[Chapel] Sanguine [Veldrys]

[Tabarnac]

continued from here. 1st Winter, 510 A.V. Zahari was old and had taken to frequent naps. They said he would soon begin the Great Journey; that is, Death. There was little fear of Mother Dira in Denval. The descendants of Suvan warriors knew She was their inevitable friend, and companion on that Journey everyone must take eventually. So when an acolyte came to Haimon in the library, he knew what to expect and quickly finished adding the name of a newborn babe to the records of Denvali bloodlines. This was both his civic as well as religious duty. The middle-aged chaplain stepped out into the chapel proper, but there was only the one man praying at the moment. Haimon knew everyone in Denval; it was joked that only Oleg knew them better. The chaplain of Viratas did not know this man, but that was of no moment. Since their rediscovery by the blessed traveling Zeltivans, more and more outsiders had come to visit, even if merely to stop in their meager port on their way along the Kalean coast. A brief sweep of his gaze across the room verified that the proper candles were lit, and all was in proper order. The prayerful man seemed content with himself, and so Haimon knelt before a small altar to offer his own prayers, which would be short, but powerful. If the man needed him, he would not have to wait long. He dragged up the sleeve of his robe, revealing a clever bit of cloth that looped up to button at his shoulder, holding the sleeve up. The movement also revealed an untold number of scars. Most were thin and silvery as spider silk, though others were not and had stories of their own. Above that, wrapping around his bicep, was a sort of mark in the shape of a crimson chain. Nine links were that bright red color, a hidden three remained dark. A consecrated blade was pulled from his belt and slipped quickly and deftly across his inner arm and he held the wound over a bronze bowl that caught his offering. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sonorous: "Spilt blood cries out to me. It speaks of life and death. It sings of sins and blessings. Every drop is precious, But not all cries are holy."

[Veldrys]

As the human priest knelt down in front of the altar, Veldrys focused his entire attention on him. He noticed that his arm was laced with scars and that he bore the marks of Viratas himself. Even in Kalinor, where the God of Blood was worshipped more than in most other places, the healer’s contact with those that had been marked by his patron had been somewhat limited. He’d always admired them and feared them a little, wishing that he could be closer to the god and yet aware that whatever he had done was not enough, that he was still entirely undeserving of Viratas‘ favour, that he needed to try much harder. The offering of blood was a procedure that was not foreign to the Symenestra. Blood was the most sacred substance, and much of his work as a healer was dedicated to helping those that bore blood, be they Symenestra or surface dwellers and keeping the blood of his race pure. To give something that valuable spoke of the highest reverence for the god. Aware of the significance of the moment, he didn’t approach the chaplain yet, but let him speak his prayer. Only when he had finished, did the Symenestra rise from his seat and slowly come closer. He did not raise his voice immediately, but quietly drew a small knife that he had kept under his cloak to make a shallow cut, to offer part of himself to the god. He glanced at the crimson drops that had collected at the bottom of the bowl for a moment, and then he put the knife away again and finally turned to face the human. The chaplain of Viratas would immediately notice that the man that stood before him now was anything but human. His face might have passed for human on certain occasions, even though humans with such pale skin and hair were rare, but he was too slender, too fragile, and his arms that ended in black nails were a bit too long. „I’ve come to pay my respects to Viratas, to learn about Denval, about the way he is worshipped here“, he spoke. The healer‘s voice was polite, but he spoke with a heavy accent. Even though he had regularly had contact with humans as the son of a merchant, his grasp of Common was far from perfect. „Are you the one who presides over this chapel?“

[Tabarnac]

If Haimon was surprised by the impromptu participation in his ritual, he gave no sign of it. Ice blue eyes turned on him, gauging the Symenestra, one of the few to walk boldly into Denval even though the people there had no great prejudice against the spider kind. Unnoticed, perhaps, the mingled blood began to glow faintly in the bronze bowl and then began to drain away, though there was no flaw in the bowl. They said that Viratas drank from that bowl the offerings of the Denvali people, whose blood He had purified over their years of seclusion to prevent inbreeding. The chaplain stood and bowed to him. "Viratas has accepted our offerings, wanderer," he said, indicating the empty bowl. "He isn't the only god worshiped here, though I do lead his cult. I am Chaplain Haimon. What may I do for you?"

