TIMESTAMP: 17th Sun's Zenith, Searing 4572
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► Show Spoiler
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For as long as he could remember, Degare was never the biggest of fans of the Omen of Ulendreaism. Even when he was quite young, the teachings never really stuck with him. They didn’t ignite a fire in his head like so many of his peers, the words didn’t inspire faith or devotion of any kind. The whole thing just seemed…dreary, empty and far fetched. Plus…he’d never really been given an adequate justification as to why he should even think Ulen exists at all. The piety of others around him only perplexed him. When he voiced these concerns to his parents, they too admitted to indifference– but they did make a distinct point to tell him that such a stance wasn’t acceptable to voice publicly. Despite his hesitation, they taught him over time how to blend in with the pious and convince them that he was one of them while still avoiding as much engagement with the religion as possible.
Taught to hold his tongue and never do more than roll his eyes at the fervor with which some believed, he carried on masquerading as a fellow believer simply as a necessity. Part of what bothered him the most about the strict enforcement of this faith, really, is that as far as he could tell, many, if not most members of Ulen’s flock lived lives in opposition to the teachings of their religion. Some did so intentionally, some were delusional, others believed themselves above reproach and many simply bent scripture to suit their liking. While a lot of their choices didn’t bother him on a personal level, it was the degree of hypocrisy that so many of them displayed that was particularly off putting and left a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thought of the pious.
People simply having faith was also not his place to judge regardless of what he thought about the Omen itself. Another significant portion of his disdain towards the devout was the fact that the religion was, in fact, forced upon the citizenry. Whether you believed in Ulen or not, you had to pretend you did and no other faith of any kind was tolerated. Growing up around people of such attitudes made him fairly callous towards Ulen’s flock as well. If they show zero respect to the beliefs of others, what is respectable about their own?
Though it wasn’t incredibly common, there were a number of skeptics and non-believers among the Entente…you really just had to know where to look or befriend them well enough to convince them to drop their guard. For the Ferrier, this was at least somewhat comforting that not everyone actually believed in the glorified doomsday cult that was the Omen. His parents and many of his house, for one, had little faith– they just managed to hide it rather well. On his end, this was very, very lucky. He couldn’t imagine how irritating, tormenting, even– life would be to be surrounded by the wholly devout on a day to day basis. They were insufferable enough when they visited for his family’s frequently hosted parties and events.
One such individual was a man by the name of Maurice Serano and whenever he showed up at the Socorro estate, he managed to always– always! – grind away at Degare’s nerves. It was as if he could somehow tell the pale elf didn’t believe but was simultaneously too stupid to realise it on a conscious level. The man always compared the Ferrier to something of a ‘lost lamb’ or the like. Always saying how he ought to strengthen his resolve and be more devoted to Ulen and the Omen and how doing so would infinitely improve his life. That sentiment, to the elf, was rather funny considering that at this point in time he was fairly content with where he was in life. The religion genuinely had very little to offer him and he could not understand for the life of him why this man would not leave him alone.
After a particularly irritating encounter in which the man spoke to him in the way a fervent street preacher would, Degare vented his frustrations to his husband, Averre. The two of them mused about how life would be easier if the man simply weren’t around, but killing another Veir without significant justification was a somewhat risky move since doing so could easily put a target on their own backs. It was in this discussion where Averre’s eyes lit up and offered the idea to the apprentice Ferrier that he should use his newly learned skill, Avowal, to see if there were any poor, tormented souls tied to Maurice. If such a thing were true, then it would be much easier for the two of them to justify killing the man. Much as Degare tried to convince Averre to be the one to snoop, he refused, claiming it was the perfect way for the fledgling Ferrier to practice his skills especially since he hadn’t worked much with Ethos as of yet. Relenting, the elf agreed that he would try.
17th Sun's Zenith, Searing 4572
On a temperate midsummer night, House Socorro was hosting a soirée for no real purpose outside of peacocking the talent of the many fine musicians housed within– something they did fairly often. In a combination of both fortune and misfortune, Tribune Maurice Serano had decided to show. The human man was short, stocky and not very fit or graceful. As summer rains torrent outside, Degare wore dark clothes to hopefully keep himself out of sight in the dim lighting of the manor. He really didn’t want to speak to the man at this point as he was, frankly, obnoxious and loved to waste his time.
As the man strode around in colors typical for a Tribune to wear, his hip clipped into a piece of furniture and knocked an item loose from his possession. The Ferrier’s eyes lit up when he saw this because it appeared that Maurice was none the wiser to losing whatever this was. From where he was standing, it appeared to be a small journal of sorts. 'Perfect– that has to contain notes about his personal life…right?’ The thoughts ran through Degare’s head as he made long, silent strides over to it.
