11-30-2016, 01:33 AM
The sun set over Fort Taurus, glorious and incandescent. In the final moments before succumbing to the light of the stars it set the entire sky aflame. Silence marked this time, most having given themselves to slumber, or the comradery to be found inside the Fort. Beyond its walls, the world was quiet, serene, as if the entire mountain had been moved to speechlessness by the setting sun. The grounds around Fort were empty of life but for the patrolling guards, and a single figure who knelt at a point along the ridge that allowed an unobstructed view of the sunset. The guards kept their distance, veering off their appointed routes, made uneasy by the stranger’s fervent prayers and the smell of burning flesh that was carried to them on the wind.
They did not hear the stranger’s prayers clearly, and silhouetted against the sun all they could make of him was his shape and that of the lantern that rested beside him. They did not hear his prayers, and that was a choice. Had they chosen differently, the words spoken may have given them reason for thought, maybe even to wonder. Or not.
This was the prayer, not whispered and not shouted, but spoken in a soft but clear voice.
“Let the Flame guide me, and help me stay to the righteous path. May the candle of my soul aid in the lighting of others, so that they in turn may light even more, ever onward until the darkness is banished and all the world is bright and burning like the Sun. May I not confuse cruelty with justice, and may the Flame’s will lead the blind into its light. May the ashes I make this day allow something beautiful to bloom. May the scars I earn this day become the marks of my journey and of my tribulations. May this world be brighter today than yesterday, and tomorrow brighter than today. This I pray, and this I will make come to pass. Your will is my will. Till the end of my life and ever after.”
The Candlemaker had cast aside his coat and shirt, exposing his back and torso to the air. He knelt in the dirt, one hand empty at his side, the other raised and clutching a smoking branding iron. Strangely, especially to those who knew him, the brand was not shaped like a flame. Instead, it was shaped crudely after a feather.
Each sentence of the prayer was punctuated by the hiss as the Candlemaker pressed the brand against an un-marred patch of skin. He gave no evidence of the pain, the only change in him being the pause of the litany. His body was covered in the feather brands, the scars in some places faded, in others the brand had been applied on top of itself again and again.
The Candlemaker took his time. He did not hurry the words, and he did not let the hot brand part from his skin until he was certain the mark was made.
So it was that by the time he had finished, night had descended and only the stars bore witness to his worship. He stood, and redressed, letting the brand cool slowly in the dirt. Then he took up his lantern and turned to go, only to pause before taking a step.
Five figures stood there watching him silently, their faces inscrutable and unseen in the darkness. Despite this, the Candlemaker recognized them and his usually grim face twitched into a smile, for just a moment.
“Rowan, Corseph, Veltan, Bralith, and Turus. Have you come to speak further on the Flame?”
The bravest of the five, Corseph took a step forward. His entire body was tense, his arms taut at his sides, his fists clenched. His voice was likewise strained, full of fear…or maybe something other than fear.
“Master Laird, we have come—” He began only to be interrupted as the shutter of Laird’s lantern opened, momentarily blinding him.
“I have asked that you not call me that. I am no one’s master, just another pilgrim on the path. If you would give me a title make it Candlemaker for that is all I am.”
Corseph hesitated for a moment, and then continued, relaxing somewhat.
“Candlemaker. We have come to…to join you. To worship the Flame as you do.”
Laird did not move. The smile forced its way back onto his face, and stayed for a few rare seconds longer than before.
“Praise the Flame.” He said, and then took a step forward to clasp Corseph on the shoulder with his free hand. “Today is a glorious day then.”
“What…what must we do? What does the Flame wish of us?”
“What the Flame wishes for us all. That we be better than what we were. But if you speak of ritual, there is…a test you must pass. A judgement by the Flame of the truthfulness of your intentions.” As he spoke, Laird set the lantern down on the ground between Corseph and himself. He then knelt, bidding the young man to mimic him.
Reaching forward, Laird unlocked a second shutter, opposite the one facing Corseph.
“The test is simple, but if you are not honest in your desire to join the Flame then it will punish you. So I must ask, do you truly wish to light the candle? It is not an easy path. The Flame is just and loving but in its love it has no room for mercy or lies. You will have to strive always to be better, to walk the righteous road. The Flame will not coddle you, it will not hold your hand, even should you stray. Your choices are your own, your sins your own. You will not be able to get by with mouthed prayers and rote penance. You must have the will to seek out and punish the wicked, but also the wisdom to never forget that the punishment is the means, not the end. Always you must seek to light the way for others. Like the Flame, you must be just and loving, and in your love have no room for mercy or lies, even your own. Knowing this, do you still wish to continue?
Without any further words, Laird reached into the lantern, into the Flame. His eyes never left Corsephs.
“If you do, then take my hand. If you do not truly wish to join the Flame, then the price of your foolishness will be your hand. If I do not truly think you ready to join the flame, then it will be my hand that joins the ash. I have made my choice. Now you must make yours.”
