The Church of Tyr [RP]

[Temple Of Tyr]

The Church of Tyr




The Even-Handed, Grimjaws, the Maimed God, the Blind Overlord, the Wounded One, the Just God.

"Reveal the truth, punish the guilty, right the wrong, and always be true and just in your actions. Uphold the law wherever you go and punish those who do wrong under the law. Keep a record of your own rulings, deeds, and decisions, for through this your errors can be corrected, your grasp on the laws of all lands will flourish, and your ability to identify lawbreakers will expand. Be vigilant in your observations and anticipations so you may detect those who plan injustices before their actions threaten law and order. Deliver vengeance to the guilty for those who cannot do it themselves."


The priesthood of Tyr follows a monthly cycle of high rituals, beginning with Seeing Justice on the first day of each month, the Maiming on the thirteenth day of the month, and the Blinding on the twenty-second day of each month. These major rituals involve chanted prayers, thunderously sung hymns to the god, and conjured illusions: a gigantic war hammer that glows blinding white hanging over the heads of the congregation at Seeing Justice; at the Maiming, a gigantic right hand that bursts into view above the congregation surrounded by a nimbus of burning blood, then tumbles away into darkness and fades from view; and two eyes that burst into fountains of flaming tears until they have entirely spilled away and are gone at the Blinding. Early in the ceremony of the Blinding, symbolic blindfolds of diaphanous damask are bound over the eyes of the celebrants by clergy to remind the worshipers of Tyr's blindness.

In addition to the high rituals, Tyrrans celebrate daily rituals of prayer to the god, which take the form of a sung invocation, a series of responsive prayers led by a senior cleric, a short sermon of instruction or reading of wisdom from the Sacred Judgments of Tyr, and a rousing closing anthem. In temples and abbeys dedicated to the god, such rituals are celebrated every two hours around the clock, with the most important offices taking place at dawn, highsun (noon), the equivalent of six o'clock, and the equivalent of none o'clock. The dawn ritual, The Awakening, is a gentle, uplifting renewal of faith. The noonday ritual, the Hammer at Highsun, is a stirring, exultant expression of the church's vigilance and martial might. The evenfeast ritual, High Justice, is a stern, proud celebration of Tyr's commandments and the church's purpose. The evening ritual, the Remembrance of the Just Fallen, is a haunting, softly chanted reverence for those who have laid down their lives for justice, both inside and outside the faith—a ritual of quiet dignity and respect that always leaves many witnesses, even those who do not follow Tyr, in tears.


* * * *

[Hitman Hard]

Valiant witnessed the gigantic right hand burst into view above the congregation surrounded by a nimbus of burning blood, then tumble away into darkness and fade from view. Valiant clapped excitedly at that, his face decidedly alit with ardor. He turned to the nearest priest and proclaimed: "Order and justice can only be successful through personal sacrifice. Tyr could of grown a new arm, instead, he replaced it with a fist of silver. Praise him! Hey-- do you gentlemen need help preparing for these around the clock rituals? My manners seem to of ran away from me. Valiant Blinncraft, devout of Tyr. This place sort of needs a home-like feel to it. Some are more willing to turn to the triad and confess their sins with a full belly. Just a few servers in here mayhaps? Nothing grandiose." The man concludes his ramble and awaits the priest's reaction.

[Hidennka]

It has been two days since her body has returned to the realm of the living after execution in Darkhold, her life a true miracle at the hands of the Lathandrites and Ilmateri who performed the ritual. Cecilia staggers into the Temple of Tyr, attempting to walk tall but her movements seem a little awkward, her limbs appearing heavy and uncoordinated. Yet she presses on, she would have to get used to this new body if she was to continue the work she had been sent back to do.

Making her way to the altar, steadying herself pew by pew she gratefully knees before it. Her new armor creaks in protest and her limbs shake slightly under duress. Bowing her head in reverence, she clutches her holy symbol in her hand before her and begins to pray softly for guidance regarding recent events, humbly asking for a glimpse into the Maimed God's infinite wisdom so that things may become clear to her.

After some time her voice raises louder in fervour and she clenches her fist over her heart, bowing her head lower and pressing the holy symbol to her forehead as she speaks. As the prayer draws to a close the paladin brings the holy symbol down to her mouth and presses it to her lips, closing her eyes and remaining silent as her heart thumps in her chest.

She stumbles out of the temple some time later, looking rather exhausted.

[Hitman Hard]

He looked around the outside of the temple and still couldn't shake that feeling; the air was so heavy, hostile to his presence even. The temple guards threw the temple doors wide and Valiant strode in, his boot-heels soundly clattering on the gray floor. Valiant lowers his head, looking grim and worse for wear and says a prayer softly; a decibel above a whisper so most in the room could hear the words: "Great God of Justice. . . Help me see why others doubt thy divinity so I may right the wrong. Lord. . . give us guidance in the dark, remorseless times when the power of Evil triumphs, when all is but a dark pool of blood and Evil has bent the Law to its warped angle and gained treasonous acts through rampant bribery. Help us show others that Good always triumphs over Evil, fill my mind with thy wisest insight. Great God of Justice. . . give me a reason to remain prideful of my country when it has allied and organized obscene trading route in yon sacred land with the scurrilous likes of Darkhold and the evil men of the North."

