Threads of Faith - In Reverence and Reflection

[FearBeforeTheFlames]

Alexander, dressed in a simple blue tunic and modest breeches, knelt in the center of the room. The greatsword lay before him on a polished wooden stand. His fingers, steady despite the weight of his duties, reached for the small vial of anointing oil resting on a velvet cloth. He uncorked it carefully, allowing the subtle, earthy aroma to mingle with the incense.

With deliberate motions, Alexander poured a few drops of the oil onto a soft cloth and began to work it into the blade of the sword. The blade gleamed in the soft candlelight, each stroke of the cloth a silent testament to years of service and devotion. The sword should be more than mere steel; it is an extension of one's very being, an embodiment of vows and struggles.

As he meticulously oiled the blade, he wrapped the soaked leather around the hilt, securing it with reverent precision. The familiar ritual, though simple, was a profound expression of his connection to his gods and his own inner reflection. Each pass of the leather, each careful touch, was imbued with silent prayers and heartfelt gratitude.

With the greatsword restored, Alexander set the blade aside and repeated the process. It was a lengthy procession. Upon three blades he silently prayed and anointed. As his work was complete, he lit a series of candles arranged in a quiet circle around him. Their soft glow bathed the room in a warm, comforting light. The incense, a subtle blend of frankincense and myrrh, filled the space with its soothing scent, creating an atmosphere of sacred calm.

He then began his prayer, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of flickering flames and curling smoke. The words flowed from his lips with the intimacy of a long-conversation:

“O exalted Torm, Shield of the Just, I come before you in this hour of weariness, bearing the weight of my mortal limitations. Your light has been my constant guide, a beacon that I strive to follow with a heart both devoted and trembling. I am but a mortal vessel, often faltering beneath the grandeur of your divine oath. Grant me the courage to face the trials that lie before me, as imperfect as I am amidst your boundless presence.”

The prayer continued, each invocation of the gods a deep expression of his reverence and vulnerability:

“O revered Tyr, Arbiter of Truth, whose celestial scales balance the very essence of the cosmos, I seek your favor in my moments of doubt and weakness. Though I am but a fleeting shadow in the vast expanse of your divine sight, your wisdom has always been a lamp unto my steps. Bestow upon me clarity and resolve to navigate the complexities of my duty, and bear witness to your fragile servant, who endeavors to walk in your light.”

As Alexander’s voice softened, the warmth of the candles reflected in his cerulean eyes, a glimmer of both sorrow and hope.

“O compassionate Ilmater, Embracer of the Suffering, your boundless mercy envelops all who seek solace. I stand before you, acknowledging my own frailty and the heavy burdens I carry. Your strength and patience have been my refuge, yet I remain acutely aware of my own limitations and imperfections. Infuse me with your enduring grace, that I might face my trials with a heart softened by your compassion and a spirit fortified by your unending support.”

Finally, he invoked Domiel, his head bowed in humility:

“O sacred Domiel, Mercy-bringer and Divine Justicar, I reach out to you, humbled by the weight of your celestial presence. Your balance of mercy and judgment guides me through the shadows of my service, though I am but a mere spark beneath your divine gaze. I beseech you to grant me the wisdom to wield mercy with both firmness and tenderness, and the strength to uphold the balance that you so perfectly embody, despite my own inherent frailty.”

His hand rose to his chest, gauntleted fist pressed against him, over his heart.

“In this moment of reflection, I acknowledge my insignificance in the grand tapestry of your divine realms. Yet, in my humble service, I find my purpose and my solace. Let your presence be my guiding light, your love my enduring shield, and your wisdom the beacon that leads me through the trials of my calling. Though I am but a fragile servant, may I fulfill my duty with a heart true to the divine ideals you have entrusted to me.

Measure me by the weight of my sins. Take this imperfect soul and guide with your most capable hands. Know that we are unworthy, and strive with each step to find such worth. May the burdens I carry be a testament to the spirit of Duty; and my life forfeit to it.

Amen.”


The room fell into a profound silence as Alexander completed his prayer, the only sound the soft crackling of the candles and the gentle waft of incense. He remained there for a while, his head bowed and his heart open, finding solace in the divine connection he cherished so deeply. The greatsword, now anointed and carefully tended, stood as a silent testament to his enduring faith and the divine presence that guided him through these mortal trials.