[Temples' Boulevard] The Hunt of the Jackal (Jy 31, TT)

[Tyrone]

BOULEVARD OF TEMPLES

As the Avenue of Trade cuts through the centre of King's Court, one avenue branches off into the impressive Basilica Dominici, across the street, however, is another road that houses the temples of the pagans. The Boulevard of Temples is more akin to a courtyard then a street. It's circular cobblestone road has an impressive fountain of spring water in the center.

Fantastical gardens sprawl all around the Boulevard giving colorful birth to exotic trees, vines, and flowerbeds. Beautifully crafted paths weave through the gardens and take pedestrians from building to building.

At the head of the courtyard is the devastating rubble of the Temple of Atara Arda, the Mother's Temple. As of a god stepped from the pantheon and crushed the building with fire, the lost temple crumbled into a desolate relic of the changing monotheistic tide in King's Court.

Next to the Temple of Atara Arda, is the still-standing but precariously placed Pan's Reliquary, towering as a golden domed cylinder above the courtyard.

On the other side of the Temple of Atara Arda is a non-descript wooden building, home to the Mistress of the Leaves Temple. The most modest of all the Boulevard's buildings, the Leaves Temple seems to be all but completely abandoned.

At the mouth of the courtyard is a very lavish and large building, tiered like a pyramid with abundant gardens hanging from the balconies. Built by the Dort Embassy is Pecunia's Temple.

Despite the glory built into the Boulevard of Temples, pagans are not wanted in King's Court. Only the brave and very devoted step into the courtyard and those that do come, hide for shelter from the One Church in the grace of their worship.

[hr][/hr]
Tratetide, 31st of Jygust, 1225 AD

The hot sun was shining down indifferently on both sinners and non-sinners alike. It could not care less on their religious affiliations nor their moral upbringing whether the lack of it or not. It was unreachable, this scorching, yellow, colossal stone hanging upon the heavenly dome, its path as certain as the time herself, its existence never refuted by both skeptics or theologians, its presence heralded a new day, chasing the moon perpetually upon the cosmos.

Tyrone could feel the blistering heat of the sun scorching his back, lying prostrate on the cobblestone road, facedown and completely naked. He was a thin, wraith figure, skin ebony and oily with sweat and covered with grime and dirt and despite his emaciated physique, he has a hint of lean and well-defined muscles. His naked back was covered with numerous scars of lashes and almost most of them were long open wounds, the flesh and skin flayed open as if torn and deeply scratched by more than a dozen small barbs as red blood, some of them dried by the scorching of the sun, oozed from the wound, the flies buzzing around them.

The dark achadhiel could still feel the stinging self-inflicted pain as he lay there on the road, still and immobile, eyes closed. Nevertheless, he ignored the pain and he ignored the flies buzzing around him, his mind far away, back to a cloistered place filled with solemn singing and chanting, praising the wondrous of the One God. Yes, he had flogged himself with more zeal than usual before he had left the Basilica and starved himself since last night, and naked, bleeding, and sweating profusely, he stumbled out of the One Church filled with profound pain and walked the crowded streets of the City until he wandered inside the Boulevard of Temple and parched and deeply famished, he fell in front of the ruined Temple of the Mother...

and there...

...There, with an inner wicked smile, he waited for his prey.

[Ashari]

Tyrone had been granted simple, but standard clothing by Father Marcus. It was comfortable enough, and being a lighter tone than his general black garb, it was also more forgiving to the attention of the sun above. Around him the Boulevard was a desolate place. No one moved, nothing stirred. Not even the wind dared sweep through the long alley for fear of persecution. The cobbles beneath his knees were worn smooth from foot traffic, but those feet made no noises now. Once upon a time this was a bustling place - alive with the activity of the heretic pagans worshipping their false gods and giving praise to wicked idols (so far as the Oneists were concerned).

