"Be of good cheer about death and know this as a truth – that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death." ~Socrates
"Squire Brevin..." the priestess uttered joyously, her features alight with the wonders of miracle that were reflected upon those of her brethren. There was no darkness to be found among the devoted.
"Go and tell." Breathless note of the Templar by her side was equally radiant in awed harmony, a sapphire gaze dancing over the sight that had graciously been shown unto them.
"Truth!" she exclaimed with gloved grasp tightening upon the quartz of holy symbol in fervent jubilation.
"Blessed are the faithful." The blonde haired man, with armored pig nestled in his grasp, glanced upward to meet the hazel hues of the woman's gaze.
"Dawn's favor?" the templar-in-training queried with an almost sob.
"Yes!" Alesea laughed.
"The Light of our Lord shines upon us and the Knight-Commander."
The warrior's steps were brisk and full of life in stride for the door, an eagerness for the task at hand.
Several hours prior...
The day had been long, the temple abuzz with activity in preparation for the coming dawn's vigil. Men, women, faithful and guest had come and gone. Some, came to offer their respects. Others, opinion. It was the late eve, however, that was rife with tension at accusation's behest. Words that, regardless of intention, had sewn seeds of disharmony in the heart and soul of those present. In the wake of conflict and temple's forced exodus, the faithful of Lathander gathered in the presence of singular guest in effort to restore peace and seek succor in the light of altar's glow. Knuckles, blanched white, grasped at wooden edge whilst others found purchase upon fabric and leather in the aftermath of chaos. The candlelight and torches that decorated the gaudy interior of the Sun temple burned steady in silent, everlasting vigilance against the dark without the need for tend nor fuel.
Unified in the presence of spiritual family, words of prayer lifted on high from the lips of the devout; words first spoken by the Dawnpriest Abbot, as expected. Several pairs of eyes drew shut for the privacy of connection and concentrated thought.
"Gracious Morninglord, our ever-present Comfort, make us each instruments of Your Peace. Where there is injury, let us sow forgiveness." murmured the woman, head bowed in a reverent manner with the grasp of templar's slender hand upon her shoulder in silent support.
"Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is sadness, joy. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, Your Light. Lathander give us Light for the journey. Let your Grace guide us in wisdom and truth... give us thoughts to inspire us, examples to lead us toward forgiveness and peace. Lord, let Your holy presence fill us with all good things. Your goodness has brought us safely to the ending of this day. Grant, O Lord of the Morn, that we see Your Dawn rise anew again with hearts attuned to Hope...let us lay ourselves down this night in the secure knowledge that You will carry us through it." As the words of the priestess came to softly spoken close, a glance was lifted and cast to brethren for any who might wish to contribute.
It was Brother Armstrong whom spoke next, quietly, and without looking up from private vigil.
"Because he loves me," says Lathander, "I will rescue him. I will protect him for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me and I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver and honor him," spoke the man of the Morninglord's promise to the faithful, words selected for the trying time in which they endured. The words were few, but there was no lacking quality in their precision.
"With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation." The silence that followed was not one that lasted long, the voice of the Knight-Commander's own squire joining those in voiced offering unto the radiance of the Morninglord.
"Bringer of the light..." intoned the youthful blonde, the curl of his fingers grasping the altar with the fervent words spoken in seek of blessing.
"Let those who walk in darkness see your glorious light. Let we who are tempted to fall into the darkness be upheld by your strength and Dawn. And may we ever hold fast to your promises of life and light."
The final prayer would paint the rosen lips of the returning Templar with dawn's desire, Cecilia's own words of devotion and need joining those spoken. In a softly melodic tone, barely above a whisper, so too did she offer words of prayer amidst the silence of the room.
"Radiant Morninglord, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion is inexhaustible, look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent, but, with great confidence, submit ourselves to Your will and continue the duties You lay upon us." adjured the knight softly, a warmth clinging to the countenance of porcelain features as she continued in earnest. The sisterly grasp atop her own gloved hand brought with it the soft upturn of a smile that imbued the pious words to follow; desirous though they were.
"Let the warmth of the sun heal us wherever we are broken. Let it burn away the shroud of fog so that we might bear witness to truth in the reigning beauty of dawn and paths made clear. We beseech you, Beloved Lord of Morn, bless us with peace and comfort in the light of Your love; now and ever more."
"Amen," the Dawnbringer murmured.
DM wrote:Eldarian is still dead. Very dead. And at first, you may think it's just the torchlight, but...no. The lighting angle's all wrong. There's barely any shadow around him. Upon closer inspection, you see that his skin, and between the cracks of his armor, is a soft, golden glow.
"Most Radiant...Sister...Look." The exclamation was chased by the intake of breath from the Dawnpriestess as her gaze weaved between those present; firstly to the High Priest, to whose shoulder fingers brushed upon inquisitively in bid he turn and see, before finding Cecilia's own sapphire blue hues across the hall. The length of russet lashes widen in silent awe for the sight found upon the pivot of heel, the templar's full lips parting for the words that do not come. Approach is made at the behest of hurried steps, accompanied by the excitable squeal of squire's newest companion.
"The dawn always comes after the darkest of nights," Kelddath, His Most Radiant, intoned with the simplicity of a few warm words; casting a glance over his shoulder with the faint crinkle at the outer origins of his gaze as it falls upon the illuminated form of the Dawnknight laid in public repose.
"Perhaps our prayers have been answered."
