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The Passing of the Pontiff


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The passing of the Pontiff.

Pontian III, High Pontiff of the Church of the Canon,

1682 - 1752

 

There was still the same atmosphere of menacing silence in the monastery, in the centre of which lay the bleeding body of the old pontiff, fingers curled to grip onto whatever last vestigial strands of life he could be afforded.

 

“Deo gratias” he said in the aged Flexio tongue of the church that was his life in his late years; and after drawing a final breath as many men had done before, he began to think only of prayer and the world next. An oppressive silence prevailed; the flickering candles filled the monastery basement with their clear light. The martyr passed with little protest.

 

There had been little to the man’s life beyond the strict auspices of faith, each mystery and sacrament filling his heart with only thankfulness on each ministry. To have his heart rendered from his flesh would be an ironic detail that the man would appreciate if not for his own position as unwilling subject.

 

If it were not for the lack of glimmer behind his staring eyes and the riddling of stab-wounds to his torso, the collapsed body of Pontian III would have been mistaken for somebody in deep thought, or some riddling catalepsy where there was some conscious whirring and the ticking of the mind buried deep beneath the chitinous veneer of an old body locked rigid.

 

When his austere cardinal came hours later he stood amazed at such a desecration of God's house, and the man could not venture to read any prayer there beyond one of repose. The church remained standing as it was, with more men responsible for this sin than not standing aside the windows and doors to glean the most minimal of glimpses of the affairs inside.

 

But being aware that he could not say any more to his former brother of faith, Boniface Cardinal Villavia got up cautiously and went out, swaying to the right and left in order to find a guard or some man-at-arms within the city.

 

They arrived quickly.

 

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Demetrio Cicero d’Montelliano cries for his old friend, though he knew the man did God’s work.

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Father Alexander weeps for the Pontiff, swearing almighty vengeance on those who murdered him in cold blood. The Holy Mother Church would have its revenge.

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Elene sharpens her sword, preparing to avenge Pontian III’s death, should she find the killer. 

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Holy Knight Adrian Orel frowned at the news, playing his cards slowly he knew he would figure out who was behind this whole ordeal.

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Abdul al-Samra, upon hearing the news, folds his hands over his mouth and silently weeps for the death of his old Rassidi friend.

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Marc of White looked upon the news with a none too happy expression, before folding the paper gently and stuffing it into his pockets. 

 

He would then go to the other Hemlocks, and request that they join him on his pilgrimage to Oren, to see if perhaps the Oreners were offering a bounty on whoever was responsible for this crime. 

 

”All in a day’s work.” He said to himself. 

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Heinrik Sarkozic stands guard over Eidrs body, preparing his act of revenge against the savages who allowed such events to occur, along with those responsible for the death of the pontiff, vowing to his fellow brothers. “I will crucify those who played a part in this and impale he who killed our beloved pontiff.” 

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Achilles greets his old friend and mentor.

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Anna Maria would furrow her brow in anger, vowing to provide necessary funds or assistance in bringing about justice for the Holy Vicar’s murder.

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Charles Talraen de Rennes shed a tear for his old friend, discarding his cane to pray for Eidr in a painful, mournful kneel.

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Frida Emelie would hear of the news as she lay ill in her bed. She crumbled up her letter before she cast it into the fire and shook her head.

 

"Those wretched traitors! They killed our beloved pontiff... May Godan pass judgement onto them and I pray they get what they deserve!" 

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