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When Jackals Gather: Schism and Sedition

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A WRIT OF ABSOLUTION


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A sweeping poison of the mind draws near.

It coils itself in the hearts of a few—dissenters, deceivers, agents of Iblees himself. From their silver tongues drips venom: a false gospel cloaked in the garments of light; They wear the veil of holiness, yet their hearts throb with treason, pride, and heresy.

I speak now to all who walk in truth—with sound minds, spirits graced by the Prophets, and hearts made tender by faith: Cast from you these weights upon the conscious; Unburden your soul from conduct that scorches the spirit; Turn away from the path that leads only to schism and fire.

 

There are those who would raise the banner of rebellion and call it “reform.” Who would drag the Emperor into a council not to advise—but to anoint, not to affirm—but to usurp. Who weep crocodile tears over Canon Law, while they trample its commandments and canonize their own councils. They gather now in Alba—yet they do not gather in GOD’s name. They convene not to heal the Church—but to enthrone an idol in its sanctuary.

-✠-

 

They speak of unity, yet walk in the counsel of the accuser; they clamor for election, yet crown themselves in their hearts. Let it be known: This council is unlawful, unholy, and unblessed. It bears no mark of apostolic succession. It was not called by a rightful Pontiff. It is no diet—it is a den of jackals.

 

The Laurel of Horen, once borne by the Exalted himself, endures—not on the brows of usurpers, but in the line of true and lawful succession. The Ring of Saint Lucien, the seat of Saint Lucien—these are the relics of our foundation, not the cursed throne we ourselves cast into ash. There is no “vacuum” but the one dug by false prophets who reject the lineage of the Laurel and dare to enthrone heresy.  Their “vacancy” is the cry of the thief who has not yet found the key to the gate.

 

To the priests who are tempted: Turn back before your vestments become your shroud.

To the nobles who observe: Do not give your coin to the work of Iblees

To the faithful: Cling not to the branches of a tree rooted in the detritus of Sin and gnarled by the Most Deceiving.

 

-✠-

 

Let all who attend be warned: To sit in that assembly is to break bread with Daemons. And I shall not suffer wolves among the flock. A shepherd does not beg the wolf to leave. He casts it out.

 

Therefore, I, Francis Claude de Dieu, servant of the Most High and Archbishop of Lemonhill declare the Assembly of Alba:

Heretical. Treasonous. Illegitimate.

They gather under the banner of Lucien, yet speak with the tongue of Sigismund. Let it be heard across the mountains and cities: No true Lucienist exalts the false prophet. There is no legitimate council in Alba. There is no true Lucienism where Sigismund is revered. There is no salvation in sedition.

 

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Freshly-minted Pagan Miroslaw Jazlowiecki rolls his eyes. "Canonists, amirite? **** the church."

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"Lunacy," the Patriarch-Cardinal seethed. "There is no division, Archbishop! Decry not the honest inquiries and concerns of the Presbyter, Brother. It is hardly a sin to talk. With all due haste, Claude, we must speak." He set off in haste, to Lemon Hill. This was getting preposterously out of hand. 

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"What a load of bunk!" Spoke Beaumont, a reformist monk reading the missive, alone, "It's as if every Lucienist has some sort of allergic reaction toward reason."

 

He quipped, continuing to read the missive, clearly irritated.

Edited by siglms_
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[!] A letter shows up on his door

 

“To my reverend brother,

 

It pains me to see that you write with such ire of a flock that has committed no crime other than a plea for help. Our Mother Church mustn’t be a closed door, but instead the welcoming home of our Lord’s Light.

 

The gathering we will have with Alba is no more than a public forum, such that we may have further discussion with our greater members, and formalize these discussions into important points for the Greater Synod. Of course, we do not assume any ecclesiastical authority! You are invited to this forum as equally as anyone else!

 

 Despite these grave words, know that I have no ire for malice in my heart for you, dear brother.  You are welcome to Drusco any time.

 

Fr. Drusco”

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"This is all Automaton-written," mumbled Acolyte John, who took the flier from his door and folded it neatly away. "GOD gave us the gift of intelligence, to write and ponder! Pah. He spits on it."

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One Father Iudas awoke the morning after listening in on a meeting where problems with the Ecclesiastical Diet were already solved, only to stumble across this missive

 

Oh.. oh no..

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Father Helbrecht read the missive with an arched eyebrow. He sighed multiple times whilst going through its contents.

"There is no schism, there is no heresy. This is simply utter madness." 

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Maddock Tam read this and promptly used it to make a paper flower for his fiancée.

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