Côte Poisson - Connaissance est Puissance

[Psyche]

Rain beats hard on limewash walls, churns the grassy meadow along old Svalich Road to a slippery mud. Wind races across the treetops with fell howling, and rattles the shutters on the windows. A man moves to sit alone by candlelight, no moonlight streams though closed slats, only a whiff of breeze that wavers the candle flame and the shadows it casts on the man's face. The chair slides and he sits at the bureau, adjusts the cuffs around his wrists and the sit of his waistcoat about his shoulders. A small pair of optics are rested upon his nose, and a worn journal taken from his stash of possessions upon the bureau top, along with it a nib pen and inkpot.

His pen scratches on the stiff paper of the journal, the sound near-deafened by the hammering rain and rushing wind.

This is what he writes.

[Psyche]

You leaf through the pages of this man's life, you are the bookworm of history, tunneling through them without ever living it. The script tells a tale of a young man from Port-a-Lucine, with telling absense of word on his parents or family; perhaps a brother, or old friend who went to sea and never came back, but nothing more. It tells of mundane years in the gendarmerie, saving every lunar and bit to fund his university career. An unremarkable log follows; the pages are filled with years of notes on medicine and dissection, sketches of anatomy made in harsh pen. A love interest falls in and out of his jottings. Then a new obsession; his journal is filled with streams of numbers, circled and obscurely annotated, notes on theology and days at Ste. Mere Des Larmes. He plays with the idea of leaving, to some faraway land of Barovia, driven by whatever irresistable dance is in those numbers. There are drafts of goodbye letters, to some fellows at the cathedral, to his fellow medical graduates, to his never-spoken-of parents. There are portions of maps, names, routes, checkpoints marked with strikethoughs when crossed. The final page takes you to a blot marked 'Vallaki', with a single line scored through it.
After, is the here and now.

[Psyche]

You slow down as we reach there here and now. The arrival, the advent of new faces and new experiences. Uneasy feelings at rumours of the Ezrite clergy, of nosferatu, of heresy, of Barovian civil war. The pages have more sketches; of faces; a beautiful, aquine-featured flame-haired beauty.. a stern-looking woodsman. a blue-cowled warrior. The names of 'Draven' and 'Ward' are mentioned with an urgency of meeting them. Joyful writing of acceptance as a student of the Refuge of the Fifth Light, apprehensions upon meeting the resident Inquisitor. Extraordinary accounts of meeting with Forms of he Legions of the Night in Vallaki sewers and outskirts; the demonic dog and disembodied heads. The pages turn slowly enough, until we reach its most up-to-date record.

[Psyche]

In the Shadow of Zeklos Keep





I have finally met with Warden Draven, and he has taught me some valuable lessons. Before we took our lesson on the Home Faith to the Legions of the Night that we might see first-hand the holds they keep in Barovia, Warden Draven confirmed my fears; the heresy of the False at Zeklos Keep. I have been instructed not to seek it out, nor shall i break ranks, but a doubt remains within me; from the words of Harper, a man i trust to be of integrity and honesty, and what he saw at the Keep of their Toret.. she appears authentic. But the Mists of Death and their Legions work in many ways. I must banish this from my mind.

We took our lesson to a monastery in the woods, to vanquish the spirits within. I trust my answers on the formation and the First Schism were satisfactory. I look foward to more lessons with Draven.

I have, perhaps, learned some of the Trial that awaits me; Warden Draven may not have meant to speak of it, but i understand i am to face the Mists of Death, with Ezra's Sheild alone to protect me.

[Psyche]

We are spiraling; feeble motes caught in the wind, helpless to alter the eddies that have caught us. Warden Draven's words in confirming the rumours gave me little succour, indeed, it has only raised new troubles. I find both my personal studies and my at-arms training are bringing me closer to Ezra. This is perhaps the only beneficial thing to have happened. Kwalu spoke of his misadventures in the mists; a hungry spirit; the tricksome illusions of the Mists of Death, and how it seemed to be in some way related to the maledictions of the False Toret Winterlass.

