Ajora Glabados (npc) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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concordance_logs2015-02-11 10:45 am
blessedsaint) wrote in concordance_logs2015-02-11 10:45 am
A Holy Path
Characters: Ajora Glabados, Squall Leonhart, Ramza Beoulve, Rydia of Mist, Agrias Oaks, Vayne Carudas Solidor
Where: Mt. Bur-Omisace --> Paramina Rift --> Stilshrine of Miriam
When: 10 Blackfrost, 710 Old Valendian
What: Ajora undertakes the sacred pilgrimage to the shrine.
It is the wee hours of the morning, with the sun just peeking a sleepy face over the line of the horizon when Ajora takes the first steps of the Kiltia pilgrimage. The early start is required and customary for any who choose to walk the path to the Stilshine of Miriam. All is still at the summit of the holy mountain, save the priests who rise to begin the morning prayers. Morning chill is compounded with snow in the mountain range, and the jagd-induced ice in the Rift.
The priest has provided warm, fur-lined cloaks for his voluntary guard, choosing for himself naught but a hooded cowl and sturdy travel boots. Enduring the biting cold of the mountain pass is a test of character. And endure he shall. For while he undertakes this holy walk, there is another task at hand which must needs be completed, ere someone else do so. Before they depart the temple grounds, Ajora blesses each person accompanying him, then assumes a reverent position of prayer and petition.
The priest keeps apace with his protectors as they cross through into the Paramina Rift. The temperature drops upon entering the icy pass. Lazy snow flakes drift from the clouded sky, layering a clean scent against the burning in the nostrils one feels from the intense concentration of Mist in the Jagd Ramooda. Underfoot, dead grasses crunch in contrast to the snow. This walk is no simple matter. Monsters and undead shuffle in the snow, across the frozen Silverflow, around airships and dwellings long abandoned and forgotten, remnants of a war long forgotten and passed into time. Ajora pauses when necessity demands the monsters be cleared, though he remains only prayerful and pious, unable to assist with any battling.
It is only upon reaching the Walk of Sky on the shrine's grounds that Ajora lifts his eyes to take in the glory of the great edifice. The sun hangs way past its zenith, bathing the area in rich afternoon light. It occurs to him that it is quite the pity that so marvelous a construction should so seldom be seen by mortal eyes. The Stilshrine remains almost wholly untouched and intact, even after centuries of being exposed to the elements.
He nods briefly to his companions in thanks for their company thus far, then proceeds to the front doors where two Kiltias ever stand in wait. The basic pilgrimage is completed. So few of the sect proceed further in, either from fear of the guardians within, a lack in their faith, or a flaw in their character which compels them to feel unworthy. None of these bar Ajora from putting his hand to the door and pressing on. He shall reach the innermost sanctum to complete his task. Once more, he lowers his head in show of reverent contemplation and prayer.
The path the priest takes through the shrine seems to make little sense. While assuming the lead, his steps are measured and slow, permitting his escort time to remove aggressive obstacles. Yet somehow he never seems to stop moving. At first, he paces through the Ward of Measure, then moves into the Walk of Prescience. From there, his path loops around into the Walk of Reason then the Ward of Steel. Exiting from there places the group back into the Ward of Measure, effectively having walked the group in one large circle. It is a test of patience and awareness, both for himself and those who accompany him. He does not acknowledge this however, and moves through a well-concealed passageway into the Walk of Revelation. There is meaning behind each walk and ward, steeped in theology; if he is to accomplish what must be done, then so too must he observe all the rituals.
From the Ward of the Sword-king, Ajora takes the group to the Hall of Worth. No Esper presents itself to challenge the group. It is as he thought. None of the party is found compatible with Mateus the Corrupt. All is at peace this far into the shrine, with no further aggressors to press an attack. He lifts head once more and smiles warmly at those who have traveled so long a day with him.
"I must press on alone from here to pray before the holy relic. Please, take your rest." With that, Ajora bows to the group and turns to enter the the Vault of the Champion alone.
