[RPG] [Communionism] A Beginning...

[Bob]

[META: This RP is concerning, so far, the members of the religion
"Communionism" and to a lesser extent anyone in the Antoza Commonwealth city
of Taop. It's also sprung from the "Visitations" solo/introductory RP with
Maltheo, and is contributed to by anyone from that religion, particularly
the founders..]

The festival of Taop put the city in a good mood, despite the recent
stepping-down of the Duke and the strange little temple which had been
constructed. People of all classes and professions had turned out to enjoy
the company. Merchants from all over the Far East gathered in the market
square, and farmers brought their crops in to tempt the coin-laden buyers.
Colors of all kinds decorated the city streets and everywhere there was
life.

Maltheo made his way to the Communionist temple. It stood on a small hill
near the outskirts, and was constructed of simple wood. There were other
temples far larger and more ornate, more popular and more central... yet
none bore the name of the little-known ritual of Communion. None but this.

"AJ, this is a mighty start," he said quietly after he found A.J, overseeing
the final stages of construction. "It's appearance is deceptive... as most
are, no?"

He looked around him then, knowing that the city's swollen populace included
other nobles of the land, perhaps even Olwe of Toren, perhaps even Alaina...

===

And Olwe entered into the Temple of Communion.

"Greetings, my friends.

"I have decided to examine this new religion for myself, and see if its
beleifs are something I can support.

Tell me, what do the Communionists beleive?"
===

"Greetings, Olwe.

"To answer your inquiry, I would have to say simply that it is well-known,
among many religions and peoples, that the dead continue. Their spirits
persist. And Communion, from which this new temple is named, is the ritual
of coming into contact with the dead. To listen to them. To hear their
counsel, their grievences... their messages.

"It is a very personal religion. There is, as far as I know, no named gods,
nor no holy books. It's not something that just anyone can accept the
reality of.

"It's not something that anyone can do, anytime. I myself was convinced that
the spirits were simply... false. Hallucinatory. That I was delusional. But
with time, the truth of it was made known to me. I was not haunted. I was
visited.

"And I must tell you of that last visitation... for it concerns you more
than anyone. Are you willing to hear, and to suspend your disbelief?"

===

"Aye... you will find no disbeleif in the existance of the spirits of the
dead in my heart," said Olwe.

"I have felt the presence of the dead before... of my father and my mother.
At times, my father's presence at his grave has been so thick, so tangible,
that I felt sure that he was there. He has spoken to me, of that I am sure.
What he said, though, that was for me alone.

"I feel as if I can embrace this temple. I would like to begin learning
these rituals... the dead have much to teach, if they will be listened too.

"As for teachings... I think written recordings of the rituals, or of our
beleifs regarding the spirits of the dead and what good can be gained from
communing with them, might do well to serve as our teachings to be posted
within the temple.

"This... vision you speak of intrigues me, Maltheo. If you will tell me of
it, I will hear it. Meet me in the temple. There I will place a stone
lantern for my father's spirit, and light incense from its flame. You will
find me at rest there.

===
Maltheo entered the temple near sunset. He still wore his dishevelled
travelling clothes, though he had washed himself up some at one of the city
wells. His beard was thicker than ever and he considered, not for the first
(or last) time, shaving it off. The sounds of his boots on the wooden floor
of the temple brought his wandering thoughts back to the present. To his
path, to his penance.

It was quiet in here... one might believe the temple to be completely empty
today. Even though the walls were thin, they cut off the sounds of the busy
city, sealing the place off like it's own world. He nodded reflectively...
A.J had done well, choosing this site, this design, building all of this.

At one side of the building, a stone lantern burned lightly, giving off a
perfumed incense which Maltheo couldn't quite recognize. Olwe sat there,
cross-legged, relaxed yet perfectly immobile, like a rock which had been
carved and placed there as part of the temple itself. He sat down beside the
son of Olwe the Bold, and the two sat in silence for what might have been
mere minutes or entire hours.

Then Maltheo spoke, quietly, collecting his memories as he did.

"I didn't use the ikrif <http://wiki.battlemaster.org/index.php/ikrif> for
spiritual purposes. Not at first. At first I merely wanted to numb my raging
thoughts in a way that wine and liquor could not. Such use doesn't put one
into contact with *useful* spirits. It brings no wisdom. It was only
recently, after my passage through Haul, that I began to Commune. Dead
soldiers from my old commands. Mutan, my trusted scribe, who died in Haul. I
thought I was merely haunted, and that the restless spirits wished for me to
join them in death. After a time I began to wish for it as well. I had
failed them, you see, and failed my loyalties of old. But self-pity is not
wisdom. It took a great man's spirit to help me see more clearly. The spirit
of your father, Olwe the Bold."

He felt Olwe's hitherto closed eyes, now open and gazing at him. He felt
nervous. He'd avoided this revelation for a long time, but now there was no
turning back. Best to go through with it. He continued.

