yopplwasupxxx 5665 Share Posted July 24, 2020 TEMPTATIONS OF SAINT WILFRICHE (or, SAINT WILFRICHE AND THE HOLY ROOD) BY OTTO THE TARCHARMAN AS RECORDED FROM ORAL TRADITION Within a monastery somewhere in the Raev, the local abbot received a chilling letter- a brother larva to the far north, deep in the lands of the demon Setherin, struggled with the approaching winters and called for help. The ascetics, as the letter dictated, feared for their lives, and it would not be the first time for clergymen to fall by dark hands in howling Sethurland. Food had become scarce and the demons ever increased their forages into purified holds. With grim mission, the local prelates gathered to discuss procedure. What could be done for these starving and desperate monks? After much deliberation, the prelates came to no solutions. Spurned but not deterred, the abbot called for the theologians to disperse till the morrow, and hopefully through dutiful prayer and meditation, they would supplement an answer. The abbot cloistered himself in local grotto, and with Julian rosary he muttered repeatedly the canticle of intercession, “Adorable and wise Queen-of-the-Skies, vociferous noises, bawdy temptations and near-infinite distractions of this world are too much for me. Am I, then, called to prayer and contemplation? Answer thou me, and I will do whatever He tells me through thee.”[1] In her mercy and wisdom, Saint Julia interceded on behalf of the votary, and gave upon him solution through vision. She spoke to him in enchanting voice and said, “O Child, verily He hears the pleas of the faithful and damned, And verily He sees the tears of widows and weeps of the lame. Yet He is the Most Benevolent, and gave Man the oxen and ram, Saving all who are loyal and honest to His Name. Bring forth Saint Evaristus’ rood, Holy in make and maker, And take it far past Sethur’s ‘luge. Only one will cross these acres And only one will bear the burden Of the treacherous road to be. Yet doubt not I nor powers therein, For never danger shall you ever be.” Recording all he saw in his divine oracle, he told the fellows of what the skies told of him. In common agreement, they called upon the nearby villages to congregate their masses in the local monastery, and ask for a lone volunteer to make the journey with the holy rood. At once the people came, all cramped within the small hermitage, and the chief abbot spoke to them of the crisis to the north and the visionary experience he received in response. And he said, “My children of Godan, I beseech thee: who amongst you will hold their faith in Godan and bring the rood across the wastes?” Yet at first, no one stood or said a word. All the villagers of the Raev knew of the perils lurking within the Sethurland, and none of the apparently sane would jeopardize their lives in such a way. Again, the abbot cried out, “Children, o children, harken the call of the Skies! Will none save our brethren of Raev?” Then stood a man of Hansetian-make, alien amongst the crowd of Raevir, who volunteered himself with a raised hand. He spoke with clarity and authority, “I, Wilfriche, son of Bruno, will bear the rood.” The people murmured. Why would ever a Hansetian come to save a motley band of Raev monks? Even the abbot was perplexed, and when Wilfriche made his way up to the dais the votary asked him, “Dear child, gracious be. Why sacrifice yourself for a people not your own? Have you forgotten that our people and yours are not ones of friendship and trust?” Verily, the abbot spoke true, and in much of the Raev were the Waldenians and Hansetians to the northwest distrusted and watched with caution. This did not stop Wilfriche, however, appearing from amongst the villagers. The Hansetian spoke meekly and with sincerity, “My dearest abbot, cloistered man, have you forgotten the stories of Saint Joren and Edel? Have you mistaken that we are one in the same, both children of that northern brood? Are we not all children of Godan? Did He not create us all from the same Man and Woman, molded and crafted by divine handiwork? Indeed, for a Waldenian is as much as my kin as a Raev, and a Levonian as much as a Hansetian. And as a brother would help a brother, I too shall assist any kinsman crying for assist when there is few to be had.” The abbot and congregation were moved by the words of Wilfriche, and many remarked that, despite him being of the Westfolk, he was an honorable and faithful man. The priests brought forth Wilfriche the rood of Saint Evaristus, standing at four feet in height and another few in width, along with other assortments of supplies and munitions. They gave him foodstuffs and jerkeys, furs and blankets, loading with him a ram to carry his goods. The abbot said to him, “Child! Child! Wilfriche, you trek on a journey that you may never return, with nothing else but faith in providence. During the way, you shall encounter the demons of the void, the wretched things, who will attempt to steer you away from the bounty of fortune. Harden your