His blood had dried and absorbed into the cloth so that it stuck to the wounds and pulled against the caking scabs, the tension stretching his skin beneath the fabric. Tyrone's stomach ached with hunger, and his eyes swam with dizziness when the exertion became too much, but still, he persevered.

Within the ruined temple of the Mother Goddess there was a glinting of white. Everything else was charred - including the temples that were next to that of Atara Arda herself, so that this thing, whatever it was, stood out with proud indifference to the might of the One, He who had taken down her sanctuary of nether worship. Aside from that, there was little that his gray eyes could pick up of interest within the abandoned shrine.

[Tyrone]

And so the hunt began with Tyrone as the bait for this trap he had set against his prey, for the Jackal hunt at Dominicus' command, seeking his prey and smelling the wicked from afar off, for wherever sin was, he would be there.

He did not know how long he lay there upon the floor. Innumerable flickers of moments has passed as he waited like a coiled snake, patiently as a predator waited for his prey, immobile and still. He could feel the dizziness washing over him, clouding his judgment, yet still he persevered for the glory of the One God. What is pain? It is but an illusion of the mind and of the mortal flesh. He silently repeated that over and over like a mantra, a last beacon of hope that would salvage him from drowning into the darkness of unconsciousness. For if I live according to the flesh I will die, but if by the Spirit of the Eye I put to death the deeds of the body I will live. I must put to death what is earthly in me: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry and surely, I shall see the Kingdom of the One God and be saved. Only this profound faith in the One held him back from the precipice of giving up.

The pain and the hunger was still there too and the young acolyte tried his best to ignore it, knowing that this was to be his redemption, that if he fail in this, he would be casted out of the Kingdom of the One God and forever be damned to Gehenna. He feared that more than this mundane pain, he feared for his soul more than this mundane body. With every breath, every rise and fall of his chest and back, he could feel the painful tension of the cloth tearing away the dried scabs of his wounded back, and he could not help himself from groaning out loud in profound pain. Lord, save me from this, but not my will but Yours be done. Once more, he silently continued his mantra, holding fast to the last vestige of his faith.

From the corner of his half lidded eyes, he saw the white glint and groaning, he slightly moved his head to fully look at it, strands of oily silvery hair blocking his eyesight. With a vast groan, with all the effort he could muster, he pushed himself up and cried out loud in deep pain as he felt the cloth on his back tearing away from the dried blood, creating new wounds. It must have been the pain for with another agonizing cry, he pulled at the front of his cloth and tore it in half, pulling the fabric away from his back as blood oozed once more from his back wounds, wounds that he inflicted upon himself.

He was passed sanity now and stumbling, bare chested, his dark skin gleaming with sweat, covered with grime and dust, his eyes glazed and distant, his face ravished with fatigue and hunger, the Jackal moved forward, stumbling through the ruined entrance of the Temple and half dragged himself forward, reaching out for the white glint that seemed to be elusive as butterflies, believing that it could save him from this torturous pain that filled him.

For agonizing flickers of the moment, the dark achadhiel continued to lurch himself forward, tottering once or twice like a drunk man but with a last effort of reaching for the white glint, he slipped and fell forward, knocking his head hard upon the floor and blackness overwhelmed him, his arms still reaching out for the white glint.

[Ashari]

His agony continued, brought on my his own devotion to Dominicus, as he carried his wretched body from the street into the Temple itself. As he did, a great queasiness rushed over him, dizziness filling his mind with the empty explosion of light before his head slammed into the ruined stonework to be replaced by the darkness of unconciousness.

Tyrone slipped into the world of the aether, mixing the last things he'd seen (the charred temple, his own hands) with a strange surreal world where colors shifted and melted, and his own hands removed the flesh of them to get to the bone work beneath them. Tight sinew and long tendons held his skeletal frame together as the meat of his digits dripped away into puddles on the blackened tilework beneath his feet. The bone was so white, and as his eyes opened back into the real world of the Tether, he found himself focused on an object just as white, his dark achadhiel hand wound around the very bottom of it, the toe as a matter of fact.

