#˙ ˖ ⊰ ✧ ⊱ 彡 constance ･ something is lost in the armageddon of her and the sun.

[sanktere]

holy ground.

          to have sent him for such a task with none of the rites and reliquaries necessary for its completion... it proves an unique kind of challenge. carrying only his personal effects and minimal knowledge of the situation, assured that the items and icons in this entrusted box would be enough... a quiet sigh swells within his chest but never quite leaves in breath. who was he to speak of what rituals would be adequate to purge the restless spirits of this land? but where he would have anticipated the combined efforts of a number of their vestry, led by the knowledgeable power of an elevated bishop, here was left to the best judgment of one ill-prepared monk.

          even so, he hadn’t the heart to tell them he had yet to finish studying through half of fodlan’s holy scripture, that only a scant few of the goddess’ prayers had been committed to memory, and none of them fitting for the occasion.

          his pay would not be earned with negligence, and these villagers truly seemed to suffer from their fear. that alone was enough to move his trepidations, and set him on the quiet path into the solitude of the resting grounds, remote along a countryside that, as he understands, had seen much change in the aftermath of a tragedy some years ago. even if the liturgies he knew so well should fail here, he would try what he could within his power.

          the first step being... to find the exact location.

          unmarked and disturbed graves shouldn’t prove elusive, yet the townspeople had been reluctant to direct him — to even speak of the sightings, though this was no surprise when the naming of the departed and unsleeping always carried a certain risk. lantern light chases away the immediate shadows of the early night, and when had a fog begun to roll in? the mildness of inchoate spring is warm, but not enough to fend off an inexplicable chill. he pulls the folds of his cloak a little tighter.

          snap. a twig, close by. lantern turns to his right, other hand moving instinctively to his staff. the mind plays tricks to recompense the unknown; this he knows.

          ❝ is someone there? ❞

       ✧   //    @irroche

#irroche #˙ ˖ ⊰ ✧ ⊱ 彡 thread ･ holy ground. #˙ ˖ ⊰ ✧ ⊱ 彡 constance ･ something is lost in the armageddon of her and the sun. #˙ ˖ ⊰ ✧ ⊱ 彡 axe ･ on the day he created justice¸ god left it to man instead. #at long last..................... #i finally write w constance LMSODFINSD