[Veldrys]

He had thought that the blood would stay in the bowl, as a reminder of the small sacrifice he had made, that it would be mixed with the blood of the other people that came to pray at the chapel. He had thought that maybe somebody would come and drink it, to become one with them. But contrary to his expectations it seemed to disappear, until there was not a single crimson drop left. The Symenestra’s amethyst eyes widened in momentary surprise, and then he abruptly inclined his head, as if he felt his god’s presence and wanted to show him that he was his humble servant. "My name is Veldrys, and I come from Kalinor", he introduced himself to the chaplain. He saw no need to hide his identity or the part of the world where he had been born. He glanced back at the bowl, still in awe of what he considered a miracle, a sign of his god’s acceptance before he faced the human once more. "It surprises me that your people pray to Viratas, if you forgive me my honesty, chaplain. Few apart from my kind do so. I would appreciate it if you could tell me how Denval came to choose the god of blood as one of their patron deities and in which way you worship him. I’m interested in your rituals and prayers, in your history."

[Tabarnac]

The man looked to be in his prime, or just passing out of it, his hair prematurely silver as if the god they both worshiped had drained the bolder colors out of him. Pale eyes, pale hair. "Welcome to Denval and to the Chapel. Viratas and Aquiras are the most revered here, though we respect and honor the other gods and goddesses as well. Only Sagallius is truly anathema, for the holy heart of Aquiras beats in his filthy chest." Haimon clearly took offense at this, though anyone who knew Zahari, the chaplain of Aquiras, would note his strange sense of humor with regard to it all. But Zahari was old, and even if Haimon had dedicated his life to the blood god, he was Denvali, and the cult of Aquiras was as old as the first Denvali. "Please sit," he invited, indicating a pew, and would sit beside him there. This was no hushed place. Worshipers were respectful of each other, but had a pragmatic understanding of the gods, even the mystics among them, of which there were a few. "You see, Denval was a military outpost of the Suvan Empire at the time of the Breaking. Your Valterrian... but we only recently became aware of this name for it. Our military doctrine was focused on rapid response, and so you might see why Aquiras was our patron. Gateways through the void led our forces on surgical strikes against the Alaheans, or even those gifted with Aquiras' favor could work the Watchtower... which we believe lies whole in the rubble surrounding us. But when disaster struck, our buildings were razed to the ground, the earth buckled and the sea rushed in. We were cut off from the rest of the world. Many believed we were the last survivors, while others held hope that we were not alone. The gods grew mostly silent toward us, and we didn't know what we had done to deserve it. "There weren't enough of us to repopulate our settlement properly. There was the threat of inbreeding. Aquiras was utterly silent, and even his marks of gnosis faded away. Nothing was as it should be. My predecessor, a military chaplain, began keeping detailed record of bloodlines in order to minimize inbreeding for as long as possible, but our medics and hostlers assured us that eventually our progeny would sicken and likely die from irreversible mutation. Until Viratas answered our prayers and purified our blood. We are still careful not to cross bloodlines too closely. You will notice our men and women prefer sexual partners from abroad than the people they grew up with... Our Captain's father is an Inarta Eagle-rider. We do our part because Viratas helps those who help themselves, but he kept our blood pure. He worked with us, doing us an honor, and for that we are grateful." The way he spoke carried a strange sense of immediacy, as if he had experienced the centuries of his people since the Breaking, and if the Symenestra knew anything of what the marks of Silakrov meant, he might be awed to know that those memories of his predecessors were now in his blood too.

[Veldrys]