Sanity was hard to grab hold of, even if he could feel the cold stone in his grasp. From this angle, on the floor looking upward, he saw a great streak of white that could've extended all the way upward into the heavens themselves, melding with the dotting of clouds overhead. But, upon righting himself, Tyrone would find that the structure did have an end, one that was about his height and another third as it stood upon a humble platform.

The statue itself was far from humble. In fact, it was beauty personified in white marble. A human woman stood tall and graceful in a position of dance. A faun knelt at her foot, while one of her hands was high in the air, a dove resting on her outstretched finger which pointed a diagonal line from where Tyrone had entered. Her body was mostly nude, of particular attention were her pert breasts, likely the first pair he'd seen. This sculpture was new, and the platform it sat on was a hasty one, meant only for her to have a placement here in the center of the ruined temple. Aside from her, there was no other item of interest within the open space. Though, what could compete with her sublime form?

[Tyrone]

Memories of his Aether dream faded and then floated ephemerally away like a feather under the blowing of the wind upon his rousing from his deep, dark unconsciousness. Yet, the strange feeling of his dream stayed upon him as if a faint whisper hollowly echoing from a distant place, lingering and marking indelibly on his waking consciousness.

The Jackal had never seen them this close before, heck, he had never seen a pair before and that's the gospel truth. It was not the whole form he had zeroed in with his disbelieving gray eyes but to those pair, those round, perfectly shaped, pert pair that could never be compared to anyone else in Tazlure (obviously, Tyrone had never seen the more than perfect bozangers of a certain buxom blond girl who used to frolic in the University of Magick). That he had instantly noticed those round pair was a clear indication of his cloistered and sheltered upbringing and that he had instantly found himself stirring was also another matter, which I'm not going to expound here (the kids you know, I must set a good example). All else was forgotten, the pain, the famish, except for those scintillating pair.

Open-mouthed and eyes wide opened, he found himself standing despite the pain he had felt prior his unconsciousness, and found himself standing very close, a nervous tic on his left eye, scrutinizing very closely those rounded pair as if the very existence of Tazlure depended on this mission. he was held in stasis for unknown flickers, his hand, without him noticing it, shakily reached to tentatively touch one of the pair and pulled back as if he had touched something very hot. Profusely sweating, his trembling hand inched forward once again and with his hand opened, the innocent and virgin dark achadhiel acolyte monk of the Purificatio left it on one of the pair, and after a few flickers, his hand moved on its own accord, cupping and feeling the small nub of the nipple upon his palm, his loincloth seeming getting tight on its own accord as well.

ooc: W00t! My ever first "bozanger" word posted for Tyrone! Fauna is so happy, she sauntered from her usual bubble bath and usual daydream of Vanir clad merely in a loincloth and pushed Tyrone away from his narrating this post, pushed him, mind you, with her magickally-silicon augmented breasts and demanded I used that word and then she started narrating and declaiming how this post should end.

[Ashari]

Tyrone, being quite involved with the statue for a few burns, could feel himself giving over to the temptation of the flesh. His body stirred for this woman; this great beauty who had modelled for the statue. He was reminded of the Pirate Harlot from Sinner's Square, but even she couldn't compare to the pristine loveliness of this creature who he dared to touch.

Her body was unforgiving to his touch, cool and unyielding not like the soft and supple skin of a woman. There was no scent of her, but Tyrone could easily imagine her like a breath of a meadow and could taste her in the perspiration that gathered on his upper lip as he licked feverishly. He rubbed her permanently pert stone nubs and his mind could easily have been given over to the fantasy of this woman, this sweet, innocent, carefreee dancer who had vines and flowers at her feet.

