A Holy Path

[blessedsaint]

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.

Comments

[haeresis]

Ramza is not one naturally inclined toward deception. And so, on this holy pilgrimage, he keeps his story simple: he is a sellsword, one who has long worked in partnership with Agrias, but also one who believes in the new faith Ajora preaches. He must be as Germonique, outwardly faithful and attentive, pious, when in truth, he has been scrutinising Ajora's every word and deed since they set out. He writes in his grimoire when they stop to rest, and if asked, he'll claim it's a travelogue of sorts, though he keeps its contents private.

As they battle their way through the monsters, Ramza uses his new Libra license to check the weaknesses of each monster and inform the rest of the team accordingly. He lacks the skills to be able to exploit those weaknesses himself, but he can lead, and it is that he chooses to do.

Finally, when they reach the Vault, Ramza sheathes his sword and waits patiently for Ajora to reemerge. Ramza doubts his reasons for seeking the Vault are merely to pray to the god of blades honoured here: why would it be so, if Ajora believes the only true god is Faram? Nonetheless, he does not voice these doubts, remaining quiet as he has for much of the journey.

"Does anyone require any healing? We'd best tend to our wounds before we return whence we came."

[cruentatafoedus]

It has taken time and careful planning to end up at the Shrine before the "Prophet's" party does, and even then, it has taken patience to remain hidden and silent, giving Vayne cause to sit and reflect upon the happenings so far in the coziest, stuffiest corner he can stand with the gleaming sky far above, brow knitted. He holds the grimoire for many long hours in his lap before the party arrives, eyes slow to travel over the words that have been placed there by that omnipresent hand with vague, jumbled, assorted details about conversations or people he knows must exist, but has yet to see in person. It feels like he is being driven, nay, encouraged to follow along a certain path either by influencing him to respond against it or with it, mentioning his brother, his ties, all that seems to encourage an emotional response.

The once Emperor restrains a sigh as he hears the footsteps of travelers, and he knows who it will be. He stays sequestered though his curiosity compels him to move, listening to the murmuring, the questions in regards to the landscaping and architecture, the assessment of any injuries acquired. He thinks for a moment there are a few voices he can place, but instead chooses to listen as the Priest speaks his inevitable goodbyes.

The clatter of the stone doors sealing shut cause Vayne to rise at last, flexing one cramped leg, then the other, brushing the sand and dirt collected nigh all off before pausing. He needs to look like a vagabond should anyone linger, damn his self pride. He fixes his costume, then moves to the doors, more out into the open wherein he can espy the Priest emerging from within.

[strayspride]

He almost does not stay, upon sighting Vayne, but after Rabanastre... the potential threat is too great of one to ignore. So instead he waits longer. Quiet, dwelling in the shadows. He will wait to approach Ajora when his business has finished—when others have departed with the answers they sought or the warnings they wished said.

He looks somewhat different than he had before, when he had approached the priest as a 'thankful beggar'. HIs leather cuirass is hidden beneath a larger, looser tunic, and his cloak is much more ragged and worn, though his weapons are carefully sheathed at his hips with a pride., just barely peaking out form the cover the cloak provides. He does not hide his bearing now, the way he braces for blows, his combat grace.

Noah waits, until the last possible moment, and then shifting just into the edge of Ajora's vision, waiting for the 'saint' to catch sight of him.