"I assure you, I do not follow Sagallius", Veldrys remarked. He had noticed the way in which the chaplain had spoken of the wizard who had taken Aquiras‘ heart and made himself a god, and he wanted to make it clear from the beginning that they had the same attitude towards the puppeteer’s worship. He had no interest in manipulating those around him. Even though some of his kind would occasionally lie and cheat to lure human women to Kalinor, the healer himself disapproved of such things, even if it was a way to keep their race alive. As far as he was concerned, all beings that had blood were valuable. "I had no idea that the worship of Aquiras was still alive in Denval", he admitted. Indeed, the healer knew of no cults that followed the god of travel, even among the humans, and not a single Symenestra that prayed to him came to his mind. It fascinated him. It really seemed as if a part of Mizahar’s past, of the world before the Valterrian had been preserved here, and it surprised him that Denval wasn’t crowded with scholars that sought to research the city’s unique situation. Or had they already come here shortly after Denval had been rediscovered and were gone again now? "Thank you." He sat down besides the human and studied him for a moment. The chaplain’s hair was silver, a color that only the hair of old humans had. For a moment the Symenestra wondered if he was old enough to remember the years before Denval had been rediscovered, but no, apart from the color of his hair he seemed to be in relatively good shape. He didn’t look that old yet, but there might be others, older people that still remembered the years of isolation. But then again, Haimon bore the marks of Viratas. Maybe the memories of those that had come before him were still there, inside of him. He listened quietly as Haimon talked. Not once did the Symenestra interrupt him. He simply looked at him, fascinated by what he heard. Only after he had ended, did he ask, "Did Viratas speak to your people? Did he appear to them?" If he had, did Haimon have the memories of it inside of him? How had he come to be marked? Veldrys could not even come to imagine what it was like to pray to a god and have one’s prayers answered, to attract a god’s attention and gain his favour. "What was it like, believing you were the only ones that were still alive in the entire world?" he wanted to know. Their situation must have been even more desperate than that of his own people. The Symenestra were forced to condemn others to a painful death to ensure their survival, but they at least had the knowledge that there was a world outside of Kalinor, that there were others besides them. The Denvali on the other hand had believed that they were alone and that if they perished, Mizahar would be truly dead.

[Tabarnac]

Though a follower of the puppet god would surely disavow all ties with such a one, Haimon accepted Veldrys' words without comment. Viratas Himself did not shun the self-made god, perhaps through some wisdom of His own that was not meet to share with mere mortals. But Haimon, at least, did not appreciate the use of bloodlines as puppet strings. "None of the gods spoke to us for some time," he said, responding to Veldrys' questions. "I believe they were in shock from the Breaking. Eventually, they spoke to their children, though they did not say much. For example, they never told us about the other survivors, or if they did, they told individuals who kept it to themselves. The cult of Aquiras turned from physical travel inward... the soul's journey... Ah, but you are interested in Viratas, and Zahari would not appreciate me spoiling a new pair of ears for his stories. "My predecessor realized that our numbers were insufficient to repopulate without the risk of inbreeding and mutation that would spell the end for the species, and it became evident after a strict breeding program was implemented by the Captain of the time that we were beyond our own means to prevent it. Thus, my predecessor offered a sacrifice of his lifeblood in order that Viratas take pity on the Denvali garrison, now a settlement, and purify our blood. "It was a public sacrifice. His acolytes caught his blood in bronze bowls, one of which you see here." He indicated the hungry vessel that had taken their sacrifices to Viratas. "Though the people did not see Viratas the way the Chaplain did, they did see his blood snake back up into his wounds. His prayer was answered, and his life was given back to him in trust for the God. That was how Viratas took His place next to Aquiras in our worship." He paused, considering the last question. "It was terribly lonely, of course," he said, a bit haunted, "but we had each other and we had Viratas blessing us and showing us a road toward survival. We liked the idea of a road to survival, even if we didn't go anywhere, being worshipers of Aquiras. But remember that the goddess of hope is His consort, and she looked kindly on us for continuing to worship Aquiras in His deep sleep, perhaps taking the place of His heart for the time being. So we were quietly blessed with hope, which proved valid when the Zeltivans arrived."

[Veldrys]