It was a profoundly personal moment, one punctuated with Tyrone's severe humanity and the depths of things he would miss out on in life due to the sterile nature of the agreements he'd made for his faith and for the One True God. He would never know the love of a woman, he would never feel the touch of his manhood, he would never have the love of or for children. His mind, body and soul had been given over to Domincus. Was the price too high? His rough fingers swept over her smooth breast and reminded him of all these things, of all the things he would never have.

OOC: Fauna's such a pervo. I miss her. XD Bozangers ftw!

[Tyrone]

We could only assume that our acolyte monk, in his child like innocence and naiveté, had never indulge himself, nor could ever think of himself indulging, in what the monks of his monastery condemned as the solitary vice, a sin so perverted and vile. Of his cloistered upbringing, Tyrone could not even imagine that the word ever existed, nor such an act possible, nor comprehend that he could ever spank the monkey or perhaps flogged the dolphin with such a loud series of righteous, vigorous whacking, or that he had never experienced a succubus-inspired dream resulting in a very wet, self-pollution.

It was indeed a personal moment for the young dark achadhiel. With his breath ragged, his temperature rising, he remembered her, the lady pirate and the woman he had seen a few months ago in the tavern. With a low groan, Tyrone closed his eyes and continued, his hand wandering over the cold, round part of the statue, his mind remembering, never fathoming that he was indeed acting upon the most perverted sin ever written in the Book of the One, a sin frowned upon by the monks and priests of the One God. Yet, how could he know of such an act be sinful when he had never felt or done it before, nor seen anyone doing it and been condemned, nor been described of what an act should felt and be like. And so, feeling that he could bore through a rock, the dark achadhiel continued such gruesome act for more than a burn, his hands wandering all over those exquisite pair of breasts and not contented, those hands started wandering downward and with another groan, his hands quivering with anticipation, he felt the cold touch of that nether region.

He could feel this great excitement building inside of him and when his hard fascination gave a mighty throb, he felt a profound rushing and outburst and as if he was on the verge of his falling sickness, he convulsed and copiously wet himself. When it did, the young acolyte monk of the One uttered a long, loud ululation of surprise, relief and unfeigned joy of what was the first release of a virgin man, never knowing what it was and had never touched himself.

At last, there he stood, leaning upon the statue, spent and trying to catch his breath, as gradually, the thrilling of his body subsided and realizing what he had done, the fanatic monk, his dark achadhiel face full of remorse and shame, groaned loudly to the heavenly dome:

"WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"

[Ashari]

Tyrone, shuddering and haggard of breathing, shouted to the heavens with no return. So he remained, standing, shaking and with his pants wet and cooling until he was left with an uncomfortable sensation of thick, moist nastiness in his loin cloth. It wasn't a good feeling in any way, though there was also a serenity in the depths of his mind that he'd never felt before, as well as a memory of the moment of his climax that was, surprisingly, the closest he'd ever felt to god.

The statue above him continued to stare on into the abyss with her pleasant face. She didn't seem to be phased by him releasing his seed in her presence. What remained to be seen, though, was what to do now. What would Tyrone do next? How would he locate the secret location of the Temple of the Mother? He had a job to do, one that was given to him by the Holy Bishop, and it didn't involve flogging the bishop.

Somewhere within the room was a key - a map of some kind. Pagans had come here to find the location of the sanctuary of their heresy. They had found it. Obviously a man of the cloth such as Tyrone should be able to discover their secret.

[Tyrone]

There was this feeling of satiation, of pure contentment that he had never felt before upon his release, yet, tinged with it was the feeling of ickiness, of guilt. It was a guilt of his unquenchable lust for those harlot women and the young monk berated himself for falling once more into the deep abyss of sin and transgression against the One Lord. That he had transgressed in the sin called Solitary Vice never did cross his mind, for how could it when he had never done it before, nor seen anyone acting upon it. Of course, he was warned against it by his brother monks and the abbots of his cloistered monastery, but of its exact act, of its exact nature was never did explained to him.