***
Once the door to the Vault has creaked shut with a heavy slam of finality, Ajora walks forward, eyes fixed on the pedestal which once housed the Sword of Kings. It is of small matter that the sword is no longer present, gone into the hands of a descendant of the man who played puppet to the Occuria. It is the base of such ostentatious creation which holds the priest's intent attention. Embedded in the now still metal, is a stone inscribed with the sign Pisces. Little more than a pretty decoration to the unknowing, not worthy of notice to the untrained eye. This stone is the point and purpose of this long day's ritual. The only shame being that not one among them was a suitable match. It would have made matters far easier in a sense.
As a precaution against snoops or curious escort, Ajora has prepared a decoy of the stone. He draws his hands into his sleeves to take it, then folds them together in feigned supplication, bowing before the pedestal. He lays his hands against the base, by all appearances simply showing proper respect and reverence to the god honored in this place. After all, to touch the holy relic is to beg blessing from the gods. It is then that he grasps hold of the auracite, leaving in its place the empty stone.
Rising once more to his feet, he turns to rejoin his company.
Where: Mt. Bur-Omisace --> Paramina Rift --> Stilshrine of Miriam
When: 10 Blackfrost, 710 Old Valendian
What: Ajora undertakes the sacred pilgrimage to the shrine.
It is the wee hours of the morning, with the sun just peeking a sleepy face over the line of the horizon when Ajora takes the first steps of the Kiltia pilgrimage. The early start is required and customary for any who choose to walk the path to the Stilshine of Miriam. All is still at the summit of the holy mountain, save the priests who rise to begin the morning prayers. Morning chill is compounded with snow in the mountain range, and the jagd-induced ice in the Rift.
The priest has provided warm, fur-lined cloaks for his voluntary guard, choosing for himself naught but a hooded cowl and sturdy travel boots. Enduring the biting cold of the mountain pass is a test of character. And endure he shall. For while he undertakes this holy walk, there is another task at hand which must needs be completed, ere someone else do so. Before they depart the temple grounds, Ajora blesses each person accompanying him, then assumes a reverent position of prayer and petition.
The priest keeps apace with his protectors as they cross through into the Paramina Rift. The temperature drops upon entering the icy pass. Lazy snow flakes drift from the clouded sky, layering a clean scent against the burning in the nostrils one feels from the intense concentration of Mist in the Jagd Ramooda. Underfoot, dead grasses crunch in contrast to the snow. This walk is no simple matter. Monsters and undead shuffle in the snow, across the frozen Silverflow, around airships and dwellings long abandoned and forgotten, remnants of a war long forgotten and passed into time. Ajora pauses when necessity demands the monsters be cleared, though he remains only prayerful and pious, unable to assist with any battling.
It is only upon reaching the Walk of Sky on the shrine's grounds that Ajora lifts his eyes to take in the glory of the great edifice. The sun hangs way past its zenith, bathing the area in rich afternoon light. It occurs to him that it is quite the pity that so marvelous a construction should so seldom be seen by mortal eyes. The Stilshrine remains almost wholly untouched and intact, even after centuries of being exposed to the elements.
He nods briefly to his companions in thanks for their company thus far, then proceeds to the front doors where two Kiltias ever stand in wait. The basic pilgrimage is completed. So few of the sect proceed further in, either from fear of the guardians within, a lack in their faith, or a flaw in their character which compels them to feel unworthy. None of these bar Ajora from putting his hand to the door and pressing on. He shall reach the innermost sanctum to complete his task. Once more, he lowers his head in show of reverent contemplation and prayer.
The path the priest takes through the shrine seems to make little sense. While assuming the lead, his steps are measured and slow, permitting his escort time to remove aggressive obstacles. Yet somehow he never seems to stop moving. At first, he paces through the Ward of Measure, then moves into the Walk of Prescience. From there, his path loops around into the Walk of Reason then the Ward of Steel. Exiting from there places the group back into the Ward of Measure, effectively having walked the group in one large circle. It is a test of patience and awareness, both for himself and those who accompany him. He does not acknowledge this however, and moves through a well-concealed passageway into the Walk of Revelation. There is meaning behind each walk and ward, steeped in theology; if he is to accomplish what must be done, then so too must he observe all the rituals.