As soon as his hand touched the fine leather cover of the little book, he was immediately able to feel the ribbons of Ethos that wrapped around it. This surprised him considering what it was…he hadn’t at all expected that a spirit would be tied to such a thing. Pocketing it, he makes his way to a room in the estate that is always kept locked; since nobody would be in there, it would be a reasonable location to both inspect the contents of the small book and pull at the Ethos woven around it.
The first thing he does when he finds himself alone is to flip the book open and flit through its pages. There are dark, muddy red stains on some of the pages as if somebody had bled onto it; this must be why the ghost had fixations related to this item. The text held within was written in fairly plain Raillen script and was fairly disappointing in its blandness. It contained a lot of notes in regards to scripture and sermons that the preacher must have taken to help develop the ideas he shares with his flock. As disappointing as this was, that didn’t mean that the book was useless.
Running long, graceful fingers over the bloodied pages of the book he came across a particularly dense strip of Ethos, pinched at it and pulled the ribbon free from the surface. It was silky smooth and the fibers reminded him of woven spider’s silk, though they were inherently cold in their blue, ethereal glow. As soon as this action was performed, he could feel the ribbon react with his ether and he began to manifest memories associated with the Ethos in between his fingertips.
The first thing he felt was intense pain from the impact of what he guessed was the blunt end of a hammer or gavel of some sort against the back of his head along with the sound of a bone cracking. He could feel the phantom sensation of warm blood tripping down the back of his head where he was struck and could hear the cries of a woman’s voice. More garbled speech filtered through his head and while it was inherently incoherent, he heard a man that sounded very similar to Maurice yell something about ‘heretics’ the ‘will of Ulen’ and ‘death to nonbelievers’ while the female voice cried and begged for life, for forgiveness. Such a mercy was not granted because he felt another hard crack against his skull and then nothing. Piecing this together was not difficult– it would appear that the good Tribune was a murderer of those he deemed lacking in faith. Whoever this woman was must’ve bled onto this notebook while he beat her to death.
This knowledge was concerning for a multitude of reasons, especially given that many of the people Degare cared about weren’t exactly the most pious themselves and apparently this man was more than willing to take the law into his own hands and simply execute those he dubbed heretics. Maybe this was even why Maurice had taken such a specific interest in him; had the man caught on to his disbelief and been planning his demise after all? Not wanting to take chances, the Ferrier decided that the Tribune’s fate was sealed: soon, it was his life that would end.
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For as long as he could remember, Degare was never the biggest of fans of the Omen of Ulendreaism. Even when he was quite young, the teachings never really stuck with him. They didn’t ignite a fire in his head like so many of his peers, the words didn’t inspire faith or devotion of any kind. The whole thing just seemed…dreary, empty and far fetched. Plus…he’d never really been given an adequate justification as to why he should even think Ulen exists at all. The piety of others around him only perplexed him. When he voiced these concerns to his parents, they too admitted to indifference– but they did make a distinct point to tell him that such a stance wasn’t acceptable to voice publicly. Despite his hesitation, they taught him over time how to blend in with the pious and convince them that he was one of them while still avoiding as much engagement with the religion as possible.
Taught to hold his tongue and never do more than roll his eyes at the fervor with which some believed, he carried on masquerading as a fellow believer simply as a necessity. Part of what bothered him the most about the strict enforcement of this faith, really, is that as far as he could tell, many, if not most members of Ulen’s flock lived lives in opposition to the teachings of their religion. Some did so intentionally, some were delusional, others believed themselves above reproach and many simply bent scripture to suit their liking. While a lot of their choices didn’t bother him on a personal level, it was the degree of hypocrisy that so many of them displayed that was particularly off putting and left a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thought of the pious.
People simply having faith was also not his place to judge regardless of what he thought about the Omen itself. Another significant portion of his disdain towards the devout was the fact that the religion was, in fact, forced upon the citizenry. Whether you believed in Ulen or not, you had to pretend you did and no other faith of any kind was tolerated. Growing up around people of such attitudes made him fairly callous towards Ulen’s flock as well. If they show zero respect to the beliefs of others, what is respectable about their own?
Though it wasn’t incredibly common, there were a number of skeptics and non-believers among the Entente…you really just had to know where to look or befriend them well enough to convince them to drop their guard. For the Ferrier, this was at least somewhat comforting that not everyone actually believed in the glorified doomsday cult that was the Omen. His parents and many of his house, for one, had little faith– they just managed to hide it rather well. On his end, this was very, very lucky. He couldn’t imagine how irritating, tormenting, even– life would be to be surrounded by the wholly devout on a day to day basis. They were insufferable enough when they visited for his family’s frequently hosted parties and events.