Valiant moved away from the dimly-lit corner and sat upon a bench, lowering his head reverently in prayer. But he couldn't concentrate as much as he'd anticipated. He heard the sound of boots thudding through the cold, tired, worn-out faces, everyone held that same far-away gaze. He cleared his throat, forcing the violent imagery from his head and began to concentrate, white-knuckling his holy symbol and smiled.

[Hidennka]

Having entered and closed the heavy wooden door behind her in the late afternoon, Cecilia Lafayette; Paladin of Tyr, speaks some hushed words to High Priest Eldric before she makes her way to the foot of the altar. A soft murmuring is head as she begins to pray and it is here she remains for many hours, spending the night in vigil.

[boba]

Heavy plates clanked together as the man strode relentlessly toward the Northern Farmlands out of the Fields of the Dead. It would be a familiar sight for some of the farmers by now, as he had been patrolling the fields for a few tendays. Sometimes he walked alone, sometimes he was accompanied by another. Eventually he entered Baldur's Gate through its northern gates and walked through the streets of the Palace District, inclining his head to nobles and commoners alike.

Soon enough he found himself in front of the Temple of Tyr. He gazed upon the structure with a smile for a few moments before he entered his god's abode. Once inside he took off his helm, placing it under his left arm, as he fell to one knee. His head bowed, he grasped the holy symbol hanging from his necklace with his other hand, and began a silent prayer to the Even-Handed. He kissed the armored glove covering his right hand, a glove adorned with a painted image of the symbol of Tyr, and pushed himself off the ground to approach the priest with a smile.

He asked to see the temple's Book of Lawgiving, taking a few notes and sharing names from his own book. His duties complete and his time now his own, he made a donation to the temple and began to inquire about Aelfred, and his trip back to Sundabar, seeming concerned for his old mentor's well-being.

[Hidennka]

The dim candle in the temple library flickers through the night yet again, freshly replaced with another for the fifth eve in a tenday. Time passes unnoticed as the young woman focuses on her task and though weary she remains well-kept. On the table before her are various tomes, stacked high on the table around the blonde haired paladin. Her brow furrows as she pours over the text, the spines of the books covering the topics of liches, politics and history; among other things.

Taking the time to scribe a few notes here and there, Cecilia taps the feathered quill to her lips as she reaches for a large mapped parchment. Seemingly detailing the Western Heartlands, she makes a few marks on various areas to the west before pulling a heavy tome onto her lap.

As dawn breaks, the heavy leather cover of the final tome closes and an exhausted, though pleased sigh leaves her lips as the looks to the window and instinctively offers a prayer to the Morninglord. Her delicate hands move to clean up the table, her fingers bringing the last of the cheese and bread to her lips in the process. The clinking of metal follows her morning prayers at the altar and she dons her armor once more, the temple door closing behind her as she exits; returning once more to the open-skies of the Gate.

/// Apologies for being inactive over the last few days, RL caught up!

[Hidennka]

A few familiar faces entered the temple today, spending just under an hour within the meeting hall in hushed conversation before departing.

[Hidennka]

Cecilia spends the night engaged in vigilant prayer, no food nor drink passing her lips in the entirety of the eve. Before the altar the Tyrran's voice rises and falls throughout the night in fervour and reverence, preparation for what would follow in coming days. Save for the brief moments in which her thoughts would drift to the Shrine of Lathander and the temple of Ilmater where the Dawnknight and the Priest were doing the same, she remained fixed on her goal.

As dawn breaks one of the priests approaches the Paladin at her kneeled position, presenting her with a set of basic clothing; a tunic pale in colour. Once bathed and properly attired, she returns to the hall and to prayer, High Priest Eldric proceeding to anoint her with a sprinkling of holy water, cleansing her body and soul in the name of the Just God. Once the ritual is complete, Cecilia stands, moving to the temple door and the now similarly dressed and waiting Dawnknight.

The couple exchange quiet words and depart in the direction of the Ilmateri temple.

[Miasmata]

The clank of heavy armor can be heard resonating against the stone floor as Eldarian Al’maire enters the Temple of Tyr in the late afternoon. A blonde woman by the name of Eleanor Valo trails behind with a basket full of freshly baked goods.

After they approach the altar within and pay their respects, the two are seen giving gifts to the priest Eldric on behalf of the temple of Lathander in Beregost. Eldarian presents a bag of gold to the man and Eleanor pulls out a few freshly baked blueberry muffins.

They hover in the temple for the next few minutes, admiring the stonework before they exit and make their way to their next destination.

[ghostly_rose]

A week later Eleanore returns alone to the temple, her bright smile ever present despite the cold weather and rain outside. She shakes her cloak and wipes her shoes before entering. The young woman offers the priest some lemon cookies from her huge and rather heavy looking basket. When asked if Eldarian was with her she shakes her head saying that he sends his regards but that he was busy with paperwork and could not make it today. They exchange a few pleasantries before Eleanore continues on her way.

