Solo [The Temple of All Gods] ... Birthday

[Lindel Ward]

6th Spring 513 AV The Temple of All Gods Early morning He had not very much slept through the night. Some hours past reading that phrase of the journal, Lindel's mind surged. He didn't feel a need to revisit it, and so he had merely laid flat on the bed, arms crossed across his chest, hands hanging onto elbows with a futile intensity that seemed to slop still – he hadn't the strength to keep a firm grip long. He had figured his father, well step-father, didn't intend to speak of it at all. Lindel figured he had found it – how remains unknown still to the child – and read, and when he read what had been done to them made the decision to leave. The old dock worker said west, he had ventured west on the sea to peace maybe. The seas seemed to be serene, even in storms. It wasn't the sea that was ever harsh, merely its disagreement with the land. The tallest waves all curled and flowed gently. How incredible it was though that he'd just up and leave. Lindel was shocked he bothered to take his cane. Poor Lindel, he had always been taught and believed that true peace was here in Syliras, where the knights provide for every protection and those who dwell here care for one another. How that vision seemed to fade at times…heartbreaking. The spiraling of events had left him in a sort of stasis: the world kept turning, but why was it his own stopped? One day, that old man would have left him anyway, and all the same Lindel wouldn't have been able to do anything for it. It had been too soon. Or had it? His plans for today, his day, his birthday, which was planned to be merry and fulfilled had not gone as he'd foreseen. He threw away his old plans, evaded the bath, put on whatever cloths he could, and took with him a few coins, the brightest gold piece he could find among them. He had made a solemn pilgrimage to the Temple of All Gods, his steps resembling a half-hearted march as he forced his legs to get up from the bed, and to keep them moving from that moment on. True, he had been a man and was providing, but he had never been so alone. He needed guidance, some solidarity, maybe even a sign that all would be all right. He didn't need things to be wonderful; he'd settle for all right. For one, who knew, he was no man to demand of the Gods, he who had his own gifts and perhaps squandered them. Furthermore, he knew he could make do, but he needed something to branch off from, anything, just…just something. His soul was full of sorrow, and it weighed him into near misery and despair. He clung to stay afloat and was searching desperately for a life raft. His steps up to and into the temple were plagued by self-criticism and doubt. Maybe he had been punished for something? But again, who was he, a young man- no, but a boy – a boy to question the doings of Gods? It had been Lhex, the old man of fate who had set him on this course. Maybe he ought to pray to him, and beg his soul for forgiveness for whatever his trespasses and ask for a new fate. Could Gnora bring him to balance maybe, and help him understand what was happening? Things do happen for a reason, Lindel insisted upon it, and she would know. Rather, would he pray to Eyris and her wisdom? Might Akajia reveal to him the secrets of life, and why his was to be so? Perhaps her son, Nysel, would cure him of such wounds with a deep, forgetful sleep, though it might be so much quicker, so much easier, to call to Dira for an end. He felt no illness Rak'keli might relieve him from, and only knew memories better left forgotten; pray to you, Qalaya, he is not ungrateful, merely at an edge. Was there even then no God who could provide the proper care for this young man, easily still but a child in the eyes of many, whose soul had bet loose to the storm? Of course, it had been so clear to him, the face branded on silver at every turn, every corner. It was his foundation, and truly the foundation of many things. He had only feared he'd go unheard, or unanswered, for his God was dead and his son had left them. Perhaps that was a reason why so many bad things had happened, the storm still churning. Lindel paused at the doorway and bowed his body fully, on his knees, elbows, and forehead. From that fetal position he could feel the weight of the heavens upon him, their eyes staring through the walls, and all others. He began to think he might look strange submitting himself so helplessly to the divine, but he had a right to, didn't he. Didn't he? He stood up, shaky yet, and avoided the already evasive priest. He hadn't the nerve to look much of anyone in the eyes. Lindel went forward to the center aisle and stared up to the front altar. He walked with such undeserved shame. Abandoned as a child, detestably without much of a mother, and now his last tether to family had been broken. Was that the sign, to take wing? He wasn't ready though, and they knew that – they must have. Was it all so futile? No, stop, just stop. He had to keep himself together, he could do this. How strange that he felt so silly and worthless for a show of faith and selfishness as if no such things had ever been done before. By all the Gods, there were gods for murder, trickery, illusions, and he was so concerned to ask for some inner peace? His pace quickened to the front and he bowed again in a brief prayer. He whispered with just enough air from his lungs to make a noise from his mouth and not strum his chords a bit, "Please accept my offering in prayer," bowed, and placed the glimmering miza, golden and bright, on whatever offering bowl there was for this sacrifice. He retreated back then, not turning from the front until he was lowered and then took to a pew row three behind the front, not wanting to look too involved or desperate. No one had minded his business so much as he thought they did, it would seem, but still he looked over his shoulder before he folded his hands and bowed his head to the wood. He struggled with a start at first, and then began to wonder what kinds of prayers they heard. Could the gods read his mind? He didn't want to speak too loudly, out of respect and privacy, but - there was no but, only more excuses. His cowardice would go unjustified. He needed to reflect on the moment, understand his suffering, and then he would pray. Gods had no time for unintelligent babbling. Or did they, and once more Lindel assumed of them again. Who was to say fate had not made him a babbling fool this very moment, in the eyes of Gods?

