It was a warm evening in the Quartier Ouvrier of Port-a-Lucine, the welcoming of spring descending upon the Port City while the sea breeze battled to blow it back into the heavens. The light outside was fading as Jean-Francois began to light the lanterns of the humble two room home.
He tossed the spent match into the fire place, its dim glow revealing an elderly man resting in an armchair. A dark robe clung to his frail body, the thin chest rising and falling in small slow motions, like a leaf in a weak breeze.
He stared with a faint smile at his old friend and mentor, he had been ill for sometime now and Jean knew he would not finish out the year, as every day the old man fought to draw breath and repress the coughing fits that would follow.
He looked at the rooms peeling walls and battered furniture, even the rug was thinning and hole ridden. His friend deserved a better life than this, but the world was a harsh place, he had learned that quickly.
“Still here, my boy?” said a tired voice, a small smile on the man’s wrinkled face.
“Oui Father, as always.” he replied, taking a seat near his friend.
“You’re a good lad, Jean, always have been. What of your future? I won’t live forever. And there’s to many, too many to look after on your own once I am gone.” the voice was barely a whisper as he spoke now.
“I will manage-“
“No, no… can’t help them all, not by yourself, too many. That is why, your mother, gave me you. You were reluctant at first, yes I remember… always sneaking off. But I saw the change in you, I saw that you wanted to help others, that you had hope. There are few of us in Dementlieu, very few who herald the dawn and have hope in their hearts. I have taught you all I can of the Morninglord’s message, but there is no place for us here. There is no church for you to find home in.”
“But what about the Quarter? The injured and homeless? I am to abandon them?”
“They will live on as they always have my boy… But you must spread the message of hope, learn all you can and one day, return here and continue our work.”
“Where am I to go?”
“The faith… the faith came from Barovia, it survives there still. You must go, find the Church and learn all you can. They will support you, teach you and embrace you. Find others, bring them to our home and continue our work!-“ The thin rasp of his voice broke into uncontrolled coughing and spluttering, staining his cracked lips with dark thick blood.
Jean hurried to his side to support him, holding him upright to open his lungs until the spluttering subsided and the body slumped once more, its breathing even lighter than before. The old mans hand reached up and clasped at his shirt with hidden strength and pulled him close to his teachers face.
“Go now my boy, must go.” The grip on his shirt failed as the last breath left Father Bernard of the Morninglord. Jean-Francois wiped the blood from his mouth.
“Thy lips be cleansed, Father”