[rokranon]

Early in the morning just after sunrise, a tall, darkly-clad man in a green cloak enters the Temple of Tyr. He makes his way to the altar to murmur fervent prayers to The Even-Handed. Despite seeming to be a beggar, this man obviously reveres the god greatly.

Once finished with his prayers and quiet introspection, this old fellow queries the clergy about the possible whereabouts of one Cecilia Lafayette. Hearing that she could be at the temple of Ilmater (and knowing this is not the case), he instead hopes that the suggestion of her southern home at the Song of the Morning is accurate.

This information baffles the fellow, but he does not outwardly react. Why would a Tyrran live at the Song of the Morning? No matter. The seemingly old beggar thanks the priest and heads out of the temple. On the streets of Baldur's Gate, he pauses and looks toward the direction of the palace district. Shaking his head, he next looks toward the East Gate much as he had the previous night and thinks to himself. On to Beregost, it would seem. So much the better. I wished to look upon the Song of the Morning while on the Coast anyway. And...and I can look upon Billy's tomb.

[The Ghost]

A creature clad in white-and-grey garments looms over Sir William's final resting place... He quickly vanishes as a tall and darkly-clad man approaches the area...

[Hidennka]

Footfalls that once clicked with an echo of metal now padded across the cobblestone with the muffled shuffling of leather as Cecilia steps into the halls of Justice for the first time in a number of tendays. At her heel and quick to veer off the the side as she approaches the altar, enter a paladin of the Loyal Fury and his half-elven companion. The two remain by the door, seemingly waiting for the blonde haired woman to conclude her business.

Having conversed quietly with High Priest Eldric, Cecilia, clad in a simple grey tunic, kneels before the altar of the Just God and bows her head to engage in quiet prayer. Her words are softly spoken, unheard by those within the stoned walls save for the nearby priest.

"The sun rises tomorrow on a new dawn, Father of Justice. I had come intending to pay my final respects unto you and yet. . . I know now that is not the case. Come what may, a piece of my heart will always remain with you, your presence. . . your scriptures shall always be venerated. Everything I endured, every trial and lesson learnt would not have been possible without your guiding hand."

Reaching out slender fingers, the Lady-Knight lights an offered candle, placing it among the others at the altar's base as she continues her quiet prayer.

"You have watched over me, taken me in as one of your own paladin. Provided. Taught. All the good that I did, became, was in your name. I failed you, however, with my self-doubt and uncertainty . . . questioning instead of turning to and trusting in you when I needed it most. Desperate to the point of blindness. You know what occurred, the words need not be said. Thoughts. Struggles. This is my failure. My mistake. For that I beg your forgiveness. You know the path I have been set on now, your hands gently surrendering me to a trusted ally should he be willing to accept this broken knight. I only regret not having been strong enough to have been able to serve you better."

The prayer continues for some time, the volume of which dips and raises over the next hour. Finally, at it's conclusion, the woman prostrates herself before the altar and presses her lips to the stone before her in a brief but heartfelt gesture. Raising from the floor moments later, Cecilia takes her time counting out a bag of coin equivalent to the amount of roughly ten thousand which she places on the altar alongside a splendidly cut diamond. Her fingers trail gently along the edge of the offering table, before her cool blue eyes drift up to the looming one-handed statue.

"My gratitude unto you, Even-Handed. Be it by my hand or others, may justice continue to prevail. Always."

With that, the woman takes a slow breath and bows her head to the icon with a militaristic salute of fist over heart. Farewells are exchanged with the High-Priest before the trio remove themselves from the building and move South once more.


/// 10k to be given to Maecius tomorrow.

[CptAmyrica]

"I've always enjoyed the feel of a cobbled street beneath a thick-heeled boot."

"You're just sick of the road."

"... true."

The companions passed through the eastern gate and entered the metropolis that is Baldur's Gate, road dust clinging to their boots, their breeches, their gear, their faces. Signs and slogans reached out toward them, begging their attention for some sale or some service, though they were quickly retracted upon better perusal of the travel-weary duo.

"Have you ever seen so many people in one place?" the first asked the second, his blue-and-gold-flecked gaze twisting down the alleys, up the walls, through the windows of the city that now engulfed them.

"No, my people don't 'hive' like this," replied the second. The man seemed almost an elf, with his slender features and pointed ears, and he made constant reference to "his people" in recognition of half of his parentage.

Through a yawning portcullis, and the streets grew cleaner, the people a bit sparser. Gardens replaced gutters, and the opulent spires of well-tended temples pierced the sky.

"We're getting somewhere," said the second.

The first ran his hand through his blond hair, then grunted in some disappointment as he remembered his dirt-coated digits. "There."

The symbology was clear - the hammer and scales of the Just God - and the companions made their way to its waiting door. With little fanfare but full confidence, the first pulled it open and stepped inside, followed closely by the second.

"Empty," remarked the second upon entering, and the two strode up to the priest attending the altar.

The first began. "Edhart Vale and-"

"Tigen Amastacia," the second interrupted.

"Crusaders," the first continued, "of the Just. Does the temple have a bath?"