"I met your father only once, in battle, on the eve of his death. We fought
on opposite sides. I saw him fight; a strong, heroic warrior amidst peons. I
was wounded that battle, but I remember his end. He was isolated from the
rest of his army, his own company slain. Still we fought on. My men, and
those of the army of Soliferum, had their orders. He would never have
surrendered nor become a prisoner. And so he charged, and they loosed their
arrows, gradually slowing, wounding and then slaying your father."

He breathed deeply, remembering. "For a long time I blamed myself. A great
man had died, not just because of my soldiers, but because I felt I'd had a
chance to avert the entire war somehow, and had I done so he might have
survived. But... I know now this is folly. It is arrogance. Battle gives,
and more often it takes, and your father was borne of battle. He found his
peace in Lunaria, and found a death that would have suited him in Azohib.
And, two nights ago, he came to me in a vision."

He looked at Olwe, his eyes shining. "He had much rebuke for me. Not for
killing him. But for dishonoring his name after the battle. I had done so in
anger and shame, for he was a greater man than I, and he lay dead whilest I
survived. But one must not dishonour the dead. The living can forgive and
the world can forget, but the dead must not be dishonoured. I have done so
and I will continue to pay my penance."

"This you already know: Your father is at peace with himself, and you with
yours. He said that you have no need to avenge his death. Yet if you were to
do so, I would not stop you…"

His voice trailed off. He remained sitting.

===
Olwe stared at Maltheo as he spoke, his steely gaze penetrating Maltheo's
thoughts.

At last, as Maltheo trailed off, Olwe smiled.

"Vengeance, against you, Maltheo?" His smile widened. "Nay... my father
taught me something too. He taught me how to live, and how to die. He never
lived with vengeance in his heart - and living with it in mine nearly
destroyed me. Only after much suffering did I realize the value of purging
the hate and desire for revenge from my heart."

Olwe paused, taking another deep breath and resting in the scent of the
incense.

"You did what you did, Maltheo. You have seen the error, you have confronted
the guilt, and it is over. Hear me well, Maltheo, it is over. Your time of
living in dishonor is over. I beleive you when you say you spoke to my
father - for what he said to you is what I would have said to you had I
known."

Olwe clasped a hand on Maltheo's shoulder, and looked him in the eyes.

"I absolve you of what I can absolve. From my heart, you are forgiven.
Continue to follow the path you have started to travel... it is a good one."

Olwe smiled broadly.

"...a very good one. It has lead me back to a stronger respect - not just
for the spirits of the dead, but for the spirits of the living around me."

Olwe turned, and looked up at the stone spirit lantern.

"Now, Maltheo, if you would, come and burn some incense with me. Some *ikrif
*, if you wish. Help me to commune."

===
Maltheo felt the man's hand on his shoulder, and it burned with a heat. An
energy of life. Yes, it was over. But more begun. He hadn't expect the
vengence he so rightfully deserved... he hadn't worried, today, about Olwe's
sword on his neck. But it had been possible. And he had faced that
possibility without fear or desire, regret or longing. The old Maltheo would
have felt pride now... but all he could feel is a kind of wonder.

"Then one day is passed, Olwe of Toren," he heard himself say. Then he took
out a pinch of *ikrif* from his bag. "Another is yet beginning. The
challenges are as strident as those of the battlefield, just as forgiving,
and just as honourable."

Then he tossed a handful into the Stone Lantern's circular top. The fire
blazed, and burned brighter for a moment. He brought another out, and
repeated the gesture. As he did so, he felt himself slipping away, yet he
knew he would never be lost. He had the firm assurance of a man who was
walking a known Path. A man who could never forget his way. A man who was
paying his penance, and would not be distracted.

He put anothter pinch of *ikrif* into the flame. It burned. The smoke that
emmitted from the Lantern was dusky and rich in scent, combined as it was
with Olwe's incense from earlier. Soon the entire temple was filled with the
smell of burning *ikrif*. Maltheo's stomach cramped in anticipation. He
would have to remember, in the future, to control himself... too much use of
the drug, he knew, could lead to addiction, waste, to turn him into no
better than the town drunk.

"The spirits of the dead are not all that surround us," he said quietly.
"The living, too, are here. And those that have never tasted life as we know
it. Beings for which we have no name exist in this world, and are as real as
you or I..."

he threw another handful of the herbal dust into the fire.

As if on cue, a man dressed in the clothing of an Antozan Duke entered their
presence. He said, "Hello, Brothers. How have you been doing? I have this
idea...I preached to so many people today, and had so few converts. I
believe that we should split up which regions that we go to, so as the
people do not get tired of our relentless preaching of out ikri, and of
communing with the dead. I think that I shall go West from here to
Pates...But I believe that we should establish ourselves in the cities
first....That way, word will spread by itself...What do you think?"

Maltheo glanced at Olwe out of the corner of his eye. *Is this the reality
you choose, High Priest?*

Then he turned, recognizing A.J, the Royal Treasurer, and spoke. "Aye,
Brother A.j. The people need both guidance and rest, just as surely as we
need both day and night. One of us shall move beyond the city, and spread
the knowledge of the Communion to the common folk. Willt thou, Builder of
the Temple, take upon thy shoulders this glorious task?"

--
~b
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