I have sinned! He wailed deep inside the silence of his mind and fell upon his knees before the statue, breaking down and sobbing, mewling at his corruption, at how easily he was swayed into wickedness, for sin and avoiding it was always in his mind. That the young dark achadhiel was corrupt was indeed a known fact (by the blood of his dark adhiel ancestry had forever besmirched him in the eyes of the Only One God Dominicus) but the perversion and wickedness of womenhood was the sole reason why he was corrupted in the first place. Wasn't he the result of the lewd and sinful actions of his harlot human mother and the evilness and corruption of his dark adhiel father? Yes, women and adhiels (dark or not, it doesn't matter) were corrupt and their existence was an affront to the whole divine creation. They were the blemish that stains the purity and divinity of Dominicus' creation and they all should be purged by the holy fire and brimstone of One the God and through him, the One's Jackal... Renewed of his mission once more, the Jackal of the One lifted his fanatic eyes and looked fully at the statue, the epitome of women's wickedness and corruption. Yes, before the sun rises tomorrow Tyrone vowed he would have this wicked and lewd idol grinded into pebble and dust and scattered into the four corners of Tazlure's compass.

He stood once more (a round wet stain forming upon the crotch area of his trouser) with his chest bare and shining with sweat, he faced the lewd idol defiantly, praising the One God that he was not tempted and that he had not stirred (for of course, it would take another half a mark for his sustence to be renewed again) and with zealousness, the young monk of the Purificatio turned and swept his fanantic eyes around the ruins of this atrocious and odious temple, looking for any sign or area of which a map could be hidden. Slowly, he searched every nook and cranny, even the nefarious statue that seemed to mock him with its wicked breasts.

[Ashari]

As Tyrone made his way diligently around the room he found there was nothing so out of place as the woman herself. Her body there, pure and white, was untouched by the flame. She was the only thing that stood out of place - and stand she did. Proudly she mocked his carnal urges with one delicate hand caressing her own sweet flesh and the other loftily held in the air to create a landing spot for a dove on one straight pointing finger. If he were an artist Tyrone might recognize the style and lines of the statue, and if he were a resident of the Bardic College he might even recognize the young lady that had modelled for the piece.

The platform she stood on was simple in it's construction, perhaps even considered hasty in it's preparation what with it just being raw wood. There was no obvious artist signature on the statue nor the platform though there were drag marks of some kind from the doorway to where the statue now stood.

[Tyrone]

And so, it all went back to this vulgar and wicked effigy and when he thought about it, the zealot monk of the Purificatio was not surprised. Of course, the map or the key, or whatever it was that would point him to this wicked coven of pagan and idol worshipers would be in the possession or somewhat connected to this lewd idol, showing how perverted and depraved the ways of those Adhiel pagans from the north. It would not surprise him to imagine of those degenarate northern adhiels worshiping this vulgar statue as a ill-depraved, wanton goddess and having a night of wicked orgy and debauchery for this lewd statue (although, not knowing what an orgy was, Tyrone could not imagine what it could it be).

He frowned as he placed his fanatic gaze once more upon the naked form of the statue and the Jackal wondered what constitute a key. Would it be a riddle perhaps etched upon the ivory skin of the idol or perhaps a map of the city drawn upon a parchment, marking an x on a spot where the coven would be hidden? They were creatures of corruption, deceit and lies, these northern adhiels, these blasphemers, heretic and depraved creatures, an abomination created by the Nethers. Was it not why Dominicus, in His greatest wisdom, let the Army of Kings Court marched northward and burned the cities and killed the depraved and wicked adhiels? Yes, the One God, the Jackal knew, was smiling down upon the Ccommander of the King's Court Army, for doing the Lord's work in spreading the Word and Doctrine of the One and Only God. For in his leadership, inspired by the One God, the Commander of the One's Army has killed numerous immoral adhiels and burned their wicked cities which as an affront to the divinity of King's Court, spreading their ashes like sands into the four corners of the wind, a divine mission worthy of sainthood. Perhaps, the Commander was indeed a living saint by now for his divine actions in leading the holocaust against the corrupted creatures of the Nether, the T'aquar Adhiels.

