[KC] Mortification of the Flesh [Tyrone] Chy 26 Late ET

[Tyrone]

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?"

[Guido Cercatoro]

Tyrone had only taken a few steps before he encountered a middle-aged priest hurrying down the corridor. The priest was dressed in the typical ebon and silver vestments of servant of the One. His hair, although thinning, almost mirrored the silver colour of his robes and he held a drooping potted plant in his hands. With a nod of his head, the priest acknowledged Tyrone’s greeting but frowned at his question.

“You must surely know, brother, that the Bishop if very busy today. With the disappearance of Bishop Delos, Bishop Lazos has been elected to deputise for the Cardinal during his absence. He will be busy for several days. If you wish, I can make you an appointment for I act as his assistant in administrative matters.” Glancing at the plant he held the silver-haired man sighed. “So much to do now.”

“I am afraid that I do not know you, brother,” continued the priest. “What is your business with the Bishop and from whence do you hail?”

[Tyrone]

“I came at a wrong time then, Father.” The postulant confessor replied disappointedly. He wanted to urgently speak to the Bishop Lazos but he knew the holy Bishop would be busy attending to the needs of the Church and he would just be in the way. He would have to wait but there was a feeling of urgency to the task that was given to him in the revelation he had in the Trade Avenue. Was it Dominicus who revealed Himself to him? Or was it just a symptom of his fasting? But he was a sinner, his iniquities were deeply imbedded in his blood, why would Dominicus reveal Himself to a wicked person? His instincts cried at the urgency of the situation but his training as a postulant monk of Confessors forbid him to disobey the words of the priesthood. The young monk fully observed the vow of obedience that was inculcated upon him by the Abbots of the Purificatio.

And why would the Bishop Lazos listen to the words of a sinner? He mused with pure anguished thought. Sighing, he nodded respectfully at the priest, respecting the vestment he wore, ashamed to be in the presence of the priest of the One with his unwashed, tattered monk’s robe soiled with dirt. “Please, Father, excuse me for not knowing. I had been in the northern forest fasting and mourning and praying.” The Jackal continued with his voice low and melodious tinged with profound sorrow. “I just recently arrived; I had been without any news for some months now since the death of King Balthazar.”

“The Abbots of the Purificatio named me, The Jackal,” Tyrone introduced himself, kneeling respectfully before the elderly priest. “I am an acolyte monk of the Confessors from a cloistered abbey of the Prodesse Diocese. My abbots sent me here to help further the cause of the One Church. I am willing to wait for an appointment, Father,” The fanatic acolyte continued, his eyes gleaming with pure zealousness. “But I am not sure if I should. I know not of what’s been happening to our Holy Church since my absence. Are there news from the Diocese of Prodesse? What of Father Binaldi? Has there been any news of him and the Holy Father Demetrion?”

The dark achadhiel frowned and clenched his teeth, unsure of what the purpose Dominicus has for him. I must have faith. He prayed, trusting himself wholeheartedly to the hands of the Holy Eye. “His ways are unfathomable to men.” Tyrone murmured fanatically to himself, quoting a small psalm from the One Book and clutching reverently at his amulet.

[Guido Cercatoro]

As Tyrone announced that he had been named “The Jackal”, an astonished look imprinted itself on the priest’s face. Indeed, the silver-haired churchman was so startled that he dropped the plant he was holding. The pot fell to the floor with a crash that echoed throughout the stone-flagged corridor. Yet, the priest did not rush to retrieve the plant. No, he simply stared at Tyrone.

“The Jackal?” The priest murmured the words quietly to himself as if in disbelief. He slowly raised one hand to rest on his cheek, whilst his mouth hung open.

“I was told…..The Bishop said….I..” The man stuttered in confusion for a few flickers before shaking his head in admonishment at his own behaviour.

“Forgive me. I had not expected you so soon. You are welcome. Please follow me.” Saying nothing more, the priest sped off down the corridor.

If Tyrone followed the priest he would be led to a small, plain room containing little more than a few empty chairs and a table. “Please wait here, I will inform the Bishop of your arrival.”

A few flickers after the priest had departed, the door opened and a tall, thin man wearing a long black gown entered the room. He took one of the empty chairs, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the seat. The new arrival had a long, sour pointed face with a pair of hawk-like eyes adorned with thin, dark eyebrows. Equally thin lips were pursed firmly together with no trace of a smile or sign of emotion on his pale almost skeletal face.

