BASILICA DOMINICI
Set on its own pathway within the boulevard of temples in King's Court, stands the Basilica Dominici- the Temple of The One. Alabaster walls stand as testaments to the purity of the One True Faith. Surrounded on all sides by a tall and impressive wall, the church manages to avoid looking like a fortress- tall and elegant sculptures standing along the edges- pictures of saints and angels taken from Dominicus's dogma. An experienced clergyman might recognize the Chronicler Oren or the Cardinal Kern; Drakedoder and Berkeley. The present rain runs along the sculptures, giving them an appearance of sadness and woe, as if the saints themselves weep for the King's Court at present.
In the center of the wall there is a massive gate- ornately crafted in silver metal that is blessed to never rust, until the faith of all men within should fail. The ornate entrance is always held open- just as the arms of Dominicus himself are always open to new followers. Just within the gates is a splendid garden, lush in its greenery and vibrant in its flowers- tended by some of the most religiously devout monks to walk the face of Tazlure. Perhaps it is this devotion that allows this garden to remain pure and luminous despite the rain and cold- where all other gardens might fail. The main path leads directly forward, hedged in by the shrubs of the garden itself at waist height, leading directly toward the main chapel, the tallest building in the entire complex- smaller walkways branching off, to the less-important structures.
It is the main chapel that is most impressive, however, remarkable in its height and elegance- essentially a circular building, bound on all sides by columns and arches. There are other sculptures set in the alcoves and upon the roof, here, a tall spire stretching upward from the entire mass- spiraling into the heavens- capped in a gilded depiction of an eye, the simple of The One. In all times, the chapel is doubtless inviting- but especially so in the current rain, seeming to beckon any approaching travellers forth, into the soothing warmth it provides- the entry chamber visible behind tall doors, partially open- a fire burning within, with deep and comfortable-looking couches set just within the oversized portals. All were welcome to enter freely, especially converts.
Late Evening Tide, 26th of Chyril 1225 AD
Distant din of church bell rang in the background, the loud gong echoing over and over under the starry filled vault of the evening sky, signaling the last office of the Canonical service, Complin. The final devotion for the liturgical hours. Amidst the distant peals of the church bell, a single moan of profound pain mingled and then was followed by a loud thwack of something hitting flesh. It continued for a long time, the ritual going over and over under the semi-darkness of a small room illuminated merely by a candle.
Tyrone was in the center of the bare room, shadows flickering around him, kneeling before a looming symbol of the One Eye with a dove upon its center. He was naked, save for a loincloth, and sweat streamed down his body, his dark skin glistening under the sputtering candlelight. With another stiffled moan, he whipped himself on the back with a scourge, red blood oozed down from the flayed flesh where the whip made contact.
"Put to death what is earthly in you: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry." The young dark achadhiel muttered a small mantra, grinding his teeth from the profound pain of his devotion, whispering the prayer as if from memory. "For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit of the One you put to death the deeds of the body you will live." With another series flick of his hand, he sent the end of the scourge whipping once again on his back, the metallic smell of blood mingled with his sweat as his own blood mixed with flayed flesh sprayed around the room.
His zealous filled eyes looked up at the Eye of Dominicus and the young monk trembled with fear. With a loud wail, he tore at his hair and banged his head upon the floor, grovelling before the sanctity and mercy of the One and True God of Tazlure. "Let this devotion be pleasing to you, O Dominicus and if not, either let me suffer or let me die." He prayed and grinding his teeth once more, he whipped himself again and again, the loud thwack of the scourge drowning from the louder but fading din of the church bell.
With a small whimper, he stood. Carefully, he folded the scourge and hid it. It was time, the Hour of Complin had passed, his devotion for the day has ended and it was time to act. Breathing deeply, he swept his grey eyes around and painfully limped acrossed the room to pick his monk robe. Slowly, he dressed himself, hissing in intense pain as the woolen robe touched the tender, flayed flesh of his back and pulling his cowl low, he blew the candle out and silently left the room to look for the Bishop Lazos.
He was inside the Basilica and the room he had left was vacant, a room for private devotions. The fanatic monk glided across the corridor like a silent ghost, his footstep lightly tapping upon the marble floor, his face a shadowy darkness inside his hood, his cloak billowing and rustling faintly under the silent reverie of the Church while his Eye amulet clicked faintly as he moved.
"May the One be with you, Brother," Tyrone would say if he should meet someone of the Church, bowing slightly before that personage. "Where would I find the Holy Bishop Lazos?"