I battled the Beast that Rends with Warden Draven, after an inpromptu session with Commander Fynolt.. we were forced to turn back by its force at arms.. but we shall return, better equipped and better prepared. What i learned after was more disturbing than even the great white beast we fought.

Before my eyes i watched as the Mists unfolded a woman before the Cathedral's altar; her tiding was poor, that the Heretics of Zeklos may be permitted to undertake the Rite of Revelation; and from what i have heard of the False Winterlass' dubious talents; i fear the Rite is as fallible as any mortal design and may be cheated by this Immortii. For each question answered, a thousand more are asked..
 

[Psyche]

I have completed my first lesson with Warden Ward. Her style is impressive, not the simple question-and-answer to probe my recall as with Warden Draven, but an intimate relation of the past and its relevance in the future. We discussed how the tenets of the Home Faith; duty, honour, self-sacrifice, appeal strongly to the Barovian sensibilities. We discussed, briefly, the requirement of patience, perseverance and control, citing the length of construction of the Grand Cathedral of Lekverest as example. We also touched upon the nature of the Beast that rends; the Neuri in Barovia's native tongue, and built some upon the knowlege my academic career afforded me.
The lesson inevitably gravitated to the Heretics. The First Schism was cited as the Heritic's comparitive rationale; a metaphor in itself worthy of damnation. Remarked upon also was the twisted logic of the False Toret's continued favour by Ezra as an example of the redemption of the Legions, in accordance with the Pure Heart philosophy. The arguement is abhorrant, and flimsy.
I have learnt nothing more of the intended next steps; what actions the church will, or will not take. I am aware that power moves with the corridors; hushed conversations, closed curtains, closed doors, but its workings remain infinately opaque to me. I pray to Ezra for guidance and insight.

[Psyche]

I have concluded another lesson with Warden Ward; accompanied by Templar Alexander. We discussed prudence with infomation, with secrets. Her guarded contempt for Inquisitor Veritas as a barely-contained zealot was easy to prise from her words. Again she speaks of the painstaking work maintaining relations with the population and other factions, and how zealots and poorly-disciplined members of the clergy may disrupt it. I fear Warden Ward's pragmatism may be getting the better of her; more politician that theologian now. Perhaps, to her, the status-quo has become her own private project; and disruptions to it are a personal affront to her. More worringly than this is her virtual paranoia at spies and listening ears; i spied her glancing warily in the empty corridors of the Rectory, and her oft-repeated maxim 'Loose lips sink ships' seems as much a personal talisman as a lesson to others. Perhaps this over-vigilance is born of some events of the pastl, or mayhaps tied into what i growingly suspect is a curious psychosis. I am eager to begin our lessons on the Third Sect as soon as possible; a more academic tact may be what is needed from these idle musings i have the audacity to commit to paper. I am not the Inquisitor, to have the distance to scrutanise at whim. I am the student, deference and attentiveness i must observe.

[Psyche]

Today's lesson was on the Third Sect; the area in which i am, onbiously, most comfortable. Warden Ward once again reiterated the nessecity for security; and the hyper-protective precautions she attempts to keep in check. I suspect my earlier analysis of her behaviour may not have been premature; that she feels pressed in upon, on all sides by those who might attempt to userp her pragmatic status-quo. She sees assassins in the shadows. We discussed the nature of the Mists of Death as creators of the Hollow, and of the obstacle they pose to mortal and divine alike. Her conclusions may be premature; drawn too much from dogma; the Mists of Death seek to corrupt the mortal soul through the flesh; but the Mists of Death may attack in many forms, and permit heros and faith to deny it this satisfaction. They remain too complicated to unravel, and still require generations of observational study to begin to draw patterns. Warden Ward is delightfully not anti-emperical, but seems to hold little stock in the fortitude of mortals. On this, perhaps we agree. We touched, if briefly, upon theology, reflexivity, metaphysics and ethics. I anticipate the next lesson to be on the Darkonese Sect, at which point we must be nearing the end of my tuition.
The Commander seemed keen to observe and instruct my combat training; we took to caverns inhabited by Hobgoblins and stranger, Thoul-things. His only constuctive comment is that i must 'thrust harder' - from this i hope this is the only fault and that my technique is adequate.
For all this, i feel the wiser and worldlier; is Ezra rewarding my with greater blessings for my obediance in lessons, or in my private questioning? All things, in time, will be revealed.