“You are here to see the Bishop?” The pale-faced man stated his query in a stony, unsettling voice.

[Tyrone]

Confusion met the old priest's astonishment. Why was his name known throughout the sacred halls of the Basilica? Was his sin so profound that the mere mention of his name sent priests fleeing and nervous. It is true, he thought with chagrin, my sin runs through my blood and it will never be removed. The old priest was terrified of him, he should be, he was the epitome of sin and it showed upon his skin, his thoughts and his actions and he wondered why he was still alive under the holy roof of the Basilica. "For His mercy is everlasting and His hand just." He muttered a small antiphon, remembering it from his Prodessean Breviary, a small book of Canonical hours, hymns and prayers for the One. "And He shall reign perpetually, Amen."

"There is nothing to forgive, my holy priest," Tyrone begged of him, cringing, unsettled by the apparent fear coming from the old priest. "I am but a sinner who longs to follow the Church of Dominicus." With a small nod and with his mind in turmoil, the dark achadhiel followed the old priest. Silently, he mulled over his sins and knew that his penance was at hand in the form of the Holy Bishop Lazos. He waited eagerly and craved to be redeemed. With a humble assent, the Jackal seated himself upon one of the empty chairs, patiently waiting to be summoned by the Holy Bishop, his mind ever churning of his sin against the One God, Dominicus.

“You are here to see the Bishop?”

His silent reverie was interrupted by a man he had not noticed entering. Slowly, burning gray eyes looked up at the man with fanatic zeal. With a simple nod of his head, Tyrone answerd the man, looking at him from beneath his hood. "I am, brother." He stated with his low, adhiel melodious voice, with another nod, he indifferently disregarded him and went back to his reverie, bowing his head as if in simple, pious prayer.

[Guido Cercatoro]

As his eyes caught those of his pale-faced questioner, the dark achadheil felt an almost physical jolt in his thoughts. It was as if the be-gowned man’s eyes had somehow pierced Tyrone’s skin and entered his mind. The unsettling sensation lasted for a mere flicker or two before vanishing as suddenly as it had arrived. The tall man pursed his lips and turned his eyes to face the wall, evidently dismissing the other from his consideration.

It was only a few burns before the elderly priest arrived back and beckoned Tyrone to accompany him. The priest addressed the pale-faced man in an apologetic tone. “The Bishop will see you shortly headmaster, some urgent business has arisen.” Shifting in his seat, the thin man appeared ready to protest but then, with a quick glare at the achadheil, he sat back in his chair. “Of course, I will wait,” he muttered in the same stony, monotone voice he had used previously.

Tyrone would be led down a short corridor to small room that had the appearance of a library, for every wall was lined with shelves filled with books, scrolls and parchments. The room was dominated by a large desk behind which sat a clean-shaven man of no more than thirty yahren, dressed in the robes of a Bishop of the One.

“Please sit,” said the Bishop pointing to a seat in front of the desk. “Would you care for some water?” Lazos lifted a water jug and began pouring water into one of a set of small, plain glasses that stood on a silver tray on the top of the desk. The elderly priest left the room closing the door behind him.

“Are you truly the Jackal?” The Bishop asked his question in a voice tinged with astonishment.

[Tyrone]

He fell into the deep well of his piercing, hawlike eyes. Time was of no essence there and Tyrone plummeted, falling and falling into the dark voidness, the man's eyes holding him firmly paralyzed. He screamed, but he realized that no sound came from his mouth, the eyes boring into him and through him. And, as sudden as the feeling came, it quickly disappeared and the dark achadhiel found himself seated once more, breathing hard, his hand firmly clutching the sides of his chair. What was it? Stunned, the young acolyte monk of the Purificatio could only look suspiciously at the pale-faced man. Did he do something to him? Or was it just a figment of his imagination? Perhaps, an effect of his month long fasting and abstinence.

Slowly, the young postulant stood up when he was beckoned by the elderly priest, casting both a curious and suspicious look at the headmaster back in the chairs before following the priest along the corridor and into the room of the Bishop Lazos. Headmaster? What kind of headmaster? He thought to himself, still wondering the odd feeling and the strange begowned man he had left behind.

He saw the vestment of the Bishop first before seeing his face and awed by such holiness and respecting the robe which the holy priest wore, the Jackal fell to his knees before the Bishop of Lazos and reverently kissed the hem of his ecclesiastical robe. "Bless me, Holy Father," Tyrone murmured, his head bowed low, "and show me the path to the Holy One for I am truly lost."