From the Ward of the Sword-king, Ajora takes the group to the Hall of Worth. No Esper presents itself to challenge the group. It is as he thought. None of the party is found compatible with Mateus the Corrupt. All is at peace this far into the shrine, with no further aggressors to press an attack. He lifts head once more and smiles warmly at those who have traveled so long a day with him.
"I must press on alone from here to pray before the holy relic. Please, take your rest." With that, Ajora bows to the group and turns to enter the the Vault of the Champion alone.
Once the door to the Vault has creaked shut with a heavy slam of finality, Ajora walks forward, eyes fixed on the pedestal which once housed the Sword of Kings. It is of small matter that the sword is no longer present, gone into the hands of a descendant of the man who played puppet to the Occuria. It is the base of such ostentatious creation which holds the priest's intent attention. Embedded in the now still metal, is a stone inscribed with the sign Pisces. Little more than a pretty decoration to the unknowing, not worthy of notice to the untrained eye. This stone is the point and purpose of this long day's ritual. The only shame being that not one among them was a suitable match. It would have made matters far easier in a sense.
As a precaution against snoops or curious escort, Ajora has prepared a decoy of the stone. He draws his hands into his sleeves to take it, then folds them together in feigned supplication, bowing before the pedestal. He lays his hands against the base, by all appearances simply showing proper respect and reverence to the god honored in this place. After all, to touch the holy relic is to beg blessing from the gods. It is then that he grasps hold of the auracite, leaving in its place the empty stone.
Rising once more to his feet, he turns to rejoin his company.
no subject
Suddenly who it is and what he's implying is remarkably clear to Ajora. The one he hosts is furious at this insolence, this ingratitude. Only because it it not yet time to reveal all to the mundane mortals, only this stays her from manifesting and delivering a vicious slap into respect. The priest is nearly shaking from the sheer power of the Scion's fury demanding to be unleashed. He realizes that Ultima would likely smite the man, simply to revive him again out of spite. And while he willingly became a vessel of flesh for her use, at the moment it is a terribly uncomfortable position in which to find himself. He's given himself to her will, for good or ill, and now he must betray nothing of the burning anger roiling within.
It is not yet, time, and so Ajora affects a warm and welcoming smile for the man needling for more. "I have found a deeper respect and understanding of my own faith, by following the path of the pilgrimage. To come humbly with nothing to offer but myself and my supplications has proven enlightening." That's not what Vayne's hoping to hear, he's quite certain, but feigning ignorance of more is demanded. And truth be told, he didn't find a vessel for Mateus which had been his hope in the first place. "If it is the light you seek, I fear I am but a man and servant of Faram, though gladly would I walk with you on the road of righteousness."
no subject
no subject
"That seems an impolite way to pay a compliment." Insulting Ultima and then offering a shred of obeisance is beyond foolish. Ajora wonders why he seems to bent on needling her, knowing it cannot possibly end well for him. "You will forgive me, but I must ask you to speak plain. You imply a great deal, though I cannot discern what it is you wish."
Out with it Solidor. Why are you here and why are you pushing? There is no fear in Ajora. What can this man possibly do?
no subject
Vayne breathes, studying the face of this so called Saint Ajora hooded in such a fashion - he is young, easily molded, and with Ultima within, he is assuredly entrapped, entrapped as Vayne has made himself to his own fate. By tempting the Seraph, he knows she will be angry, and that others will pay because, in truth, he has things to lose, and more than just this measly life she waved her hands over. Is it enough, then, to cause this? To entice this response? Is it worth it?
The ends justify the means. He cannot falter, and the path he forged is gone with the gilded wings upon the Seraph's back. There is no dwelling upon it, he will endure whatever the future has to offer.
His brows pinch and he shakes his head, the moment dissolving to his distaste. "Words I have but not for a shell." Even as the words round his mouth and curl his tongue, the depth of them hits.
Is Ultima trapped? The idea causes his heart to jump. Though someone has freed her, a party he must find as well and hope that Occurian promise was not false, she is still bound to this world and all its people. Well, well.