[Psyche]

Folded neatly into this page is a crisp copy of the Barovian Times, Volume Thirteen.

It is regretable that, in the way of all things; great realisations must come from unexpected sources. The rumours then, are correct, at least according to journalism. I have learnt possible more of the False Toret Webber from a two-spit newsrag than anything i was told of during my lessons. Not only this, but what Warden Ward was inclined to only hint at; a dissaproval of Inquisitor Veritas, has been laid bare in the same article. Truely paradoxial, that in the sake of self-referencing unity will protect a man whose maveric ways threaten to destroy her beloved status quo. I have, of course, now discovered the reasons for Marius' questions on the physiology of the undead; it suggests from the description of the Toret's symptoms that she is very much alive; the action of the vascular system to initiate a cough is symptomatic of this, as is the bleeding beneath the skin to produce bruising.. am i trying too hard to reconcile myself with the dogma of my mentors when i say that a coughing can be falcified; and that bruising may still occour in the nosferatu (the only unquiet unliving the Toret may be, as i am quite convinced a pulse cannot be falcified by any trickery of the body), do i deny myself the truth through blind following? I entertain yet the possibility that suggestion and mesmerism may have a place here; from accounts the False Toret harbours dark powers, perhaps these too have been used to confuddle the journalist.
I have tried to go to the Keep myself; folly as i now recognise it to be; but the emperical die-hard urge is not to rely upon these fettered, unrealiable and unquantifyable second-hand accounts and examine and observe myself. I shall wait now for an opportunity.
I have also been disturbed by something i saw at the Keep; a Templar i have seen twice, once at the Refuge of the Fifth Light, and once again descending the stairs from the Rectory (a man with a key, and access therefore) visited the Keep with a stated intention of praying with the False Toret? I heretic within our midst? A secret mission from the Sentire? Of this Warden Ward must be spoken with.. without revealing my own reason for being at the Zeklos gates. I pray only that this is, indeed, a secret mission of some sort; to place the loyal within their ranks so that we may be better informed.. for i fear that if that is not the case.. vipers do not nest alone.

[Psyche]

Transcribed here are many copies of the hymn of Saint Josif Aurelius. All are annotated in some way; patterns followed to esoteric recepies that highlight some words, letters, articles of punctuation. Numbers and letters in matrices and other such annotations.

Another lesson concluded with Warden Ward; on the Fourth Sect. With dogma, as it is, so far removed from her own it is unsurprising her questions tended not towards the specifics of that dogma, and of the history of the sect, but comparative analysis. I raised my concern of the wayward Templar. The Warden was aware, and assures me the Templar has 'broken no vows': i suspect the Warden's inner politician gets the best of her again, this is no more an answer than my suspicions to begin with. She obviously did not want more questions asked; the warning in her tone shied me away from pressing further. We covered some interesting topics of morality related to that comparative study; what protects us from sin, if the mortal form is the conduit by which our souls are tainted by the Mists of Death? She spoke once more with great sorrow of a cursed layman she was unable to bring salvation to: does she view these lost sheep as personal failings of her own? His symptoms, as they were conveyed to me, were physiological and psychological; but to her were proof-positive of the corrupting evil; it occurs to me that, without to equate one to the other, 'evil' as merely a fever of the mind, no more or less subject to scrutiny, diagnosis and treatment than a sickness of the body.
I am assured the trial grows nearer; i must continue to prepare myself mentally and spiritually; it is with the fortitude of mind i shall persevere.