The bishop's astonishment puzzled him as well as the recognition of the name his abbots had hiven him. How did the Bishop knew? Perhaps, his abbots at the monastery were in incontact with the Bishop Lazos, or perhaps, his transgression had finally caught up with him. Trembling, fearing the wrath of the Holy Bishop Lazos, the Jackal pushed back his cowl and fully looked up at the bishop. "The abbots of my monastery took me in as a child, Holy Father, and showed me the ways of the Sacred One and the path of the Purificatio and thus, showing me the err and the sins of my other blood."

"The abbots named me the Jackal," Tyrone answered, "thus, they said, 'for he shall scavange the Kingdom of God, a predator who haunts, separating the wicked and the dead.' Yes, I am the Jackal, Holy Bishop, command me and I shall obey, and through you, the Kingdom of God shall once again burn, scorching my iniquities and those of the pagans and sinners."

[Guido Cercatoro]

As he entered the Bishop’s room and knelt before him, Tyrone could not entirely rid his thoughts of the gaze of the pale man whom the priest had referred to as the headmaster. It was as if the man’s very gaze had left a slight unpleasant taint in the Jackal’s mind. However, the feeling slowly faded as he kissed the young Bishop’s robes.

“Please get to your feet,” said Lazos hurriedly. The Bishop’s face betrayed a strange mixture of sincerity and anxiety. “From your words, I do indeed know that you are the Jackal of whom I was forewarned.”

The Bishop rose to his feet and took a few paces around the room, his hands interlaced across his stomach as he walked deep in thought. After a few flickers, he turned towards Tyrone.

“I have been shown a vision by the One God.” He spoke slowly, a pair of deep blue eyes sweeping over Tyrone’s face. “It is one I must share with you.” Lazos made his way around the desk placing one hand on the Jackal’s head.

“Prepare yourself,” he stated simply. “Pray to the One and then empty your mind. I will be your guide.”

[Tyrone]

Hurriedly, but with the hint of an adhiel grace, the young monk stood up and faced the Holy Bishop. Was that anxiety and apprehension he saw upon the priest's face, or was it perhaps something more? Hatred for his blood filled him once more, hatred for the evil ways of his Adhiel race, hatred mingled with profound shame that his blood was the blood of the Adhiels as well, full of wicked sin and iniquities. Slowly, understanding the Bishop's apprehension, Tyrone pulled his cowl back over his head, the shadows covering his dark achadhiel face once more.

Forewarned? He repeated the bishop's words inside his mind, his face confused under the shadows of his hood. By whom? By the Council of Abbots of the Prodesse Diocese? I do not understand. Perhaps, the Bishop was warned how much a sinner I am. He closed his eyes, letting the shame and his profound wash over him. My Lord, when shalt thou wash me from all this iniquities? He prayed inside the silence of his heart. But, was it why he was here, before the Bishop Lazos, so that he could wash away his iniquities and be born again into the light and guidance of Holy Dominicus, the One God.

"A vision! From the Lord Dominicus?" Tyrone gasped, his voice low and whispery, his gray eyes widening with full, profound awe of the holy Bishop. Making the holy sign of the One, the young postulant of the Purificatio lifted his head up to the sky and marvelled at the wisdom of the One Dove. "Dominicus (Blessed be He) be praised." He whispered a small prayer but gasped once more, paling before the holy Bishop.

"Holy Bishop!" The young monk protested, stepping back, his gray eyes widening with fear. "I am not worthy to see such a holy vision, I am but a servant of Dominicus, a foul sinner. Please..." He trailed off when the holy priest made his way around the desk and placed his hand upon his head. He started to sob, to tremble and moved by the mere presence of the Bishop Lazos, by the sanctity he exuded, Tyrone fell to his knees once more, weeping in zealous adoration for the Lord Dominicus. With open tears streaming down his dark cheeks, the Jackal lifted his face to look at the eyes of the Bishop and caught in the frenzy of his faith, he opned his mind and he started singing a canticle, a hymn that he and his brother monks always sang in the Canonical Hour of Vesper:

*"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
My spirit rejoices in God my Saviour;
He has looked with favour on His lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed;
The Almighty has done great things for me and holy is His name.
He has mercy on those who fear Him,
From generation to generation,
He has shown strength with His arm,
And has scattered the pagans in their conceit,
Casting down the heathens from their thrones
And lifting up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things
And sent the sinners away empty.
He has come to the aid of his servant,
To remember His promise of mercy,
The promise made to our ancestors,
And His children for ever."