"It isn’t hard to imagine that the gods were in shock", Veldrys remarked. "The Valterrian changed everything. It turned the world upside down and made it unrecognizable. My own kind were forced to adapt to a completely different way of life." His voice trailed off as he thought of the life he had never known, the jungle he had never seen. The Symenestras‘ poison had been weaker then, and surrogates hadn’t been necessary. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he gathered as much knowledge as he could about the Valterrian and the years surrounding it. Would he find out what had happened to his kind and why the children threatened the lives of their mothers nowadays? Would he find a way to turn back time, so that the Symenestra became the people they had once been? There had to be a solution to his race’s plight, a solution that didn’t involve murder and constant heartbreak, that didn’t cause him nightmares and force him to spill the blood of innocents. The chaplain’s statement that the gods never told them that there were other survivors pulled him out of his rather melancholic thoughts. It didn’t make any sense to him, but he didn’t dare to make a comment about it. It wasn’t wise to criticize the gods. They had probably had a reason, even if he, a mere mortal, would never understand it. "I am mainly interested in Viratas", he confirmed. "He is the god that I and the rest of my kind pray to, but Aquiras is of interest to me as well, especially since he is so important to your people. Maybe I will meet with the chaplain of Aquiras as well and talk to him about the soul’s journey." "He gave his life, and it was given back to him?" he asked, to make sure that he had understood correctly. If the Symenestra gathered and offered their lives so that those they left behind would be saved, so that their women wouldn’t die anymore, would Viratas have mercy on them as well? Would they even do it? Would they be willing to make such a sacrifice? The Symenestra were less gentle, less kind than those that dwelled on the surface. They had gotten used to their new way of life. Veldrys was quite aware that his very attitude made him something of an outsider among his race, even though he cared deeply for them. And yet he couldn’t help but wonder. "Did you ever think about leaving Denval during those lonely centuries?" he wanted to know. "Did you ever think about finding a way to cross the rubble that surrounded your city, to discover what was on the other side? You must have wondered about whether there was still a world outside of Denval occasionally."

[Tabarnac]

Haimon nodded along with Veldrys' musings, both about his own people and the Denvali. Of course a Symenestra would be focused on Viratas, and he could not fault him for that, but even this priest of the blood god worshiped others. When Veldrys asked again about the Chaplain's ancient sacrifice, he smiled grimly and nodded again. "He made a sacrifice of himself and it was accepted, but Viratas lent him back his life in order to aid his people. It is a heroic thing, I suppose, to die for something, but more difficult still to live for it." Considering Veldrys' last questions, he fell back into his storytelling mode, though it was more like speaking from memory than storytelling from rote. His voice was soothing, too, which allowed his words to enter the ear and the mind more easily. "Many sought to leave. None who tried to cross the rubble returned, and only a few who sailed away returned. A previous Captain had to place a ban on sailing expeditions because we don't have enough wood to build many ships, else we might have all sailed away long before the Zeltivan expedition found us. Timber is only a slowly renewable resource here, which is why we have become better masons and stoneworkers than carpenters. "And we still wonder about the world outside. Our numbers have not increased greatly because many seek their fortunes beyond Denval. Others, like you, come to us and are welcome guests." He paused. "You are devoted, and have a seeking mind. Do you wish to serve Viratas here under my tutelage? He accepted your sacrifice along with mine; I need no further omen than that."

[Veldrys]

"Why did none of those that tried to cross the rubble return?" the Symenestra wanted to know. He had seen part of it, and he knew that the Denvali had recently tried to build a road, but he had no idea how big the rubble that surrounded the city really was. How long would it take to cross it? Days? And why had they not come back? Had it been because they had been ill prepared? Had they encountered unknown dangers during the journey? Would one of his kind, a Symenestra that could climb most surfaces with ease have been more successful? "And what of those that travelled by boat, what news did they bring? Surely they must have found something. The world is not what it used to be, but it is far from empty." Again he noticed that the human spoke almost as if he had been there, as if he had witnessed those events with his own eyes. He wished that he were be able to share those memories, even if they were far from pleasant. The ban on sailing that had been imposed on the people of Denval made sense, but still, they must have seen something other than water and rocks! As the chaplain spoke of those that visited the city as welcome guests, there was a hint of surprise visible on the Symenestra’s pale face. He’d already noticed it when he had arrived in Denval, but it still seemed strange to him that these people didn’t seem to mind his presence particularly. Would he still be welcome though if they watched how he ate, if they realized that he had a certain kind of poison inside of him, if they became aware of all those things that he enjoyed, but that were completely foreign to them? The chaplain’s question was unexpected. Stay here and serve the god? He looked into the chaplain’s eyes, and then he answered, "I would be honored." It was a simple answer, as if he didn’t entirely trust his ability to speak the language of the humans anymore. He hadn’t initially planned on staying longer, but it seemed to be the perfect way to learn more about this city and deepen the connection to his god, to learn how others prayed to him.