heart and see truth in its plain form, recite the words I tell you and falter not will you in any situation, O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” Wilfriche nodded and remembered the words of the wise man. The other priests gave him directions, and told him he must cross the mountain called Kralek if he is to reach before disaster strikes. He soon set off, bearing the rood on his back, tugging along his ram in earnest speed and hurry. First, he crossed the forests of the Wickswald, and later he camped at the ridges of the ruins of Greywyn. It was there, while his ram sipped on the waters of the river Waldor, that Wilfriche discovered an imp of the void. Standing at only two feet, he bore a stark resemblance to a bull dog, though bore an uglier, bat-like face and horns protruding out its wretched dome head. It snarled when it spoke, and every sentence or two the monster twitched and convulsed. The being was none other than Saul, the betrayer of Man, turned in cursed form due to his banishment in the void, where Godan’s light never shined. Slivering before Wilfriche, he spoke, “Foolish man! What is that you carry on your back! Aha! Oho! You carry the rood of that wretched priest, the twin who tousled in the womb! What do you think you can do with that? Godan has failed you, why can you not see? Come tither, and I will teach what priests cannot. As they spoke of in the lands of the Mori, ‘Curses be and curses mine, Follow me to have a good time.’” Wilfriche only shook his head, and Saul grew angry, “Foul thing, you will eat the feces of harpies when my master has you! Yes, yes, he shall want your rood, the precious thing, and when I tell of your plight, my praises the demonic choirs shall sing, and his agents will bring you to flight!” And with that, the demon scurried off, where he journeyed back under the ground and into the portal of the void. The holy Hansetian continued his objective unrelented, finally crossing into the borders of the lands known to be ruled by the archdemon Setherin. There, Wilfriche spotted the mountain of Kralek, told to him by the priests, and he began his perilous ascent in order to save the monks stranded afar. Reaching the base, he was approached by a human-looking fellow who appeared much like the Hansetian. His face was pale and he bore a dark beard and hairy mane, and he spoke with an eloquence akin of a typical commoner. Though he look and talked as a human, Wilfriche suspected darker intent, and the being proved to be none other than a cursed son of Vargentogz. The being called himself Justice, or Vellak, and spoke to Wilfriche, “Toil you do for these people with righteous cause, but why must it be you? You are only a man, a mortal thing not fit for the dangers of Setherin’s realm. Give me your rood, and I shall see to the salvation of the monks.” But Wilfriche remembered the words of the wise man, and recited to Vellak, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” The demon fled and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. He passed the base of the mountain, and the spruce trees which once surrounded his vision became thinner and thinner by the passing minute. Sounds of swords and shields began to ring in the distance, and curiously Wilfriche followed them, coming across a raging battle before him. Horses clashed as riders dismounted their opponents, arrows flew to and fro in seeming disarray. It was a spectacle, and at first Wilfriche was marvelized by it all. Then a rider, bearing golden armor and riding a powerful war-steed, came trotting before him. Raising his visor, he revealed a face torned and battered, but bearing no hint of remorse or guilt. He stood straight and bear an aura of authority, and he greeted Wilfriche with a haughty introduction. As with the last, Wilfriche suspected a darker nature, and revealed himself to be none other than a cursed son of Vargentgotz. The being called himself Glory, or Cagentosh, and spoke to Wilfriche, “The power of the rood you bear knows no bounds, and yet you use it for such pointless trivialities! Do you see not how to crush your opponent and find fame everlasting with such a tool? Join me, knight, and I shall give prestige unlimited.” But Wilfriche remembered the words of the wise man, and recited to Cagentosh, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” The demon fled and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. Pushing onwards, the trees became sparser and sparser, and the road he walked soon filled itself with pebbles and boulders. The way became rocky, and the knight found himself falling once or twice due to misstep. During these trials, Wilfriche came across a lofty manor, and though he found cottages from time to time, this abode was of quality-make. It stood nearly three stories, and its panels bore gold and carbarum platings. Curiosity took the better of Wilfriche, and he entered the mansion in wonder. When he knocked thrice upon the porter, a woman opened and appeared before the