[Psyche]

My final lesson with Warden Ward has been completed; it is her recommendation to the Sentire that soon i be required to take the Trial. She has reiterated what Warden Draven told me of it; that it is a test of faith, but has elaborated onits twofold nature. I must place my safety solely in my faitj to Our Guardian; for it is her alone who can protect me at the border of the Mists of Death. The second aspect is that i must manifest my sheild; showing that, aloneside my sincerity in this endeavorl, i am worthy to don the mantle of Anchorite. I must pray before the trial, for it is unconfessed sins that will drag me down into the abyss of the Legions of the Night. We discussed those few things that have not already been gone over in our other lessons; the differences in interpretation of the Grand Scheme; the organisation of the church and the specifics of the Rite of Revelation; the latter two topics i have discussed with Commander Fynolt and Warden Draven. We touched briefly as well, on the Heretics of Zeklos, how they have been recieved at the Refuge of the Fifth Light, and how one of their 'Templars' was unaware even what the Praesidius was, let alone name him. I feel i may have misjudged Warden Ward's hypervigiliance; perhaps her obsession with security and secrecy is justified; she alluded to, and perhaps indeed does guard over some dangerous knowledge and truths. Comformation will come in time, as all things do. All there is left for me to do now is is pray, and study. At the time of Trial my mind must not be clouded; i must sing out my prayers with single-minded conviction and clarity.

[Psyche]

It is daytime. A min sits upon a cot in a room with many similar cots. He stacks away armour, stows sword and sheild in a footlocker, folded in an Ezrite-green cloak. His face is blooded; fiercely clotted, dragged-through-mud muckied. His hand works slowly, without dexterity, his eye-movements across the page slurred. Warden Poisson writes.


There have been so many movements of late, it is difficult to entangle them in my mind and commit them to this diary, but i must. At the completion of my final lesson, and in preperation for the taking of the Trial i sojourned; to the quiet places whence i may pray and beg forgiveness and cleanse my soul od doubt for what i knew was coming. I was given no forewarning; and with the investiture from the Sentire was i banished to the Misty Border; beset by sights and sounds and lank, rotten beasts. I suffered and saw but a fraction of what Our Guardian faces every day; but through prayer, faith, devotion, prostration, i persevered, smote down the beast and returned to the Refuge of the Fifth Light. The price was heavy; there are scars i shall carry for the rest of my days, but i may now call myself Anchorite Poisson.
But now to work. I have seen the baptism of a layperson, and await an opportunity to fulfill that role myself. Until other duties present themselves i intend to make good the library which the enigmatic and absent Toret Callios has amassed; there is so much lore to absorb. I hope, in time that as both Anchorite and Doctor i may see to her illness, whatever it may be. I too, much speak to Warden Ward and the Sentire regarding my return to Port-a-Lucine as per Warden Ward's request, to make equally prodidgious use of their collection. But all things in time, Warden Poisson, all things in time.

[Psyche]

The Silver-Tongued Viper in Our Midst


Winterlass. The silver-tongued viper in our midst. What business could she have in the ward of our church? She chooses to skulk in the night, like a thief; is this how a true Saint of Our Guardian acts? I can trust nothing of her manner. Her 'sickness' - what Warden Ward has clarified as undeathliness, is, according to the heretic a divine sigh of her burdonsome, saintly suffering in the name of others. Nothing this heretic speaks may be trusted; her words must be rebuked, turned away with deaf ears. I shall speak to the others of it when i can.

[Psyche]

It has been well to return once more to Ste. Mere des Larmes, and pray beneath the most holy image of Our Guardian. And in glad tidings; with the baptism of Sister Varzaru. The experience was quite unsettling and confusing to her, but i hope i allayed her fears. After the baptism i led the congregation that traveled from Vallaki in prayer before the relic; i hope to have performed both tasks admirably. But the joyous occasion was short-lived; as, if not the troubles of heresy were enough, Sister Varzaru tells me now of a threat; not to our faith alone, as with heresy, but, to every man, woman, child, every stone-upon-stone, every gasp of breath we take for granted. I sit now with my report, dreadfully thinking of how to word it. She was afraid of being considered a madwoman, i assured her that i will do all i can to convince the others otherwise to this; she is no hysteric, no lunatic, and i believe what she says to be true to her mind. And more concerning matters still; i grow increasingly disturbed with the mercanery values of both the Commander and the Inquisitor. Would they have us skulk in the shadows with the Heretics as well as lie and decieve as they? I should conclude for now, banish these darkening frustrations, the report must be seen to.

