Post by Deleted on Sept 27, 2017 15:39:55 GMT -6
tyrus
bring yourself to glory
The Sanctum was finally emptying. As the last mourners in the day-long procession filed out the temple's vaulted doors, Tyrus kept his posture tall, his voice soft. He offered short syllables of blessing to those who passed him and reached towards him with weary faces. They always stopped short of touching his fine garments or the candles burning on his embroidered mantle. People wanted to bask in godliness, Tyrus had learned, but rarely to touch it.
He understood why. Ignacio was present for funerals, for disasters. In a city like Valore, where neither magnificence nor spectacle were in short supply, the Temple retained a unique exhilaration -- the terror of a god's absolute power. Aodhians were rarely at the mercy of anything. Tyrus's place in the world was to remind them of Ignacio's affection for his kingdom, and of the cold oblivion that awaited anyone outside the glow of that love. Days like this one, when the streets were littered with the rubble of their city, it was hard to know the god's heart.
The murmurs of departing citizens flickered through the chamber like candlelight. The day had been sermon after sermon, trying to help a grieving city understand Ignacio's will. How could he allow the death of a young king? How could he send a dragon, his own holy symbol, to rain fire upon his children? Tyrus had had a crowded pyre today, had blanketed the dead in prayer for the hours it took them to burn. The stink of smoke and incense left him lightheaded, his throat raw. His voice was reduced to a gentle whisper as he bid the last of his lingering flock goodnight. Evening leaked into the temple when he doused the candelabras at its entrance.
The torches on the outer walls would keep burning, though. Valore needed to see them.
The Sanctum's attendants dispersed in practiced synchronization, and went to light the nighttime fires that crowned the garden walls. Tyrus walked back to the altar at the rear of the temple, finding it piled high with the fortune Valore's nobility had paid to be delivered from fear. He looked at the changing shapes flickering in the angles of Ignacio's polished face, and took a deep but silent breath. Even out of the public eye, Tyrus did not relax his regal posture. After a moment of prayer --or maybe simply contemplation -- he turned to Isador where he waited patiently to be addressed.
"Your presence was appreciated today, Adviser." His voice was barely raw from hours of speaking. "They needed a familiar face." The face of their savior, no less. Tyrus had suspected that stories of Isador taming the dragon were apocryphal, until the Adviser confirmed them himself. Tyrus approached him, looking princely despite his exhausting day. "...I've spoken at far too many funerals for my short tenure, Adviser."
He understood why. Ignacio was present for funerals, for disasters. In a city like Valore, where neither magnificence nor spectacle were in short supply, the Temple retained a unique exhilaration -- the terror of a god's absolute power. Aodhians were rarely at the mercy of anything. Tyrus's place in the world was to remind them of Ignacio's affection for his kingdom, and of the cold oblivion that awaited anyone outside the glow of that love. Days like this one, when the streets were littered with the rubble of their city, it was hard to know the god's heart.
The murmurs of departing citizens flickered through the chamber like candlelight. The day had been sermon after sermon, trying to help a grieving city understand Ignacio's will. How could he allow the death of a young king? How could he send a dragon, his own holy symbol, to rain fire upon his children? Tyrus had had a crowded pyre today, had blanketed the dead in prayer for the hours it took them to burn. The stink of smoke and incense left him lightheaded, his throat raw. His voice was reduced to a gentle whisper as he bid the last of his lingering flock goodnight. Evening leaked into the temple when he doused the candelabras at its entrance.
The torches on the outer walls would keep burning, though. Valore needed to see them.
The Sanctum's attendants dispersed in practiced synchronization, and went to light the nighttime fires that crowned the garden walls. Tyrus walked back to the altar at the rear of the temple, finding it piled high with the fortune Valore's nobility had paid to be delivered from fear. He looked at the changing shapes flickering in the angles of Ignacio's polished face, and took a deep but silent breath. Even out of the public eye, Tyrus did not relax his regal posture. After a moment of prayer --or maybe simply contemplation -- he turned to Isador where he waited patiently to be addressed.
"Your presence was appreciated today, Adviser." His voice was barely raw from hours of speaking. "They needed a familiar face." The face of their savior, no less. Tyrus had suspected that stories of Isador taming the dragon were apocryphal, until the Adviser confirmed them himself. Tyrus approached him, looking princely despite his exhausting day. "...I've spoken at far too many funerals for my short tenure, Adviser."
post 1 | 477 words