knight. She was fat, though she maintained herself with perfumes and caked cosmetics, and with hurried intent welcomed him inside. The manor was lavish and expensive, with walls of gold and furniture lined with Shonan silks and she led the Hansetian into an atrium of splendor. Butlers hurried to and fro, bringing Wilfriche all assortments of food and drink in a nearly endless supply, and it came clear to the knight that this woman was one of suspicious means. Finally, his distrust proved true and she revealed her as the infamous daughter of Vargentgotz. The being called herself Reward, or Lugor, and spoke to Wilfriche, “On your back you deliver a bounty for such a meagre sum. Do you not see the appraisal of such a load? You may purchase anything of mortal wont, just say, for its value brings very nations to call. The souls of men will be yours, if you name the price, and together we may bring you your pleasures tenfold.” But Wilfriche remembered the words of the wise man, and recited to Lugor, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” The demon fled and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. Now when he left the manor, the land around him was covered in thick frost and snow with barely any cover in sight. The Hansetian advanced nonetheless, undeterred from exhaustion. As the night drew on, a blizzard roared through the mountain range, and it overtook the knight and his livestock- Wilfriche could see naught but white in the void, and abandoned the ram of supplies in the unwanted arrangement. Eventually, the storm passed, and he found himself close to the peak of the mountain. He rested on a nearby ledge, enervated from the incursion, and soon the pangs of hunger inflicted him in malaise. Then, if coming from nowhere, a figure loomed behind him. Wilfriche turned, revealing before him a fat, sickly demon of nearly seven feet tall. His face was covered in ghastly acne, with a confused array of horns sticking from all along his cranium and body. Seventeen eyes stared at Wilfriche, and feeble sets of arms squirmed on the sides of his fatty body. Behind him, he bore a vile sled of bloody gore, pulled by a rope of hair. The he-demon was none other than a wretched offspring of the daemon Ishtar. The being called himself Famine, or Baangaja, and he spoke to Wilfriche, “Your body weakens and success wanes with the passing hour. There is no chance for you to succeed without food or supplement. See upon my dragged goods, you yearn for their sustenance? Aha, famine lingers even the richest and gluttonous of men, and soon there will be time when all will feel its embrace. Gold cannot buy you salvation when the fields decay and no seed takes root. The world will suffer, and it will be because you surrender this rood to save yourself. You cannot live long enough to finish crossing this mount. Surrender, and reprise can still be served for your own life.” But Wilfriche remembered the words of the wise man, and recited to Baangaja, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” The demon fled and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. The knight passed the peak of Kralek and began the treacherous descent to the bottom, night now looming to haze the way forward. The ridges and cliffs were steep, and in many cases Wilfriche nearly fell to his death if not for the weight of the rood holding him in place. As the appetency grew within him, so too did the yearning for sleep, and he yawned in the open air. As before, a large demon emerged before him, extending her six large legs above him. Seven tongues protruded from her mouth with a conjoining seven eyes, and her torso covered in demonic utters. When she spoke, a ear-wretching lisp could be heard, driving nearly anyone mad who heard it unluckily for too long. The she-demon was none other than a voidic daughter of Ishtar. The being called herself Toil, or Jabola, and she spoke to Wilfriche, “Toil, toil, you're in trouble, and soon the soil can be your humble. Yet I can save you, yes, from the toil, if you give me the rood. Do not be rude, yes yes! I can bring you a place to rest from work, to save yourself this trouble. You may have respite, and trust in me to bear the rood while you do. No! I shall not steal the rood, do you not trust me? I am of the honest kind. Besides, what other plan do you have in order to survive this journey? You will die here without my assistance. Drop this burden and seek shelter with me.” But Wilfriche remembered the words the wise man told him, and he recited to Jabola, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” The demon fled and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. For hours, the Hansetian bore the abuse of weather and wear, and while he soon saw the base of the mountain, a lone rock made him tumble and fall in a brief moment. While he felt he hurt his leg, the wound seemed not serious, and cautiously he rested on a nearby rock. Thirst, hunger, and exhaustion plagued the poor knight, and the only companion to