall the shadow of the White Rose genocide the Elven race once again?! When will the treachery end?!"

After a brief moment to inhale a breath of air and scan the crowd, the priest continues:

"It ends NOW! Horen did not wish f'r his sons and daughters to allow a petty church bas'd on a being which dost not exist to deem who is crown'd and who is not! The Holy Flame, bless'd it be, seeks to fell this wretch'd cult; to usher man into an Age of Gold whence nay race, whe'r Orc 'r Elf, is oppress'd by the empires of man-kind. The Flame is a gracious God; a being of the sky, a Daemon in one man's eyes, an Aengul in the other's. He is LIGHT, he is FIRE, and he is the SUN in the SKY!

I speak of Tahariae, bless'd be his name! The Light-Bringer! The Vanguard of the Flame! The Star which Cuts through the Night! He is retribution against the darkness, what endues thou warmth when ye art cold! He is the guide of Man and the burning flame in it's unbreaking soul! He shall guide Oren from it's repeating time of troubles; nay Emperor, nay Church, nay FAITH OF FALSITIES!

Follow his virtues, follow his ways as others had -- as Saint Baldwin had, rest his sacred soul; trail behind his enlightened, sparse in number to this land, and learn from them -- for only his gracious light may truly save the wretched; whether by light or fire, judgment comes in His name!"

The priest, heaving breaths in and out, scans the grounds once more as the flag of his faith, of his people unknown, flaps in the wind; guards at the ready for those who would try to assault the priest so foolishly. The holy man watches, he waits, regaining his breath as he seeks an agreement or even just a word of thought from others who had gathered.


 

[Hobolympic 1093]

A peasant begins to chant: "... for the night is dark, and full of terrors."

[Hanrahan 2983]

Hamish gazes on with worry.

 

"Sir, might we chat about this viewpoint of your over tea someday soon? It's surely better then killing things over this.."

[Samoblivion 532]

A voice from the crowd shouts.

 

"You wish to fight zealotry with zealotry? Pollute Tahariae's peaceful message like some pollute that of the Divine Creator's faith? Such words are betray you as no better than that which you claim to oppose! Madness! Madness and hypocrisy!"

[Esterlen 4499]

 

"Ah serve the Flaming Fisssst!"

 

Proclaims one unwashed elderly hierophant, being supported on his back by the arms of the crowd.

[Swgrclan 2682]

 

Hamish gazes on with worry.

 

"Sir, might we chat about this viewpoint of your over tea someday soon? It's surely better then killing things over this.."

 

 

"My kin and I plan to shed no blood, brother," The red Priest replies with a narrow of his eyes, "I am simply the vocal precursor for what is to arrive. Faithful disputes, logically, should not end in violence -- as the holy Flame would seek, peace is the only option until the blood of the Western Motherland is split upon these soils."

 

A voice from the crowd shouts.

 

"You wish to fight zealotry with zealotry? Pollute Tahariae's peaceful message like some pollute that of the Divine Creator's faith? Such words are betray you as no better than that which you claim to oppose! Madness! Madness and hypocrisy!"

 

"And how else should one combat a religious superpower only bearing the False Faith for the sole reason of deceitful claim over the loyal humane race transpire? Do not be blind to the Church's ways, brother. The righteous Flame lashes at those who seek to snuff it, and there shall be no zealoustry expressed through the toils of clashing blades until one side provokes the other. The Church may act outside of it's savagery and attempt to debase the pious claims of one of the Flame's followers, I'm sure."

[The Templar 195]

A woman garbed in the crimson and gold robes, long forgotten to be that of an ancient order, listens to the passionate speech. Her elvish ears twitch constantly throughout as she muses aloud in a very soft voice, "The Creator has been blasphemed by the Children of Horen countless times, yes.." She would pause, musing on his next set of words carefully as he speaks, "He speaks the fears of all those who descend from the twice-cursed, who is this Valah..?" She would pale at his next set of words, shaking her head, "Th-They a-aren't r-ready for this r-revelation!" She would softly stutter, glancing around fearfully at the crowd on the off-chance that someone might recognize her garb.

 

"Hm?" She murmers curiously, her attention wrenched back to the speaker as he starts up once more, "Is there yet another of the Archangel's brothers joining this mortal struggle..? It sounds like..." Her eyes would widen wide as saucers following the revelation, voice cracking, "T-The A-Archangel of P-Purity s-sends him!?" She would stutter, her soft voice louder as a result, listening intently and saying no more until the end, "I m-must s-seek g-guidance.." She would swiftly turn her back on the crowd to find her peers, a blue symbol adorning a certain temple's walls is visible for but a moment as he hair whips at the abrupt turn, as she crushes a purple stone, disappearing in moments.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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