[Psyche]

Below are these words, carefully illuminated upon the creamy paper.

Ezra, Our Guardian in the Mist. Be our Light, when in times of Dark all other lights are spent.
Be our Sheild, as we protect those in your Name
Be our Guide, as we guide those who have found You
Through your most holy Revelations, continue to show us your divine Wisdom
May we be Your Will in every Thought and Word and Deed
Until we meet your Final Embrace
Amen

[Psyche]

These pages are filled with sketches of architecture, statues, plans, efemeral, spectral beings; and wasted, dessicated spiders of monstrous proportions.

Following my report, i have found myself without many formal duties that require my persistant attention. Though i have not forgotten or lapsed in my duties to the church and my own study of scripture (I have found the Rectory's collection of hymn works most engaing) i have endeavoured to begin my personal studies in the manner that both pleases, and is expected of me. I took to the ruined temple Warden Draven previously showed me; but for our training and discussion i was not fully able to digest what i found. I have begun investigating the relationships between Our Guardian Ezra, and the other dieties known in the Land of Mists. As is clear, Our Guardian is the only Divine being to have withstood the Mists of Death from without, and so we may deduce that the Divine beings known from within are but manifestations or facets of Our Guardian; albeit difficult to reconcile at times. From the text i was able to recover it has become apparent the temple was a construction of the 'Faith of the Overseer' - an outwardly benevolent and community-minded faith supporting mutual co-operation and justice. (Not all of this did i learn from the text there; much i was forced to seek in reference collections) From what i have understood of their dogma, there are many points congruent with that of the Ezrites as a whole ; 'Today I care for you as tomorrow you may care for me' is strongly reflected in mutual aid. The belief that the Overseer observes, but has little direct impact on a mortal's world until death is broadly congruent with the teachings of the Erudites. Interestingly, the Faith of the Overseer practices no idoltry, and so it is impossible to use this mechanism to correlate further. (absence of proof is not proof of absence.) - My preliminary conclusion so far is that the Faith of the Overseer may indeed be a manifestation of Our Guardian's devotion.

[Psyche]

Redemption / Dereliction


Have we met the enemy, or the casualty? The heretic Sable - does her evasion and antagonistic demeanor indicate malice, malcontempt, or shame, defensiveness at the probings of her failings? She continues to spew the taught-by-rote trash of the heretic Winterlass and the justification of the Immorji being permissable in Ezra's presence - my justification for summising she has yet to fully realise her folly - a position understandable - this is a 'truth' to her she has bled and devoted so much emotional effort into, it will take an equally powerful undoing. I have not decided, as yet, whether her attempts to ingraciate herself with our congregation are elaborate deception - perhaps to secure passage to Lekvarest.
Whatever the case, we must be on alert; the raving madman at the Walls, calling fort the words of the Heresy speak to me as the first raindrops of a thunderstorm.

[Psyche]

Once more, i have spoken at length with Sable. I hope she now begins to understand, through my deconstruction of the heretical text, and the hardships she herself has endured, the danger inherent in the heretical text. She remains, however, firmly in the enthrall of Winterlass. I believe her misguided, dangerous? Yes, but perhaps not of her own virtue; perhaps she loves winterlass, for all the horror she has seen, and no doubt partaken in (i reference, of course, The Eye), and this is why she finds it hard to let go, beyond even our good sense. Warden Draven is too rash to make judgements, i believe she no longer believes the text, or soon will not, but is ensnared still by her 'saint'. She tried to convince us we must ride to the rescue of a nonbeliever imposter at Zeklos' chapel - a 'Warden' - but in reality proof of the house of lies, that even the decievers know deciept.
Later, i took a lesson; the orientation to the Mission in Barovia, given to Initiage Kaeyna, the unbaptised Leonte and and an Anchorite-hopeful Zerilta of Darkon - indeed, if the clergy agree, we would truely have a full house, perhaps the best-represented church to be found.

[Psyche]

The Warden sits quite alone at a desk by candlelight; around him are strewn books, sagging pouches, and his own writing materials. To one side sits a solitary Raven's feather. He watches it with suspicion and apprehension as he writes.