"When she doth wish to uncover her humbled head and make War - perhaps she shall espy a chance fleeting." One more push, and though it seems indeed that he is powerless, he knows he is not. That she does not strike him down here, that she does not retort or silence him - she has given him more than enough to work with.
no subject
In cool silence, the priest folds his hands in reverent prayer, looking over Vayne intently. Surely the High Seraph knew what she was doing when she brought this man back from the grave, though her intent eludes him, beyond his mere existence causing discontent. That could be enough, as he considers it. Vayne's words strike a chord and resonates with Ajora's thoughts on the matter.
"You speak of war. Why would you seek such a thing? Has not mankind suffered enough of men grasping for power and the gods driving them about to cease such deplorable behavior? Even now, politicians sneak and plot, little caring for the innocent sheep under their care that bear the brunt of their machinations."
And all because the gods cannot leave well enough alone. They must have their hands on the reigns of history, cannot allow mankind to live as they will. They shackle the disobedient with eternal prisons, or death, or with fear of their stones given to their new champion. Aye, Ivalice flourishes well under their benevolent care, a pretty sandbox for their enjoyment. But Ajora has seen the vision of what is to come.
Ivalice will have peace, and freedom. She will be united, with no more fractures or splintering. No more petulant children playing kings who squabble over the playthings of another. Unity under the Holy One who freed them from the gods, in piety and reverence. That shall be her end.
The execution of such a glorious end will be horrific. Such is the price that must be paid. The end will justify the means.
no subject
How so much they were alike. The draught is a bitter one.
The man does not feel rage, or really even disgust as he listens to the words Ajora pushes at him, tone simple, pleasing, almost questioning his own state of mind - the usual quandaries and dissatisfaction with the state of things, but he knows it is all for naught, he believes with each part of himself that the suffering they encounter can and will be combated when the truths of their world are laid bare - and not just for the nobles, well learned, the privileged who can only see one path because they do not fight and struggle as hume do. He feels only satisfaction, confident now, now he is upon a path he is pleased with.
A soft sigh escapes him and Vayne's feet adjust, shifting as though to pace. His shoulders droop and his eyes lid, for a moment perhaps appearing chastised.
Then up with his eyes once more, cold and lacking so much color the blue could be white. "And you would retain for only yourself this knowledge that to live is only to partake of suffering unrelenting? That man cannot learn the words in a prescribed book, cannot understand beyond their ken so thus any effort is...useless?" He looks...sorrowful, brows pinching, lips drawing thin. Then it is gone.
"Though Hume doth err, stumble on stiffened limbs, the path forged is strong, a chain that is secured to the clay that molds us;" - his hands move from his back, fingers uncurling, a single arm outstretching," the mirror is returned to you, priest, note well that though perhaps we may burn ourselves to immortal dust, it is hence the dust of ages past that have allowed us to grow aught." His eyes are gentle. "We shall suffer you, endure you, and live without you."
no subject
The gift of foresight is sometimes a double-edged sword, bringing as much pain to the visionary as those in the vision. Vayne may perhaps be angry, with him, with Ultima, with the state of humanity, but he is still a person capable of reason and hurts. It is compassion, or perhaps a need to relieve his own pain, which drives Ajora to respond.
"Look well to your house, Vayne Solidor. A snake for the house of snakes."
No more is Ajora feigning not to recognize who is addressing him. Enough of dancing with words in a game of verbal sparring. It is only right that he be warned of what is to come. He can sense the smugness radiating off Ultima that what is to come cannot be stopped. The Solidor has managed to genuinely attract her ire and such is a dangerous place to be.
no subject
Vayne turns to leave, a slight shake of his head causing the tangle of blackened hair, softened by their exposure to the heat and sun, sapping from the strands moisture that made it curl so, a hand raising slow to acknowledge the Priest he leaves behind. "A plebeian would enforce the shibboleth." He cares little if he shows his back to the possessed youth and the power embroiling within him. Let her strike, the man is sure she will not lift a finger.