[Lindel Ward]

Why am I even doing this? I work. I know people. The knights are keeping us safe in our walls. It's silly to feel like this when there's nothing wrong. Is there something wrong? With me? Is that why she did it? Is that why he left? Plenty of people use magic, and why she did what she did, it's in that journal, somewhere. It must be awful for him to have left like that, all we've had here. Maybe it's not so incredible, or maybe it wasn't for him. I won't even dare to speak, coward… But what is there to say? 'Help me, Sylir, hear me from the grave, help me make peace with this?' I ask a dead god to make peace for me with dead people. Maybe Dira would be more appropriate, or all the less merciful. What are we if Gods can die, and what are they to this world and beyond? Is it so stupid as to think such things when this is the life and world I live in, and must live in? I could be asking dumber things. I could have said them aloud to the priest wandering around and…who knows. Maybe he has the answers. Odd man though, crawling around like a rat for a meal to salvage, feeding on the insecurities and quandaries of others. Isn't that sort of sickening? Listen to me, speaking like I know something he doesn't. What has become of this world, this castle, truly? Who would ever want to be a cog in this machine? I am a cog, and can think different all I want, but I'll always be another cog, won't I? Maybe I can pray for the peace in myself to just accept that. But isn't that a lie, now that I have this… It's almost wrong, a spit in the face of fate, or is it? Was that the plan all along? Gods and their plans, there is no telling. How awful it is to be a cog in their machine. But what choice do I have, and by the same Gods, why would I wish worse for myself? How petching ridiculous this all is! I'm arguing with myself in a temple of Gods about whether or not Gods are – oh, who knows?! I must look like a fool, kowtowed at the entrance, head lowered in such deliberate desperation. Is that all the good the Gods are for, wanting things from them, to get ahead, or what we want? And what of us and them? Are we no more than tools? Cults and Knighthoods adorned in their symbols waging war for peace – for peace, the irony of it all! I'm safe in these walls though, aren't I? There is peace? But what of the world, Lindel? What of it? Why should I care? Why can't I help but to care? As if the storm had not been enough. I must have prayed to Gods a dozen times over this past year, health, wealth, a bit of luck, but never like this. Why is this so difficult? Why is it that everything I've known is becoming undone around me? Thank…thankfully, ought be enough, thankfully I have not said so much aloud. Chaos need merely one more hint to let it be known I'm ready to be shoved off the edge, and then there is no telling if I'd ever make it back up. And there I go again, as if I am some asset to them! I could though, couldn't I? The Knights walk with the blessings of the Wind Oak, and all other followers of their patron gods bear the emblem of their masters. It is a purposeful thing, isn't it, or is it merely the brand marking of cattle, what belongs to who? A God once had the capacity to love a mortal woman, right, and all the world changed? Was that just a mistake though, an accident, a miracle, or do they see more to us than toys to be played with? To each his own, yes? There is good and evil in the world, and they are at war. Lindel peeked up from his bow and looked around for the priest, not to ask a question to him, but for the sake of inspiration of thought. There was something about him, what he and this temple represented. He only caught a glimpse, but in his nervousness, Lindel bowed his head quickly again right into his folded hands and resumed this meditation. There was war for that same woman years ago, but there was peace too, Sylir. Yes, I remember this fairy tale, and his sacrifice. But what does it mean? Two empires at war with each other in the presence of peace, and now with peace gone we have peace in this castle, perhaps the world? Or do we? What is peace, Lindel? Can it ever become of itself, or are we in pursuit of futile dreams if we need to fight for peace? Sylir, I wonder if you ever lived at all. What am I to do then, a little cog in a grand design? I write things and drink and sing badly… This magic, projection, what am I to do with it at all? It's impossible that this has even happened to me, and yet… Fate can be so cruel and uncaring in its ambiguity. I don't know what to do, and I certainly am not sure now who I ought to pray to. A desperate person is allowed desperate prayers I believe, but who is to say what is desperate? I've never heard of a volley of Gods descending on a helpless boy to service him, not even in stories. But the murdered queen, she was his lover, and for her the world changed. Perhaps there is value in devotion after all, though the undertones are so…mundane. What is it that is worth living for then? No fighting, no more fighting. Should it be peace? But then a dull world it might become. No, stupid, think, two empires at war in the presence of peace. What is peace? Lindel peered back up to the altar. He wasn't quite sure of it all or himself, but he had a vague expression to make, a question for the ears of one who might hear off in the distance. What was the weight of one man's soul against all others, or what should that same soul be valued unto itself against all others once more? That was for the Gods to decide, now wasn't it. He need only beseech them and be humble when they answer, if they answered. Could the dead God hear him? One could pray. Ironic, isn't it?