From raindrops to deluge in the space of a day.
I now suspect that Winterlass' capture was entirely Fynolt's work; the mysterious 'hooded man' being none other than himself; but why the ruse, why not admit he had captured her himself? I found my conversation with Winterlass intriguing and stimulating, to some extent. She will not be swayed by the sort of arguement that had proved effective with Sable. Though she was in our capture, her attitude was that of her remaining in control. So why open up about The Eye? Genuine powerlessness; self-satisfaction? Had the tiniest of human decency changed her mind? I cannot be certain. She denied knowlege of Sable's eye - misdirection i believe, but was forthcoming, both with hard document and her own words regarding this 'Eye of McGrath' - the topaz orb Fynolt believes to be with Lord Von Zeklos - a protective talisman? An article of deceipt? And the vessel of the flesh - 'Dagon'. I ponder how this relates to Sable - soft-hearted Sable that seeks aid for a nonbeliever, more deception, more misdirection, or was she the victim of a charismatic captor? This elf Celor, who claims his extensive burns the result of attacking Winterlass' captor - none other than Fynolt i believe. But Fynolt does not carry a blackpowder pistol, nor the capacity or brutality to inflict this wrecking upon another, even if in deep cover? No, i believe this to be the work of Dagon, who Winterlass brought with her.. Dagon who /is/ our troublesome madman. Unfortunately, with the elf incapacitated, and the heretic gone, who do I have to ask?

I have reflected upon Fynolt's actions. Exitus acta probat? I come back to it, time and time again. Exitus acta probat. Fynolt's sworn oath is to protect the Anchorite, not to exercise idiotic military actions. Infiltration? Assassination? Perhaps these things can be forgiven, but can they forgive the cutting down of an Anchorite to further a cover for an unsanctioned, insane and likely suicidal mission? All i know is that what keeps me in the realm of the living is an act from Winterlass; snatching me back from the grey fugue, the misty oblivion. Why? Covering her tracks? Laying good deeds to redeem herself later? Genuine interest?

And so what of this all? I am no more, or no less convinced of Winterlass' heresy than i was before. I have been pulled from the snatch of death; by whom? What power animates Winterlass' action thus? Does the Mists of Death want me alive; or do they play along with Winterlass to keep her fooled? I am convinced that the Inquisitor's ill-conceived 'purge' hastened her spiriting away by the Mists of Death, and that anything she saw of Our Guardian, her sainthood were deceptions.. but..

The feather. I have re-read Warden Ward's Hymn of Saint Igrayne Blaith the Sorrowful - the raven's feather signifying the child of providence; but what providence? That of sainthood; the beautiful ruby tears of mourning what might of been, but was averted; or the warning of the weakness of her heart; of what might have been itself? Does the Raven's feather signify warning of the darkness and danger of Winterlass, or something else?

[Psyche]

Word from the Keep. The man that was Commander Fynolt lives, or lived for a while. Warden Ward considers his actions as folly as I. How could he, a man without any sort of supernatural subtlty that might permit him to glide unnoticed and pass through walls, nor even any mundane counterpart, and totally without the sense enough to know he lacks the skills to make this absurd folly a success; expect to pull it off? And what of this new plot? Can the Boyar Guard be trusted to have his lord's interests at heart; this man who once was Vallaki Garda - if allegiances may change to easily, how can he be trusted? Are we condoning passing The Eye from one master to another? Have we made a mistake of telling him of its power? Will he too be seduced?
Nonetheless, i am consistently impressed by Initiate Kaeyna's acumen and fortitude; perhaps she will be everything the former Commander was not.