For a moment, Corseph was very still. Then, as those behind him watched with both eagerness and fear in their eyes, he reached into the Flame, and clasped hands with the Candlemaker. The Flame encircled and danced around their hands, but their flesh did not burn. The other potential converts behind Corseph gasped and fell to their knees, praying fervently and begging to be next to place their hand into the Lantern. The newly lit Candle stared into the Candlemaker’s eyes, his own running with tears, and made his first prayer.
“Praise the Flame. My eyes are open and they will not be shut again.”
They did not hear the stranger’s prayers clearly, and silhouetted against the sun all they could make of him was his shape and that of the lantern that rested beside him. They did not hear his prayers, and that was a choice. Had they chosen differently, the words spoken may have given them reason for thought, maybe even to wonder. Or not.
This was the prayer, not whispered and not shouted, but spoken in a soft but clear voice.
“Let the Flame guide me, and help me stay to the righteous path. May the candle of my soul aid in the lighting of others, so that they in turn may light even more, ever onward until the darkness is banished and all the world is bright and burning like the Sun. May I not confuse cruelty with justice, and may the Flame’s will lead the blind into its light. May the ashes I make this day allow something beautiful to bloom. May the scars I earn this day become the marks of my journey and of my tribulations. May this world be brighter today than yesterday, and tomorrow brighter than today. This I pray, and this I will make come to pass. Your will is my will. Till the end of my life and ever after.”
The Candlemaker had cast aside his coat and shirt, exposing his back and torso to the air. He knelt in the dirt, one hand empty at his side, the other raised and clutching a smoking branding iron. Strangely, especially to those who knew him, the brand was not shaped like a flame. Instead, it was shaped crudely after a feather.
Each sentence of the prayer was punctuated by the hiss as the Candlemaker pressed the brand against an un-marred patch of skin. He gave no evidence of the pain, the only change in him being the pause of the litany. His body was covered in the feather brands, the scars in some places faded, in others the brand had been applied on top of itself again and again.
The Candlemaker took his time. He did not hurry the words, and he did not let the hot brand part from his skin until he was certain the mark was made.
So it was that by the time he had finished, night had descended and only the stars bore witness to his worship. He stood, and redressed, letting the brand cool slowly in the dirt. Then he took up his lantern and turned to go, only to pause before taking a step.
Five figures stood there watching him silently, their faces inscrutable and unseen in the darkness. Despite this, the Candlemaker recognized them and his usually grim face twitched into a smile, for just a moment.
“Rowan, Corseph, Veltan, Bralith, and Turus. Have you come to speak further on the Flame?”
The bravest of the five, Corseph took a step forward. His entire body was tense, his arms taut at his sides, his fists clenched. His voice was likewise strained, full of fear…or maybe something other than fear.
“Master Laird, we have come—” He began only to be interrupted as the shutter of Laird’s lantern opened, momentarily blinding him.
“I have asked that you not call me that. I am no one’s master, just another pilgrim on the path. If you would give me a title make it Candlemaker for that is all I am.”
Corseph hesitated for a moment, and then continued, relaxing somewhat.
“Candlemaker. We have come to…to join you. To worship the Flame as you do.”
Laird did not move. The smile forced its way back onto his face, and stayed for a few rare seconds longer than before.
“Praise the Flame.” He said, and then took a step forward to clasp Corseph on the shoulder with his free hand. “Today is a glorious day then.”
“What…what must we do? What does the Flame wish of us?”
“What the Flame wishes for us all. That we be better than what we were. But if you speak of ritual, there is…a test you must pass. A judgement by the Flame of the truthfulness of your intentions.” As he spoke, Laird set the lantern down on the ground between Corseph and himself. He then knelt, bidding the young man to mimic him.
Reaching forward, Laird unlocked a second shutter, opposite the one facing Corseph.
“The test is simple, but if you are not honest in your desire to join the Flame then it will punish you. So I must ask, do you truly wish to light the candle? It is not an easy path. The Flame is just and loving but in its love it has no room for mercy or lies. You will have to strive always to be better, to walk the righteous road. The Flame will not coddle you, it will not hold your hand, even should you stray. Your choices are your own, your sins your own. You will not be able to get by with mouthed prayers and rote penance. You must have the will to seek out and punish the wicked, but also the wisdom to never forget that the punishment is the means, not the end. Always you must seek to light the way for others. Like the Flame, you must be just and loving, and in your love have no room for mercy or lies, even your own. Knowing this, do you still wish to continue?
Without any further words, Laird reached into the lantern, into the Flame. His eyes never left Corsephs.
“If you do, then take my hand. If you do not truly wish to join the Flame, then the price of your foolishness will be your hand. If I do not truly think you ready to join the flame, then it will be my hand that joins the ash. I have made my choice. Now you must make yours.”
For a moment, Corseph was very still. Then, as those behind him watched with both eagerness and fear in their eyes, he reached into the Flame, and clasped hands with the Candlemaker. The Flame encircled and danced around their hands, but their flesh did not burn. The other potential converts behind Corseph gasped and fell to their knees, praying fervently and begging to be next to place their hand into the Lantern. The newly lit Candle stared into the Candlemaker’s eyes, his own running with tears, and made his first prayer.
“Praise the Flame. My eyes are open and they will not be shut again.”