[Faith - Sorinia Vasilescu]

[Dawn]

‟Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs.„

I - Arrival They descended upon them, like beasts wrought from the darkest hour, raised from the depths of hell. The black of their hide pulled the curtain over the dawn, the breeze carried forth the stench of musk, of dirt. They were caught on their knees. Their last prayer to the dawn, for a better life. To be able to find peace where they headed. A prayer to beg for Vallaki to be kinder to them, than the Village ever was. They should not have forgotten to ask for Old Svalich's mercy. The father was the first one to fall. He had made himself the shield, for his wife, daughter and son. The beasts had not granted any moment to react. The son followed after, taken with the swipe of a hellish claw, limbs severed with ease. Only then did the mother find her voice, her scream arched over the grunts of the wolves, the girl watched her face glint in the shade of ruby. Another black, furred claw flashed before her vision, and she no longer heard her mother. So the girl flailed, vision blurry, ears filled with the sounds of a grand feast. She managed to find her footing, as a beam of black flashed, and a warm wetness began to spread over her arm. She made the mistake of looking back, dooming her mind with promised nightmares. And she ran. The beast pursued a moment, before for whatever reason, perhaps it was the dawn now coming to its full bloom that made it or perhaps something else, it stopped. There was enough meat to eat, enough blood to drink. So it prowled back to its pack, now hunched over the scene where once the family prayed, grass sprayed with blood, a spot of black and evil under the sun's first light. She ran. Ran west, and did not stop. Her head buzzed, the warmth now felt colder and sickly, rain soaking into her clothes and bones. The air caustic in her lungs, feverishly she ran. This was not the arrival to the Grey City that she long dreamt of.

[Dawn]

‟The quality of mercy is not strained.„

II - Sanctuary The girl's consciousness was near faded, when she at last found herself back in civilisation. A trail of red droplets followed her footsteps atop the cobblestone path. She was not truly aware of her surroundings, and as it was custom for her folk, the locals were not aware of her either. They masterfully ignored her tears, her pain, her state. She carried herself forth with what manner of will she had left. A fateful encounter saved her from promised damnation. A man in white, without a word, approached the peasant. She could not figure out what he did, but the wound the beast had caused was no more. When the man vanished and she turned to look around herself, she found herself at the door of the very place her family had promised to visit together. Sanctuary of the Eternal Dawn. Body mended yet spirit broken, she entered. Those within, they did not ignore her, like her own people did. The relief of safety rid her of the last piece of will that stubbornly clung to her for the sake of survival, and the girl broke down before them. They were kind, so kind. Warm bed, clean clothes, a new scarf. Food, amenities and sweet, caring company. She could not be more grateful. The Dawnfather gifted his blessings to her, through his followers. Was this His way of apologising, for what was done to her blood under the first light of dawn? Couldn't he have protected them then, than remedy it now? Why couldn't her mother meet these people of the Sun?

[Dawn]

‟You can hear it in the midst of the night, while your gaze roams the vast plains on the ceiling.„

III - Dolour The contrast of her days and her nights were never felt so strongly before. She was haunted. Sleep came with unease, the girl's heart aflame with grief. Cursed with nightmares of all kinds, but the scenery consistent. Beasts gorging on flesh and blood. She could not rid herself of the flashing image everytime her eyes dared close. It had its claws tightened upon her spirit. The abundance of the Sanctuary's kitchen was a curse. Each piece of mutton, a leg of chicken, or a piece of steak churned her stomach, the metallic scent of blood causing a twang at her nostrils. She couldn't watch people eat, she could not eat. Food dried to ash on her tongue and down her throat, sustenance turned poison. Blessed with kind company that took notice, she was taken care of. The cultists were as kind as the Dawnfather, and they did their best in distracting her ailed mind, bringing solace and joy. She felt indebted, and cleaning the refuge was not just a way of giving back, but it also provided reprieve from the haunts. Timid as a small animal, and they approached with care. Each one of them she began to cherish. Vallaki, while on the same soil she was brought upon, felt as if a different realm. Where kindness was bountiful, yet horrors equally as real. She had overheard talks, seen the wounded, and felt her limbs go cold and numb in response. Outlanders visited, some surprised the girl, and some reinforced her caution. The City came with promises of many nature. She dared not leave the grounds of the Sanctuary for the first two days, except on the two occasions where the same lovely people urged her forth for a brisk walk and a morning prayer. They couldn't possibly know how much this meant to her, she thought. Her heart ached with the bitter truth that her family would never come to know them. She prayed they watched. Without worry for her, without regret, and she prayed they were embraced in the skies above by the Sun's loving arms. The poor people, they hadn't found peace in life, a naive, hopeful thing it was to think death would grant it.