[Psyche]

'An eye for an eye' - mere words cannot convey my apprehensive horror as those words came from Fynolts mouth- the selfsame words written by heretics. And what of his shacklebound prostration? How similar it is to the Zeklos' heretics own actions. How long has he been lost to us? How far has he strayed. His attitude is frightening, what has caused such resentment to fester in his heart? Or idle frustration - that he has become an oath-breaker, and for what? None of his grandoise insanity has come about; the Heretics remain undeposed and quite alive. Frustration at his failure, or is this a genuine malice? We are nothing but glad to welcome him back alive, but why is he so determined to have his life ended? Empty gesturing, self-pity, shame? Fear of facing this path to redeption, of analysing his own actions, shortcomings, recklessness? It becomes increasingly clear he cannot be trusted within the midst of the clergy, and so i turn my thoughts to his successor. I beleive Templar Card has shown exceptional wisdom, insight and empathy, and has already, and would continue to make an excellent example to the Initiates. And so this is the way of things? The indominatable drive of turnover; the old fade, the new rise? Every effort must be made to spare Fynolt, from the Legions and from himself, but that cannot happen until he finds his centre, and admits his mistakes in more than self-pity. I consider traveling to Ste Mere des Larmes, to pray for him under Her most holly visage.

[Psyche]

Warden Cote Poisson gives a sermon on the providence in being well-versed in theology, no matter how it presents itself.

First, let us pray.

Ezra, Our Guardian in the Mist. Be our Light, when in times of Dark all other lights are spent.
Be our Sheild, as we protect those in your Name
Be our Guide, as we guide those who have found You
Through your most holy Revelations, continue to show us your divine Wisdom
May we be Your Will in every Thought and Word and Deed
Until we meet your Final Embrace
Amen

It is encouraging to today those who have welcomed the divine warmpth of Our Guardian Ezra into their hearts.
We today gather, on this Fifth Day to remember why we opened our hearts to Ezra, and to renew our conviction that our faith preserves us in this time of adversity.
In today's sermon we consider other faiths, and the impact they have upon our own church.
You may ask what is the need to understand the teachings and ways of other faiths? What can they teach us about ourselves?
We Erudites believe that Our Guardian alone crossed from the world beyond the world; the world of the Outlanders and Outlander gods, into the Hollow; long-abandoned by the deific powers, in order to watch over, protect et guide those who dwell within - et in doing so forsake her name amongst her brothers and sisters in the world beyond.
We believe that all other gods and goddesses here, in this world, in the Hollow, must therefore be manifestation, fascets, reflections of our goddess.
But how can we reconcile the brutal iron-fist of the Lawgiver with the guiding palm of Our Guardian? Or the slavering maw of the Devourer, with the gentile blessing of Ezra?
Such things may seem impossibilities; but consider the difficult reconcilliations in our own Faith - are the Legions to be the objects of salvation, as the Pure Hearts propose, or destruction, as the Zealots would say?
For this we learn a lesson; that the divine nature of our Goddess is mired in the imperfect perceptions of the mortal; that the divine Truth may become a mortal half-truth.
That the Revelations passed to us; et the preachings of other faiths are mere interpretations of the divine; interpretations that require dilligent et reflexive study.
But still, why learn of other faiths? What does it teach us? What do we gain from it?
Because it enriches and widens our understanding of our own goddess, our Guardian Ezra.
The Halan's cosmogeny, for example, is barely distinguishable from our own, and the Faith of the Overseer promotes mutual assistance and interdependance, in much the same way we believe.
There are yet other reasons. As a church, we are expected to maintain relations with other faith centres. The Refuge of Fifth Light has its connections with the Sanctuary of the Coming Dawn; so why should we not know more of our friends and allies, that we may know them better,
and the same for our enemies and detractors, that we may know them better as well?
That we may be better prepared, better armed, better conversationilists.
Take away from this, this lesson; that our faith does not exist in isolation; if we are to live, and work, and thrive, we must be mindful of the beliefs and sensibilities of those we live and work alongside with.

Please rise, we shall close with a prayer.