misery was the rood nuzzled on his back. Suddenly, a demon came from the skies, flapping her wings before Wilfriche in almost vainic glorification. Three great antlers came from her forehead, and golden hairs drew down her figure which transmogrified into snakes at its butt-ends. Her torso was that like a bat, with four sets of claws lining up and down her stomach. On the being’s back, long swords and knives were lumbered in a quiver of human skin. The she-demon revealed herself as yet another of the brood of the daemon Ishtar. She called herself Defeat, or Formkaz, and she spoke to Wilfriche, “Heha, heha, look at you! Death now comes in dreaded hunt, and I am the selected patron of his deliverience. Why succumb to the long pangs of thirst when I can end your suffering here and now? You pray to gods and goddesses for salvation. Heha, heha! Moronic humans dancing like fools for divinities who will bring you nothing! Only salvation from your sins and your troubles in my blade, my bloody, bloody blade! Drop that rood now and let me take your head, my sharpest, bloody blade!” But Wilfriche remembered the words of the wise man, and he recited to Formkaz, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” The demon fled and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. Though Wilfriche suffered many ailments and issues of health from his long odyssey, he still was able to bear enough strength to carry the rood even further. After some time, what seemed to the Hansetian as days, he came to see the monastery in view. Joyous and in vast elation, he hurried himself with the holy load towards the larva. However, standing in his way before he his desired destination was a woman of kerish nature. The dark elven matron stood some inches above Wilfriche, with silver hair and eyes of crimson. Her gaze sent shivers down the spine of the Hansetian, and he found himself unable to keep any eye-contact with her or her form for any longer than a few seconds. Still, he could feel her visage piercing his persona like knives. The creature was none other than Iblees, residing in one of her many mortal forms. Iblees spoke to Wilfriche, “My, my, a living saint has come to the halls of Sethurland, but what for? You have survived much, I will surrender you that courtesy, though it shall all be in vain. Even if you save these foolish ascetics now, I will still kill them later, whether by hands of men or by hands of disease and decay. But, my dear, I think you are a reasonable man. If you give me that rood, I can show you an existence that our foolish father never wanted you to have. As I told my followers on that fateful day before the Seventh Sky, ‘The Creator of the world he has wrought, But its joys he locks beneath lock and vault! He demands love and obedience for that sought And seeks to plant harvest in fields of salt. Why should we suffer from this assault? Let us make right through conquest hard fought!’ Why do you still suffer when I can give you more than He could ever? Divine power will course through your veins, immortality will be your callsign. Seek me, and I shall deliver. Seek Him, and He shall deliver only pain.” But Wilfriche remembered the words of the wise man, and he recited to Iblees, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” Iblees shrieked, “Foolish mortal!” and Wilfriche continued his quest unrelented. Finally, Wilfriche reached where the monks suffered under the pressures of demons and sinners. The votaries saw the stranded courtier and rejoiced, bringing him to the refuge of the monastery and delivering him food, drink and rest. There, Wilfriche recovered his strength and lifeforce, secure in the safety of the monastics’ custody. The rood was placed within the central shrine, and from there the monastery became defended from all sides, and no demon could ever enter the lands of the larva without bringing destruction upon their very demonic forms. When Wilfriche gathered enough of himself to leave, the monks blessed him and told him of his destined future. The Hansetian journeyed home, and from there he forged a legacy as holy knight and mender of the First Schism, his valiant career ending in martyrdom at the Franciscan Massacre. During his life, many peers would come to ask of how he survived the quest of the Holy Rood unrelented and untempted. Everytime, the knight simply responded to them with the words of the wise man told to him all those years ago, “O Dark is the road I trek, For in it lingers shame and pudency. But in me is Godan, And through Godan I persist, And by faith in Godan, I shall not falter.” --- [1] - See and compare Prayer XX in The Comprehensive Book of Prayer by Humbert the Judite (“The Discernment of Saint Julia”). 11 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lojo613 1420 Share Posted July 24, 2020 Father Goren sees and compares to Prayer XX in The Comprehensive Book of Prayers. 2 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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