[Dawn]

‟For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.„

IV - Hope As the priest's gentle words caressed the air, her tears flowed freely, a river of emotion unleashed. The mere mention of her parents' names in the ceremony stirred a tumultuous blend of relief and anguish within her soul. In her heart, she held tight to the belief that her beloved departed ones now rest in the Dawnfather's embrace, a notion comforting yet laden with bittersweet longing. Each flicker of the funeral candles that others had lit, made her more grateful for the people she had found herself with now. Grief, she discovered, was a complex tapestry, intricately woven into the fabric of her being. It lay dormant at times, a slumbering beast beneath the surface, only to awaken fiercely in the stillness of the night, a nocturnal predator. Yet amidst the darkness, she found solace in the embrace of her companions as more time was spent with them. They truly felt like a beacon of the Lord. One among them, a fae of unexpected warmth, shattered the barriers of her Barovian prejudice, offering counsel and companionship in equal measure. His presence, like a gentle breeze, eased her fears and ignited within her a newfound courage. As she lived her days in the Sanctuary, came the challenges she expected. Souls in need of aid and compassion visiting the House of Dawn. And for each, her heart ached. She was helped, and she knew if it was not for that, she would have long perished from this world. Sorinia wanted to do the same by others. She found purpose in offering compassion, a salve for her own wounded heart. As she traced the faded initials upon her amulet, the ones that belonged to her late-Mother, she mulled over the direction of her life. And the next day, she made the request to become an acolyte. To learn the ways of the Lord, so she could be one day called Dawnbringer. Someone people would know to seek solace from. She was informed that while she is welcome to walk the path, to be vowed proper when the time comes, His light had to shine through her. Though daunting, she embraced the challenge, recognizing that even in the absence of necessary divine approval, her efforts would not be in vain. For in serving others, she found a purpose greater than herself, a purpose fueled by love. Her mother, would have wanted her to follow this calling. So that day marked her begin on this path. Sitting with the Dawnbringers, talking with the Light Carriers, and praying. Dutifully, lovingly. None of it felt like a chore. It felt right. Her lands were beset by nightmares. She swore she would not succumb to them, nor let anyone else that she can reach. And though she knew the attainment of the Morninglord's light was not the foremost goal, a gentle, hopeful thought lingered in her prayers each night, silently pleading for the divine blessing she sought.

[Dawn]

‟Courage is a kind of salvation.„

V - Deliverance "What brings a nice young woman to such a rough part of this city?" Staring up at the ceiling of the common room, Sorinia's mind was addled with the flashing memories of the night before. Her body, weary and worn, bore the weight of exhaustion, each limb moving with a sluggishness, a painful reminder of the night's events stinging her neck. Sleep came and went as a frivolous visitor, not the fulfilling, restorative one it is supposed to be. For the sake of preventing corruption upon a life claimed by the night, she had set out to the slums to gather the necessary supplies. Dawn was close, and while she knew of the danger she put herself in, at that moment she had chosen to be brave, encouraged by the ambitions of her path. She was prevented from her mission. What surprised her the most was how normal the woman looked. Not the image of a devil from the tales of caution no- a girl, visage not a year older than herself. A humble dress, a scarf reminiscent of her own. Someone she could easily meet elsewhere and mistake for a friend, perhaps even indulge in casual chatter and gossip, the type the girls of a village tend to do, if she hadn't revealed what she was. Sorinia had told her it was dangerous outside before coming to the haunting revelation of her nature. Now she was aware of how amusing it must have been. It was a sobering realization – the lamb cautioning the wolf. Irina Cosovei had mocked her that night, ambushed her, degraded her, and nearly claimed her life. And the first thing Sorinia had felt when she saw her tormentor-in-veil was concern, and not for herself. How absolutely chilling. Yet, as the Morninglord proved every day- even the darkest night was promised to end. After the accursed had gotten what she wanted with her unable to do anything but pray, Sorinia was able to break free of the curse of control she was held under. The first light of dawn was breaking through the clouds, a light flashed between the two peasants of opposing fates, emanating from the Morninglordian. The vampire's wailing filled her ringing ears, and in the blink of an eye, she was alone on the street once more. On her knees, her head spinning, her face ashen. She dragged herself back to the sanctuary in a haze, mind reeling. She would in the coming days come to make sense of what had truly transpired then, that He had blessed her with His Light during that moment of peril. But before that hour of celebration came, she was once again consumed by the restless slumber, and the spectre of the vampire haunting her dreams.