OOC: *Magnificat but changed a few words here and there for Tazlurean setting.

[Guido Cercatoro]

As Tyrone’s hymn rang out he felt the soft touch of the Bishop’s hand. The hand exuded a reassuring warmth that permeated down through the adheil until it encompassed his whole body. Slowly, the words of the hymn were absorbed by the heat until they finally faded away. He was no longer aware of the room, or the Bishop, or his own body. The Jackal felt as if his mind was adrift in a dark void. Yet, it was not an unpleasant barren place – no, it had secure feeling, almost womb-like.

Many burns appeared to pass as Tyrone remained in the void. However, slowly his senses began to return as if they had finally adjusted to the depth of the darkness in the place to which he had been brought.

Sight… a flickering golden glow at the edge of his vision.

Touch…the feel of warm water supporting his body

Smell…the aroma of some unfamiliar, fragrant flower

Sound…a delicate twittering floating on soft breeze

Taste… a salty trickle running over his tongue

Fluttering above his head was a small, indistinct shape. Circling quietly. Twittering.

[Tyrone]

He was floating... Or was it falling? The young dark Achadhiel wasn't sure and he didn't care, all he knew and felt was this safe and warm feeling and he realized he would never fear the terror of the night, protected in the loving and merciful wings of Dominicus, Tyrone's place of refuge. And though darkness surround him, the young acolyte of the Purification was not afraid, fear was an alien concept in that bodiless state as he drifted securely in that empitness. And as time moved her slow and stately march, the zealous monk floated contentedly, basking in the warmthness of the womb, everything forgotten in that dark nothingness.

But, slowly, senses began to interfere, slowly taking hold of the emptiness of his surrounding. Let light be! And then there was light and it was divided into darkness then followed by that golden color. With a soundless moan, Tyrone could do nothing against these intruders upon this sanctuary of emptiness but wait curiously, patiently. Let a firmament be! They trickled first, slowly, warm water gushing and flowing around him, submerging him and yet, he did not fear, carrying him wave upon wave into the distant chasm of emptiness, the golden light still flickering upon the edge of his vision. Wither am I? Time was of no meaning as he floated once more, yet he knew, from the very core of the abyss, something was dividing, something was growing, pushing up and then, he smelled the flowers after a flicker of a candlemark... or was it a flicker of an eon? It was with another blink of a flicker (or perhaps an era) that he heard the soft flutter of wings and delicate sound of twittering and lifting his head up, tasting the salty trickle running over his tongue, he sought the indistinct shape fluttering above him.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Slowly the sights, sounds and aromas that had filtered through to Tyrone’s senses coalesced. He was floating in the middle of a large lake, somehow kept afloat by the water. It was no freshwater lake, for he could taste sea salt on his tongue and it clung, stinging to his body, which appeared to be totally bare. The lake was surrounded by a sandy and pebble strewn beach. Amongst the pebbles were patches of purple flowers that might be the source of the aroma that blew across the waters on the gentle breeze. Behind the beach lay the beginnings of a wood, fronted by majestically tall trees. From within the wood a golden glow emerged.

Circling above Tyrone was a delicate, red and gold coloured butterfly. The chittering noise appeared to emanate from its wings. To one side of Tyrone, a small circular wave washed out from the centre of a disturbance in the water. The chittering of the butterfly grew in intensity and it glided in an agitated fashion around the floating achadheil’s head. Beneath the water, a huge shape moved slowly in the Jackal's direction.

[Tyrone]

Tyrone had been floating unconsciously in the water without knowing it, and when his senses begin to merged together to form his surrounding, his awareness, which was lightly submerged in a light dream state, began to wake up and slowly, realizing that he didn't know how to swim, fear and panic overwhelmed him and he began to flounder as he slowly sunk into the salty lake.

The dark achadhiel could hear his heart pounding, profound fear gripping him, almost paralyzing him. He struggled and flapped his arms up in the air, trying to find a solid object to hold, but it was useless. He was struggling to stay afloat, the water pulling him down and down as he tried to claw his way up to no avail. Sinking deeper and deeper, his struggle to survive took almost all of his strength and breathe. Violently kicking his feet, he paddled and propelled himself upward to the surface, enough to gulp a lungful of air and salt water before he began to sink like a stone once more.