Blessed be Ezra, Our Guardian in the Mists.
She who sacrificed Herself to fill the Hollow.
Healer of the sick, protector of the weak, guide to the lost.
To You we pray. Watch over us, Your people, take us under Your protection.
Show us the light when we are lost in darkness. Defend us when the Legions draw near.
Lead us to our place in the Grand Scheme,
and deliver us through the night to the shelter of peace.
Fivefold, may we be blessed.
Amenquote]

[Psyche]

On the back of a sucessful sermon, i am burdoned by such grave news. Fynolt's temper continues to get the better of him. I was overwhelmed with joy to see him attend Fifth Day, but why was his demeanor so confrontational? How can a man re-treading his steps back to the grace of Our Guardian simmer so beneath the surface? His internal quarrels; misplaced feelings of blame, guilt, and his overridng recklessness must be the first things to go.. how can he not see now, more than ever how his anger has betrayed him? Recklessly placing Initiate Kaeyna in danger is one thing, but to lash out, with nothing less than the prayers of Our Guardian.. i know we must continue to persevere, to show him the love and compassion we have in the name of Ezra, but if his heart still rages.. how will he listen?
I do not wish to pry into the affairs of Templar Card; his path of redemption to oft-spoken of is his, and his alone. Truely he does not wish the post of Templar Commander - but perhaps, and i mean not to make guesses at it, it is his place in the Grand Scheme to surmount it. As the addage is - great men do not seek greatness, but have it thrust upon them.

There is a pause of some lines, as if the writing was paused, and taken up again.

Can it be so? I do not believe it to be; Fynolt's strength at arms is more than enough to fend off the attacks of witches. So what of these rumours? I believe them to be greatly exaggerated. He cannot be dead. But then where? And why? Why this deception, this elaborate ruse? What is his game? Does he seek to evade us, his brothers in faith? Has he turned his back on us, on Ezra? Is he prisoner? Is he dead? We must know. I pray for guidance, fortitude, moral fibre. May we be blessed; before this is out, we shall be in need of it.

[Psyche]

The rumours of Vasten's death are greatly exaggerated - something i am truely thankful for. But with joy and relief so too must come sorry and woe i have learned. What sibling rivalry do we harbour in our ranks? What dark desires divide our number? I truely believe Vasten seeks attonement as he professes, but is as yet unwilling to take the steps needed to cool his flaming heart. In time, with guidance, i hope it can be acheived. What concerns me now more than this is the misdirection apparent on behalf of the Templars - families squabble, but we must endure. Why engage in such pettyness in the face of such a great adversary as the Zeklos Heretics (Curiously quiet of late, unquieting in itself.)? I hope that we will be able to meet soon, as a family - air our grievances and reaffirm our devotion to Our Guardian, and to each other. The Mists of Death take root in such discord, we must be unitied, strong with our love for her, and for one another if we are to see this through.

[Psyche]

Such trying times; impossibly trying. Vasten continues to sow dischord even from afar. Do I alienate Kaeyna and Card by attemtping to help Vasten? Who lies to me? Is it Vasten - that card provokes him, insults him, or is it Card that denies these allegations? Is Kayena justified in feeling persecuted? Do the alliegances between Vasten and Falon, Falon and Draven, Kaeyna and Card - threaten to tear this family asunder? I cannot blame Card for wanting to leave; I too am overwhelmed, over-my-head, out-of-my-depth. I can only rue his departure, if it comes to pass. But why? Why does this continue to happen? When all involved know that these cracks will soon be filled with the seething feelers of the Mists of Death - when all know they must be closed, and we must stand united as the brothers and sisters we are.. why, why then, do they remain so obstinate? So ruddy-minded, so jealous-hearted? I am firm in my conviction now, it is these personal alliegances; alliegances put above the alliegance to the church as a whole that are the problem, perhaps moreso than Vasten's blame-shuffling.
But what can I do? Tell the hearts of mortal men and women they may not love, nor have close friends? Impossible, unreasonable, absurd. Can I treat the lesion we have; sue to excommunicate Vasten? Dare I think it? If he is so unwilling to accept help, to accept he must change if we are to save him, then why not wash our hands of a dangerous, distruptive influence?
No we must outstretch the hand once more. I shall hope and pray that by airing our voices where they will be held accountable, not behind closed doors as personal alliagences but together, as one, as a family - we might close these wounds, these cracks.
But why this apprehension? That because on my watch might the mission in Vallaki collapse. I am wracked with doubt and greiving for the fault that is not yet mine. While i am counsul to this clergy, who is there to counsul me?