One such individual was a man by the name of Maurice Serano and whenever he showed up at the Socorro estate, he managed to always– always! – grind away at Degare’s nerves. It was as if he could somehow tell the pale elf didn’t believe but was simultaneously too stupid to realise it on a conscious level. The man always compared the Ferrier to something of a ‘lost lamb’ or the like. Always saying how he ought to strengthen his resolve and be more devoted to Ulen and the Omen and how doing so would infinitely improve his life. That sentiment, to the elf, was rather funny considering that at this point in time he was fairly content with where he was in life. The religion genuinely had very little to offer him and he could not understand for the life of him why this man would not leave him alone.
After a particularly irritating encounter in which the man spoke to him in the way a fervent street preacher would, Degare vented his frustrations to his husband, Averre. The two of them mused about how life would be easier if the man simply weren’t around, but killing another Veir without significant justification was a somewhat risky move since doing so could easily put a target on their own backs. It was in this discussion where Averre’s eyes lit up and offered the idea to the apprentice Ferrier that he should use his newly learned skill, Avowal, to see if there were any poor, tormented souls tied to Maurice. If such a thing were true, then it would be much easier for the two of them to justify killing the man. Much as Degare tried to convince Averre to be the one to snoop, he refused, claiming it was the perfect way for the fledgling Ferrier to practice his skills especially since he hadn’t worked much with Ethos as of yet. Relenting, the elf agreed that he would try.
17th Sun's Zenith, Searing 4572
On a temperate midsummer night, House Socorro was hosting a soirée for no real purpose outside of peacocking the talent of the many fine musicians housed within– something they did fairly often. In a combination of both fortune and misfortune, Tribune Maurice Serano had decided to show. The human man was short, stocky and not very fit or graceful. As summer rains torrent outside, Degare wore dark clothes to hopefully keep himself out of sight in the dim lighting of the manor. He really didn’t want to speak to the man at this point as he was, frankly, obnoxious and loved to waste his time.
As the man strode around in colors typical for a Tribune to wear, his hip clipped into a piece of furniture and knocked an item loose from his possession. The Ferrier’s eyes lit up when he saw this because it appeared that Maurice was none the wiser to losing whatever this was. From where he was standing, it appeared to be a small journal of sorts. 'Perfect– that has to contain notes about his personal life…right?’ The thoughts ran through Degare’s head as he made long, silent strides over to it.
As soon as his hand touched the fine leather cover of the little book, he was immediately able to feel the ribbons of Ethos that wrapped around it. This surprised him considering what it was…he hadn’t at all expected that a spirit would be tied to such a thing. Pocketing it, he makes his way to a room in the estate that is always kept locked; since nobody would be in there, it would be a reasonable location to both inspect the contents of the small book and pull at the Ethos woven around it.
The first thing he does when he finds himself alone is to flip the book open and flit through its pages. There are dark, muddy red stains on some of the pages as if somebody had bled onto it; this must be why the ghost had fixations related to this item. The text held within was written in fairly plain Raillen script and was fairly disappointing in its blandness. It contained a lot of notes in regards to scripture and sermons that the preacher must have taken to help develop the ideas he shares with his flock. As disappointing as this was, that didn’t mean that the book was useless.
Running long, graceful fingers over the bloodied pages of the book he came across a particularly dense strip of Ethos, pinched at it and pulled the ribbon free from the surface. It was silky smooth and the fibers reminded him of woven spider’s silk, though they were inherently cold in their blue, ethereal glow. As soon as this action was performed, he could feel the ribbon react with his ether and he began to manifest memories associated with the Ethos in between his fingertips.
The first thing he felt was intense pain from the impact of what he guessed was the blunt end of a hammer or gavel of some sort against the back of his head along with the sound of a bone cracking. He could feel the phantom sensation of warm blood tripping down the back of his head where he was struck and could hear the cries of a woman’s voice. More garbled speech filtered through his head and while it was inherently incoherent, he heard a man that sounded very similar to Maurice yell something about ‘heretics’ the ‘will of Ulen’ and ‘death to nonbelievers’ while the female voice cried and begged for life, for forgiveness. Such a mercy was not granted because he felt another hard crack against his skull and then nothing. Piecing this together was not difficult– it would appear that the good Tribune was a murderer of those he deemed lacking in faith. Whoever this woman was must’ve bled onto this notebook while he beat her to death.
This knowledge was concerning for a multitude of reasons, especially given that many of the people Degare cared about weren’t exactly the most pious themselves and apparently this man was more than willing to take the law into his own hands and simply execute those he dubbed heretics. Maybe this was even why Maurice had taken such a specific interest in him; had the man caught on to his disbelief and been planning his demise after all? Not wanting to take chances, the Ferrier decided that the Tribune’s fate was sealed: soon, it was his life that would end.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