Beneath the water, Tyrone saw a large shape moving in his direction. Helpless, the young monk of the Purificatio clawed his way up once more, thrashing under the water as he paddled his feet upward and floated into the surface to take another long gulp of air. I can't swim! The dark achadhiel thought, panic kicking in as the water pulled him down once again. "Help!" He was able to shout that enough before sinking into the water, gulping water as he fought and flailed against the water and for his life.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Tyrone panicked as the realisation that he was in the middle of a large lake hit home. His violent thrashing took him down under the water but only for a few flickers before he rose to the surface and lay there floating. Not realising that he could float quite easily, he panicked once again and his violent thrashing sent him beneath the surface, his lungs filling with the pungent salt water. He struggled back up to the surface, gasping for breath as he floated spread-eagled in the water. Evidently, the sheer density of the salt water was sufficient to support the weight of his body. Just out of reach a large wooden log floated in the water. A long piece of sodden rope appeared to be tied to the log.

As the dark achadheil’s cry of help rang out, there was a stirring in the trees that surrounded the lake. However, Tyrone’s attention was distracted by the ominous shape that continued to plough through the water. A great spout erupted from the lake as the hidden shape momentarily broke through the surface. The Jackal had a brief glimpse of a long, dark sleek body capped by a huge head containing a pair of dead-looking eyes and an array of sharp teeth. The beast sank below the surface before continuing its slow and stately progress through the water.

[Tyrone]

He didn't know how, Tyrone was no man of science, but he knew he was floating somehow, perhaps, with the miracle that Dominicus had provided for him. Wasn't it in the holy book that Dominicus provides for everything, even for the lowly birds that flittered upon the heavenly dome down to the little flowers that dotted the fields of Tazlure. Such was the wonder and miracle of the One God. Still floating, the Jackal struggled for his life, desperately and ackwardly paddling like a dog towards the piece of lumber he had seen floating, knowing that the Holy Dove provided that lifeline for him to survive, a test of his endurance and faith, and it was up to him to reach that wood.

The Jackal didn't know how much salt water he had swallowed, nor he cared about it, intent on surviving, he violently kicked and paddled until his arms and feet numbed with tiredness yet he dared not stop lest the beast with sharp arrays of deadly teeth caught up with him. He didn't know how long it took him, perhaps burns, perhaps marks, perhaps even eons, struggling to breathe, he finally came upon the floating log and desperately clung to safety that the wood provided. But was it enough safety against the beast the lurked under the water? He turned his head towards the shore, trying to note how far it would be and if he had enough time to swim towards it. Struggling to breathe as he desperately embraced the log, the postulant monk peered through the water, trying to catch the glimpse of the beast in the water. Perhaps, he had enough time, the Jackal decided, knowing that he was in the hands of Dominicus and that his God would not abandon him in this time of trial and he would have faith. With one hand, he pulled the rope closer, his other arm clinging desperately to the log and its safety while he kicked his feet once more and paddled towards the shore, hoping that if push comes to shove the rope would be able to help him against the beast underwater.

[Guido Cercatoro]

With a considerable effort, Tyrone managed to reach the log and grabbed hold of the loose end of the rope. The other end of the rope was tied securely to a metal hook that poked out of the log. A second hook could be seen in the other side of the log. It was a long swim to the side of the lake and Tyrone doubted he had the energy to reach there.

Finally, the beast neared the Jackal. As it did, its head reared out of the water, once again showing its fearsome teeth. Yet, the sea creature did not use those sharp teeth on the apparently easy target that was grasping the log. Instead, the beast came to a halt close to the log and merely floated in the water.

From the edge of the water, a melodic voice, its owner unseen, called out across the lake.

“Sinner, let it bear the weight of your sins.”

[Tyrone]

The postulant monk didn't realize that he was holding his breath until the beast came near, showing its rows upon rows of sharp teeth. With a soft, trembling hiss, he breathed a sigh of uneasiness upon seeing the beast so close that Tyrone could almost reach his hand and touch it. Safely floating with his arm securely upon the log, the Jackal started to view his surrounding, noting how far the shore was and knowing that he would not be able to reach it with his spent strength. The beast was another matter, Tyrone frowned as he fearfully looked at the creature with alarm. He didn't know why it was not attacking and devouring him and he thanked Dominicus it was not. But why? So many questions and no answers. Where am I? What is happening? How was he going to get to the shore with the beast so close. He was still afraid and little bit apprehensive. Sure, the creature may be acting strange and any sudden movement would make the beast attack him. Tyrone needed to go to the safety of the shore and as far away from the water creature as possible.