Yes, depraved creatures of deceit and lies! The Jackal mused, knowing that these pagans hid the key in such odious and wicked way. Curious, the young, dark achadhiel traced the direction where the statue was pointing at, thinking that perhaps the woman was pointing to the direction where the map was hidden. Or perhaps, the key was engraved in a corrupt, evil language upon the statue's skin and meticulously, the young, devout monk leaned closely and let his eyes wandered, inch by inch, upon the ivory skin of the statue, trying to look for any engravings. If not, then it would be hidden underneath, for why would these wicked Nether worshipers sculpted this statue and dragged it here inside this ruined temple? It was of course to hid something marked upon the floor or perhaps marked upon the platform wood. Kneeling down, he then closely inspected the platform and if nothing would come out of it, he would start on pushing the statue forward.

[Ashari]

Try as he might Tyrone alone couldn't move the statue. It didn't budge in it's spot. It would seem as though the answer wasn't beneath the woman - neither was it inscribed on her skin. His careful inspection proved that she was as smooth as the marble could be. Every detail was perfect, from the sweet course fur of the faun at her feet to the leaves that crossed over her dainty toes. From here (though it was above him), the Jackal could see the fine work of the feathers of the dove that lighted on her out stretched finger. Nothing had been missed. It was a shame it wasn't a more pious work or it would've been breath taking in it's mastery.

There were no keys, no stereotypical x's marking the spot. Tyrone was without obvious leadership or purposeful direction as he stood in the Temple. It would seem as though the only idea he'd yet to put into practice was that of following her pointing finger out of the building (as it pointed somewhat directly out the building through the entrance he'd come through) to look for other clues. There was always the option of coming back into the Temple if it didn't prove fruitful. Either way, he'd have to begin on it in earnest. The bishop wanted this done with and settled before he met with the council. It would give him an edge.

[Tyrone]

Nothing! Oh, he was completely frustrated as he stared with utter dismay at the lewd statue in front of him. How could he not when this idol merely flaunted the wickedness of woman's body to tempt anyone who would see it. This was an affront to the divine decency that was set upon by the precept of the church. But then, he was not surprised, those who sculpted this odious and vulgar idol were clearly a degenerate race (which of course, he was thinking of the Adhiels and any non human race and add to it the women gender whom he know were created in bucketful of sin and lewdness, created to tempt men into depravity). In complete frustration and wrathfulness, the Jackal closed his fist and tried to blow a heavy punch upon the statue in a symbolic action of his anger and distaste against the seduction and lewdness of womanhood, yet, despite of that, he couldn't erase the lustful feeling that was stirring upon him once more.

But Tyrone would not be deterred, as God as his witness, he vowed he would hunt down the place of this pagan coven and burn it down and send its leader into the Nether where he truly belonged and he would not fail the divine mission that was set upon him by the servant of the One Lord, the Holy Bishop Lazos. There was but only one thing to do, one simple act to be done. And just like the Commander of the One Army, (inspired by the One Lord, in his divine and pious dedication) led the Oneist to burn the depraved city of the northern T'aquar and purge them off their wickedness and topple down its vulgar towers, the Jackal could only emulate the Commander's devout and righteous actions and topple down this wicked idol into rubble and dust.

With a last lingering look, he commit to his memory where the statue was pointing at, stepping under her pointing finger so he could follow the angle and direction and then, stepping back more than a few steps away, trying to get a momentum, he would then dash his whole body against the lewd idol (no matter of the pain, for it was no moment if done for the Divine Will of the Lord), trying to topple it backward with all of his body weight combined and then, satisfied, he would then follow the direction of where the statue pointed at.