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The Tragedy of Corazon


Narthok
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The Tragedy of Corazon

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Spoiler

 

 


 

The sun was bright.

 

Throughout the holy city of Corazon the bells tolled, their prodigious cacophony echoing over the surrounding countryside. Witchcraft was present in Corazon, and the swords of God would not suffer the witch to live. 

 

They gathered in the square, a sea of warriors in black armour surrounding the masked priest in white. The abomination would be destroyed. 

 

They advanced in lockstep, tension filling the air. The stone demon was massive, its stone hide impenetrable. Surely many of them would die. Steeling themselves they advanced, better to d

 

Hark, a white horse. The Mareno lord sat astride his brilliant stallion, the sun passing its zenith would shine behind his fair head. “Not today Father” he would say calmly, a cold steel in his voice as he spoke down from his high horse to the zealot below.

 

“I will ask you once and once alone” the fanatic would respond, his eyes burning with the feverish intensity of a man who had never known compromise. 

 

Once more the Mareno lord would shake his head, his riders silently, professionally forming rank about him. 

 

“THE GOLEM WILL BE ALLOWED TO PASS” a feeble cry would echo from the corner. The Prince of Savoy had emerged from his chambers, a rarity in these days of decay. 

 

The black line would stand, unmoving, flanking the masked priest clad in white; commanded by nothing more than the sharp hand motions of their stern captain. 

 

Shoving through the crowd the Prince’s men would attempt to seize the priest “Father be reasonable” they would plead. Yet the priest had flown beyond reason, beyond pleading. “There can be no compromise with Sin, no quarter for the witch” he would whisper, shaking off their grasping hands.

 

Yet soon their number became too great, barring the priest and his men the convoy was able to proceed. Betrayal.

 

Yet as they passed their way was once more barred by a small girl, yet still in her teenage years. About her neck swung a crude Lorraine, and in her hands was clasped a small sword, yet a sword nonetheless. 

 

Panic would spread amongst the crowd, confusion rising amidst the voices shouting, struggling for control. A stampede.

 

Through the clamour a high pitched voice would ring out, a hand outstretched at a bright sky. The flame of life extinguished.

 

As the dust settled, the young girl lay dead, her right hand still clasped about her sword, her left about her crude wooden Lorraine. An act performed with the last of her ailing strength.

 

With feral rage the priest would flow forward like a beast unchained, striking and shoving at any who would impose themselves between he and his fallen sister.

 

Falling to his knees the unflappable priest would cry harsh tears. His whole body shaking with each great sob. Tears would drip from the bottom of his mask. He would cradle the shattered body of the small girl to his chest, pressing his masked forehead against her own.

 

The rain fell

 

After what seemed an eternity he would rise, the corpse held in his arms. Those who could gaze past his mask into his eyes would see little more than a hollow despair. Seeming half his usual size the priest would slowly carry the body of the dead girl away to the Cathedral.

 

As he crossed the threshold, blood dripping from the corpse the great bells of the Cathedral would begin to sound. Only the greatest of the great bells sounding the sorrow of the tight knit Cathedral community for all souls of Corazon to hear.

 

Soon the procession would depart from the Cathedral, the body of the small girl born upon the cross laden shield of the priest, supported at each corner by a warrior clad in black. 

 

They passed through the grand plaza

 

They passed the Cathedral cemetery

 

They passed through the gates of the city

 

Down the steps they descended

 

Finally the procession came to its rest at a precipice overlooking the ocean. Silently the black clad warriors would draw forth shovel and pickaxe setting about hewing a final resting place from the soil.

 

The masked priest would stare into the distance.

 

That day he had lost something that could not be replaced by all the gold and gems of the wide world. No title could salve that wound, no words could balm his pain. Only the knowledge that the young girl was now in the embrace of God provided him any meagre solace.

 

As the corpse was placed into its horse blanket shroud, then placed in the waiting coffin the priest would break his silence.

 

“Today the light has gone out of my life”

 

“No more shall my sister dance in the southern sun”

 

“No more shall she light the morning with her laughter as she chases the foals”

 

“She has been taken beyond my reach”

 

Waiting until her coffin had been properly covered with soil and clay the masked Priest would turn, leaving his sister to her final resting place.

 

The sky was dark.

 

Spoiler

Would like to thank everyone who was involved in the Golem RP. Was really fun content and really good character development for all of the Cathedral RPers. 

 

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9 minutes ago, Lionbileti said:


Olivier Renault prepares for his daily jog in his savoydidas track suit.

 

Haskir observes as Olivier Renault applies his facemask before leaving his palace. Providing him a thumbs-up, he realized that Olivier Renault was likely quarantined since the coronation.

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