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Post by Zugunruhes on May 19, 2020 13:54:42 GMT -6
Reverence & Resentment
Winter 1702; Morning; Within Fernos Sanctum |
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Post by Zugunruhes on May 19, 2020 14:11:27 GMT -6
Winter always ushered larger crowds into Fernos' great halls. The many hearths kept horses of all class warm while they bent their heads and prayed to Ignacio for a brighter future in the new year. Much of the lingering crowd came from the earlier sermon; a lengthy speech and prayer led by Flamen Kaspar on the importance of unity in dark times. He spoke much of the refugees, the very reason the sanctum was tighter packed than it had been in months.
Jove avoided the sermon; he had been visiting the sanctum enough to predict the crowds. It unnerved him to be so close to that many other horses. His head was low, his gaze fixated on his hooves as he climbed the steps and passed through the sanctum's massive doors. Neither attendant greeting visitors at the entrance gave him a scrutinizing glance. A bridled slave was permitted and of no trouble.
He kept to the walls of the center room, still watching his hooves. He knew the great statue of Ignacio watched him from above and he couldn't meet the god's stone eyes. Doors near the end of the hall brought him to a smaller room with walls lined entirely by a great mural. Scenes from the crucible; the bloody victors bathed in golden sunlight.
He stopped before one of the many alcoves in the room, framed around a marble mural set into the receding wall. Candles on a jutting platform lit the carved pictures in the stone. The room was silent; no pit-fighters, champions, nor gamblers appealing to the gods. And so he prayed, softly, timidly.
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Post by leukristic on May 22, 2020 22:15:11 GMT -6
 you can tell your holy ghost
that i'm a one man riotBrontide had dragged him into the Sanctum bright and early, tacked up in a gleaming (sharp-bitted) bridle and the decorative sort of armor that would be absolutely useless on an actual battlefield, claiming that it would be the best place for him to begin to garner the attention of those devoted to the Crucible’s bloody entertainment. Thankfully, the slave trader had quickly gotten called away into some sort of conversation, leaving the pit fighter to wander his way unaccompanied through the Sanctum, away from the crowds that pressed in close as though he didn’t exist.
To them, he supposed he didn’t, so long as he served them no purpose.
A nearly-empty room beckons, and he ducks inside with his ears pinned back at the reminder of his new station in life -- not that this room particularly helps, once he takes a moment to look at the art painted across the walls.
“What a load of fuckin’ bullshit.” He remarks as he idly studies the bloody mural illuminated by sunlight, coming to rest near the lone other occupant of this tucked away room. He’s smart enough to recognize that this is a room meant for solemn prayer, for the kind of devoted worship a sanctum could command -- it makes his skin prickle uncomfortably and his lip curl, his head lifting further in stubborn pride. He would kneel to no mortal, and certainly not to the sort of divinity that would bless him as a child then see him in chains as an adult by those that worshipped him.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his head until he can stare down a marbled Ignacio with his mismatched gaze, a fire sparking back to life in his ribcage. He was supposed to be behaving himself, but -- who was here to tattle on him, except for another slave with a bit between their teeth, dumb enough to still be praying to the gods who cared not for their mortals?
His lip curled back into a sneer at the thought, his teeth bared.
“Eat ash and choke.” He tells the statue.
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Post by Zugunruhes on Jun 1, 2020 20:55:36 GMT -6
The mural is new; an intricate work of stone and paintings commissioned by the sanctum's flamen to celebrate Aodh's history of pit fighting. Jove avoids looking at it whenever he comes to pray- the scenes unnerve him especially the center painting where the victor is wreathed in golden sunlight while the loser falls into darkness. The intricate flow of the arena and the gods frightens him and he prays downwards, seeking the flickering warmth of the candles instead. The room is peaceful, and he exhales slowly, not noticing the other horse enter the room.
Until his silent contemplation are disturbed. A pebble- no a shower of rocks disturb the water and send overlapping ripples in each direction. Jove glances over at the unicorn, visibly startled. He tries to speak a few times, voice catching in his throat, then finally manages hoarsely, "Y-You shouldn't speak to Him that way.... in one of his sanctums."
His eyes, mournful and reserved, regard the harsh bridle on the other horse. He's never heard another horse outright scorn one of the gods in a sanctum and he wishes the room was unoccupied again. His words were true- Perhaps he should leave or pray further and shut out his surroundings?
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