“Sinner, let it bear the weight of your sins.”

Another voice called and Tyrone's heart leaped, knowing that he would be saved. He turned his head back to the shore where the voice was from and tried to look for the owner voice but he (or was it a she?) eluded him. Casting a fearful side glance at the creature to inspect if it was agitated by the voice, the young postulant of the Purificatio called back in a trembling voice, making his voice soft as not to alarm the beast so near. "Whoever you are... help me..." The Jackal pleaded, turning his head around trying to look for the owner of the voice. "I do not understand..." His voice cracked with panic and fear.

I do not understand! I do not understand! The dark achadhiel thought over and over again, trying to understand the meaning of the words. How would my sins save me? He was profoundly terrified and his fear stopped him from thinking straight. Taking a deep breath and grateful that the creature was still floating peacefully, the young monk tried to calm down and pondered the words. His other hand still held the loose end of the rope and upon seeing the second hook, Tyrone clumsily tied the rope around it. But it will not help him, he realized at the same time as he finished tying it. He was still stuck in the lake with the beast acting strangely and afraid that in any moment, it would start its feed on him.

The beast! He gasped, suddenly turning to the creature. Why was it acting strangely? Unless... "Surely, you do not expect me to touch THAT creature!" Tyrone called out with his voice to the unseen person on the shore. Tentatively, he reached his trembling hand towards the beast and silently prayed to the One God.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The creature remained docile, floating in the water as Tyrone called out to the unseen voice. The immediate response to the jackal’s plea was a peal of laughter.

“That is why you are here, so you may be brought to understanding,” cried out the sing-song voice. “It must come from within you.” There was a flash of gold, blue and red at the edge of the forest but the owner of the voice stayed within the trees. “Ride the beast, you have all you need. Let it bear your weight, sinner. But be quick, it is only stayed for a short while.”

The beast let out a low growl as Tyrone touched its skin. The skin felt cold, clammy and left the jackal with a feeling of despair. Yet, the beast did not move; it merely floated.

[Tyrone]

But where am I? Where did the Bishop Lazos bring him? Tyrone thought uneasily, craning his neck towards the shore to discern where the voice was coming from. Was the person mocking him? For a small flicker of a moment, his fear was overshadowed by his irritation against the unseen voice but as sudden as it came, it was quickly replaced once again by his fear of the creature that floated near.

With nothing else to do but to trust the unseen speaker, the dark achadhiel turned his attention once more to the water creature. It was truly a beast to inspire both fear and awe, yet the Jackal felt himself despairing against the hopelessness of it all. He knew, once he rode the beast, it would devour him completely. I would rather drown, he thought desperately, than touch and ride this dangerous beast. Death would be an easy escape. Death would end his miseries, his sins and crimes of his blood and he would be in the safe arms of Dominicus, his Lord and Savior.

The beast’s growl pulled him further down into the pit of despair. Trembling, he pulled back his hand and wallowed in anguish. It would be easy to escape this life, it would be easy to die, I only need to let go of this log and drown myself and leave Tazlure and be once more in the presence of Dominicus. But what of his mission? What of his vow to his Lord to protect the Church? Surely, there are others more worthy of such task! But would he trust them to bring the salvation of the One Church back to Tazlure? No, he thought. His vow of obedience pulled him back from the depths of despair. The Church needs me. My Lord needs me now that there is danger lurking within the very Church of the One, a cult brewing in the very midst of the Dominicus’ congregation. I must live!

Overcoming his despair, his gray eyes burning with zealousness, the Jackal trust himself into the hands of Dominicus. He clenched his teeth as he touched the beast once more, feeling its cold and clammy hide and despair overwhelming him once more. But he pushed the feeling down to the pit of his stomach and with a clumsy effort, Tyrone lifted his leg over the creature and rode it, clinging to its slippery body as he closed his eyes and muttered a small prayer:

“Look down, O Lord, to help me;
Let them be confounded and ashamed that seek after my soul;
Look down, O Lord, to help me.”

[Guido Cercatoro]

The unseen speaker was once again silent and Tyrone was left drifting close to the sea monster. After wrestling with bouts of despair and doubt, the floating achadhiel sought the support of his God and plucked up the courage to attempt to mount the beast. At first, he found it difficult to get a purchase on the hide but he slowly pulled himself up onto the back of the beast. He found a small line of coarse hair that ran along the back of the neck of the animal which it was possible to cling to.

