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 symbol 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.
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Dawn, Lyrday, 27th of Chyril, In the Year of our Lord, Dominicus, 1225 AD
It was the Liturgical Hour of Lauds, the dawn prayer. It was still dark and the early morning breeze breathed through the empty corridors of the Basilica Dominici, flickering the candles and torches that illuminated the statues and marble hallways of the main chapel. Outside, from the garden, a dark figure moved, silently walking along the garden path, the sky dark gray above and from the east, a dash of orange and red hues could be seen clashing against the sombre color of the early morning dark sky. The figure was garbed in a monk's robe, woolen and black and his face was hidden beneath a deep cowl as he lightly and silently moved forward, his arms were folded before his chest, hidden by his long, wide sleeves. He was the Jackal, a dark achadhiel, and he was here to start his early morning ritual and devotion.
The figure moved passed the garden, ignoring the early morning beauty that surrounds him, and walked under the blank stares of the statues that adorned the Basilica and entered the main chapel, his robes rustling and swishing as he moved forward and stopping before the main altar, the young monk reverently genuflected and made the holy sign of the One.
It was silent and Tyrone could hear the loud early morning wind breezing through the empty corridors of the church. His breathe seemed loud to him as well and he frowned as he looked around the empty church. Usually, on his monastery, at this time, their small chapel should be filled by now by the presence of his brother monks attending the early morning devotion of Lauds, but here, the church was empty. Their order was monastic, he understood that, but, there should have been someone here as well, praising Dominicus for His gift of another day. Well, he would be enough, and the young postulant knew, that back in World's Mouth, his devoted brother monks would be up and chanting loudly in praise of the One God.
Casting a last look around, hoping to see another soul, Tyrone sighed and returned his eyes back more to the main altar and slowly, with a quiet rustle of his robe, the young zealot knelt and from his wide sleeve, he took an ancient, tattered, small book. Horologion, the title read, a book of psalms, verse, & prayers for the liturgical hours. The liturgical prayers were supposed to be recited with another person and he regreted the fact the he was alone inside this empty, hallowed church. Slowly, the young monk opened the small book and flipped through the pages. For a flicker of a candlemark, he missed his brother monks back in the monastery: small Brother Asprer, Brother Malvas, Brother Talavera and Brother Jorichson with his tall, lean, dark, frame, angular face and deep voice. Finding the right week and month for the liturgy, he breathed a small sigh of peace and with his gray eyes burning with fanaticism, Tyrone made the sign of the One and opened his lips to start his devotion, his voice reverberating and echoing and bouncing off the walls of the empty chapel:
"Oh God, make haste to help me.
Oh Lord, speedily come to my aid.
Glory be to the One God, Dominicus,
As it was in the beginning, is now and will be, forever, Amen."
He looked down on his small book and flipped through the pages for the right antiphon to sing: "Lord, within you lies the spring of life, halleluia!" He sang and then flipped once more through the pages for the right prayer to recite, The Benedictus:
"Blessed be the Lord the God, Dominicus,
who has come to his people and set them free.
Through his holy prophets God promised of old
to save us from our enemies, from the hands of all that hate us,
To show mercy to our ancestors,
and to remember his holy covenant.
This was the oath God swore to our forefathers:
to set us free from the hands of our enemies,
Free to worship him without fear,
holy and righteous in his sight all the days of our life.
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
To shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace..."
With his voice lingering in the air, the young postulant still kneeling upon the floor before the holy altar bowed his head and basked in the peace and serenity of the Basilica.