[Lindel Ward]

He took a deep breathe; weary of what he might say. Lindel had heard tales of prayers coming true, and because of that he knew very well the importance of his precision in prayer, the necessity to be humble, and the open mindedness to communicate on par with the divine who viewed the whole world in a way he couldn't imagine. He took a glimpse at the altar again, looking for that coin to gleam. He couldn't see it, but knew it was there somewhere in offering. What in the world would a God do with a miza?! No, stop it, just stop. It's a symbol. Now pray. He started to mutter, in prayer, a request to Sylir – dead or alive – with a far-fetched hope that the God would show him mercy, knowledge, or something more to guide him. He was able to become a vessel for peace, but he needed to be shown the way. The call of knighthood had never struck him, and even now he was opposed to it somehow. There was something about them he never liked, a reputation and method he didn't agree with. There must be a way, without force, to bring peace. "Sylir, Lord of Peace, for which this my home has been named, hear me. There is much I do not understand, and I seek answers. I implore you, hear me. What is peace? " He stopped. As much as he wanted to go on in explanation, he was fearful what foolish babbling might get him. As broad a question as it might seem on the surface, there was a level of precision to it. Wasn't there? "I mean, I know what peace means, but… I don't understand how it works. Would you please help me, Sylir, to understand why the knights must fight to keep peace? Why must anyone fight at all for peace? "I'm so confused, Sylir. I don't know for certain that fate is all random as its made out to be, but I know I feel at the very least there is something I can do, that maybe I am meant to, to play my part. Please, help me understand, and show me to the way, and I swear upon my soul, I will follow the path to peace – whatever it may be, whatever trials I might face. The knights keep the peace still, so certainly you cannot be dead, so please, hear me, and show me." Lindel began to lose himself in prayer, finding the comfort he was looking for, someone to hear him, even if it were seemingly fruitless efforts in that moment. What began as a plea for help became utter confessional, ranks seamlessly dropping between him and whatever received these prayers – fragments or conscious. "It probably sounds silly to hear I don't know what I'm doing, even this prayer might be foolish. My mother is dead, my father gone, fathers more accurately, and now I'm just working to live in a castle where peace needs to be held by a gauntlet. I'm not sure I – no, I am sure, I don't want this. I can't want it, and I can't stand it for much longer. There is something lacking in this place and probably throughout the world needing to be, I don't know found or made. What am I saying? Peace, Sylir, I need to know what it means to be at peace. I need to know and understand what it is and why we are so without it. I don't mean to be so arrogant, but if it is something I can agree with, then I do swear my soul and loyalty to you solely. I don't know if I can forsake the pleasures I find in the realm of others, but my faith will rest solely with you. As the knights make their blades, take, break, burn, and forge their steel into weapons of actions, mold and wield me as you see fit. I cannot be so foolish as to say I am truly and fully yours at this one prayer, this strange prayer, but if I can then I will. "I know the ways and workings of all Gods may be mysterious and sometimes unspoken, and I will do what I can to be open and receive you from whatever plane you come from. I will wait, Sylir, but please do not leave me without an answer by my life's end. You must hear this, all things say you must." His fingers had wrapped over themselves and grasped into force-filled fists, an exercise of restraint for the boy's frustrations. Eyes shut, he had burrowed his forehead into his joint fists he prayed so devoutly. The light red mark from keeping his head down so long would last a few minutes. He had said what he needed to say though, and his thoughts had brought him that much closer to understanding whatever it was he sought after. How funny a thing that he might blindly chase after something based on a unfounded feeling… How very funny, but that's faith, isn't it? Lindel drew himself together, unaware of the mark on his head, and observed the Temple once more, noticing possibly a shift in bodies and people, the angle of the light. He had been there, just thinking, for a while more than he thought, maybe a bell. He had not heard anything. He checked the front again and saw his piece still in place. So much depended on that gold miza set at the front. And yet, despite all the tension in needing to wait possibly a life time for an answer, he did feel a wave of peace having been able to talk to someone who could hear him, in belief at least. He felt better having done something than nothing at all. Was that the answer he was after? Lindel lowered his eyes to the floor and traced the length of the aisle back out of the temple into the castle halls to go about his daily business. He had glanced up, but once for a split second, looking for the priest. He knew he was sure to be looking, but hadn't the nerve to face him now. It was spring and beautiful, a time to heal and grow. What a birthday it had been so far?

[Accolade]

Lindel

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Rhetoric	+ 4 XP
Observation	+ 2 XP
Philosophy	+ 5 XP

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	The Temple of all Gods (location)
•	Plagued by Criticism and Self Doubt
•	Praying to Sylir
•	Fate Can Be Cruel
•	What is Done Before the Altar

Notes :

Nicely done!

The Sylir has spoken

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.