Slowly the beast moved through the water towards the shore. As the beast moved through the water, Tyrone felt some of his despair falling away as if the beast was taking on some of his burdens. The beast moaned as if it felt the weight of both its rider and his sins.

Strangely, the journey to the sandy beach that surrounded the lake lasted a mere few flickers. As the water became shallower the beast stopped and lay there still in the water.

If Tyrone dismounted he would find that the water at the edge of the lake was only a few inched deep. The beach was five or six paces away. Towards the back of the beach a few small stones were arranged in a circle within which were a few charred pieces of wood. A little way beyond the stones was the edge of the forest that surrounded the lake.

[Tyrone]

His panick and fear lessened as the water beast drifted towards the safety of the shore. Perhaps it was the miracle of the One God, or the thought of the coming safety, and perched securely upon the water creature, he felt the burden of his sins lifting from his shoulders. When the water became shallow, the young dark achadhiel quickly and clumsily get off from the sea creature, fearing that within any moment, it would turn savage on him. But there was gratitude, and turning to the sea creature, he bowed his head once, now marveling at the majesty and grandeur of such creature.

Splashing towards the shore, he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his feet touched solid ground, and praising the miracle of the lord, the young postulant monk of the Purification knelt upon the ground and lifted his head, eyes burning with fanaticism, and arms raised towards the sky and glorified the wonders of the One God, singing a song from the Book of Exodus, a song sang by the Prophetess Mhyream:

"In this time of fear,
When prayers so often proves in vain,
Hope seems like the summer birds,
Too swiftly flown away."

"Yet now I'm standing here,
With heart so full I can't explain,
Seeking faith and speaking words,
I never thought I'd say."

"There can be miracles,
When you believe.
Though hope is frail,
It's hard to kill.
Who knows what miracles you can achieve.
When you believe,
Somehow you will,
You will when you believe."

Now that he felt safe, Tyrone realized that he was naked as the day he was born. He felt the cold wind chilling his skin, quivering as he hugged himself to get warm. There was no one around him, not a sign of the unseen owner of the voice nor any sign of habitation. Still shivering, he moved forward, his steps light, dripping water from his silvery hair.

"I am here now." The Jackal called out, his voice shaking as he trembled from the cold wind. On the circle of small stones, he caught sight of the charred wood and realized he needed fire and clothing. He was poorly equipped. When he was on his fasting, he had all the necessities with him, but now, on this unknown place, without any clothes or materials, Tyrone found himself helpless, as if someone was pulling the strings for him. "Show yourself!" He demanded, turning his gray eyes towards the edge of the forest, remembering the golden flashes of light he had seen earlier, but he was too panicked before to have it registered on his mind. Surely, someone is here and playing games with me. He breathed on his shaking shands, trying to warm at least a small portion of his shivering body and frowned at the forest as if it was responsible for this dilemna.

Turning a last look on the water to see what the sea creature was doing, the young, naked, dark achadhiel took a trembling step towards the edge of the forest to seek the unseen speaker.

[Guido Cercatoro]

As Tyrone offered a bow to the creature, it reared its head baring its sharp teeth set within a mouth dripping with a mixture of mucus and water. A deep sound of pain flew out of the beast’s mouth almost bowling over the achadhiel. Perhaps the beast was groaning with the new weight of some of Tyrone’s sins which it was now forced to bear. With a final howl, the creature twisted in the water and within a few flickers it had vanished beneath the waters, leaving behind a slowly moving circular wave.

The Jackal reached the shore with no difficulty and offered a song of praise to his God. He felt no response, only his skin shivering in the cool breeze that blew across the shore. His cries into the forest at first received no answer but as he moved towards the forest edge, he caught a brief glimpse of a flash of colour.

“You’ll catch your death of cold. Here put this on.” Tyrone heard the sound of something land at his feet. If he looked down, he would see fur-lined cloak lying at his feet.

A few paces away, a figure stood at the edge of the forest. The new arrival was clad from neck to toe in a bright multi-coloured harlequin costume.

“What have you learnt?” The question was speared at the Jackal was a great intensity of purpose as if the answer was a matter of great importance to the questioner.

[Tyrone]

To a man dying of thirst, nothing would be more important than water. To a lonely man stranded on an island, it would be companionship and for Tyrone, right then and there, warmth. The cloak was the only thing that registered on his mind, the warmth it would provide and like a hungry man, the dark achadhiel lunged for that piece of cloth and shakingly wrapped it around himself. He didn't know how long he knelt there inside the cloak, yet slowly he was being warmed and his shaking subsided and then he realized someone had talked to him, someone had thrown the cloak to him and had actually talked to him.

It was the gaudy colors the Jackal saw first: confusing, bright, hues that clashed together. It stunned him to near muteness, his eyes wide, oggling at them and sluggishly, the whole outfit entered his mind, the multi-colors, the silhouette of the custome and the figure wearing it fitting together, combining together to form a person who seemed grave despite the flashy costume.

"What... Have I learned?" Tyrone frowned and repeated the question, his mind still focused on the experience he had. I need to learn how to swim? He realized that he was mightily afraid of the water, afraid of drowning and he shivered once more as he remembered the ordeal he had at the lake. "I do not unders..." The Jackal muttered and trailed off as he looked over his shoulder back to the lake, his silvery, white hair still damp and saw the calm lake and remembered the fearsome water beast. This is all so confusing! Where did the Bishop send me? He returned his gaze back to the figure clad in the multi-colored costume and frowned at him.

"Where am I?" He hissed with anger, though there mingled a hint of confusion in his voice, knowing that the Jester before him was making a jape of him. "Are you making fun of me? Tell me... Where am I? Where is the Bishop Lazos?" He threateningly stepped towards the figure, his eyes flashing with wrath and fanaticism.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The harlequin figure merely smilled at Tyrone’s questions and did not flinch as the confused man stepped forwards.

“It is understandable that you are confused,” the man began. “Yet that is the whole point. Learning must come from within. I may help but you must learn if you are to fully serve the One.”

“Still, I may guide you this once. When I rode the beast, I was scared and my instinct was to flee or fight the thing. Yet, the beast serves the One. I learnt not to judge by appearances. The One manifests in the most unlikely place, people and beasts. And to atone for its own sins, the beast may bear some of ours.”

“As for where you are, well, you are with the One. That is all you need to know. I am here to atone for my sins. Prove yourself and you lift away some of my sins. My name is Feolin and I was…am… a Paladin of the One. I seek the truth.” The jester shifted uncomfortably on his feet as if the revelation of his status unnerved him.

“The Bishop is providing the bridge for you to reach here. Think of this place as the testing grounds for your devotion to the One. If you are true to him, he will reveal his purpose to you.”

“Are you ready to proceed or do you have more questions? Once we depart this lake, I may help you no more.”

[Tyrone]

“Such was the wonder and miracle of the One God,” He mouthed a proverb and nodded gravely at the oddly garbed Paladin. “His ways are a mystery to men.” It was true what the man had said, appearance could be deceiving, that Dominicus was everywhere. He looked back over his shoulder, at the huge expanse of the lake, hoping to catch a sight of the beast that bore the burden of his sin and seeing no trace of the water creature, he turned his gray eyes back to the peculiarly dressed Paladin. It didn’t matter now where he was, Tyrone thought, wrapping the cloak around him tighter as he fully looked around him for the first time. Now that his eyes were opened, he breathed a sigh of relief, fully knowing that his faith would be truly tested and his fate would be in the hands of the One God, Dominicus, that the Lord would be watching over him, sinful as he was, unworthy as he was.

“It is an honor to meet a Paladin of the One. The Abbots of my Monastery named me the Jackal.” Tyrone gave the man a slight bow, yet, unable to get used to the clothes he was wearing. Perhaps, he needed to learn more, to discipline himself better and this strangely dressed human was here to guide him, but why was he wearing that kind of clothes? It was very… distracting and disconcerting! No Paladin of the One should wear such a thing; it was demeaning for such a servant of the Only True God. The Jackal didn’t know if Feolin would start somersaulting instantly, or perhaps, juggle a dozen or to apples all the same time while telling the bawdiest joke. He frowned at his clothes, not approving it, but he realized the lesson he had learned from the Paladin earlier. Perhaps, he should ask. “What truth do you seek and... why are you…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say as he scowled at the garish and brightly coloured clothes he was wearing. Was it perhaps a part of his penance? A part of his quest for the Holy Truth? Perhaps, he should seek guidance in clothes and he remembered an old monk back at the monastery who was once a pattern maker for a famous couturier before he started wearing the habit and took the vow of holy obedience as a servant of the One God. “Have you heard of an Audrey, Sir Feolin? Perhaps…” He stopped, knowing that he was babbling now.

“Tell me what should I do, Sir Feolin?” He gravely asked, placing himself completely on the hands of the Paladin.