Reminder that when Nokko and his sprodlings are bouncing around singing "Yippee! Wahoo! Nokko Nokko! :D" They're not just cutely saying his name like some sort of comically overpowered far-future sci-fi Pokemon,
happy pride! especially to everyone who is in the closet, in situations too unsafe to come out and to everyone in queerphobic countries. I see you, and I love you.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/?
Word Count: 1,978
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Summary:
It's been many a century since the all Cathedral's corridors had been accounted for, that's the thing with old buildings, you never see all of them all at once.
So when the Sanctuary doors open, Father Allard is caught surprised by a young lady lacking the usual garments of the Sisters, kneeling before an unfamiliar sigil of Lua, Sol, and .. Terra? Touched by the Cardinal and with a despicable distaste for the Cathedral's inhabitants.
Read here below the cut or on AO3!
Roathe rolled his eyes, turning and leaving Eithne to her devices. It was her right to be that way, and he would not offer help she clearly did not seek.
However, when the scent of burning…something, started coming from the Sanctuary, with Marie accusing him of being the cause, well. That simply wouldn't stand.
"I do believe the Terran, is up to some kind of unique heresey that disgusts even me," Roathe practically bitched to Lyon. "And I cannot stand Marie believing that it is I who smells quite that foul. I know to at least keep that mess to the Refractory."
Lyon did not look at Roathe, instead turning and headed to the Sanctuary to investigate on his own. For all her efforts to be respectful, was it possible she was committing a grievous sin? It was impossible to say, though approaching the doors, Lyon shuddered. Burning flesh, much like in Roathe's darkest memories, hovered by the door.
So when Lyon pulled open the doors, he considered whether or not he would see her charred corpse, or the corpse of some poor animal—
Eithne had tied back her hair, and was working cautiously with pale bones over an unfamiliar altar. She jumped, glancing back at Lyon and Roathe, standing in the doorway. With a flick of her hand, Eithne extinguished the small candles, and the smell ceased immediately. She stood, hiding the sizeable altar set-up. It was impossible to conceal the evidence of ground herbs and bones, of a mortar and pestle, and an open book carefully sat to one side, and the green candle set to the opposite.
"Apologies, I didn't hear you knock," Eithne shifted slightly, adjusting her weight on her feet. "Is there something I can assist you with?"
"You've been making this damned church stink worse than an incense I've seen Marie or Lyon burn," Roathe was quick to accuse Eithne, but seeing her cheeks turn pink, he thought himself justified. "You've got to quit it, it's disgusting, whatever you're doing."
"Ah, that's right, you lot use beeswax.. Unfortunately my ritual candles are all animal fats," Eithne shook her head. "I promise it'll be done sooner rather than later."
Lyon watched Eithne's movements, his eye narrowing.
"In what practice does it require you to use such foul candles?" Lyon questioned, "it befouls la Cathedral, we can find you better candles if that is all that is required."
"It's..not. The colored candles actually serve a purpose," Eithne's shoulders dropped with the heavy sigh that escaped her. "Though if it bothers you so greatly, white candles should be fine.."
Lyon's jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "That is not the question, what part of your faith requires this of you?" Lyon redoubled his efforts. He wanted to know, to understand. He had poured over the books on her faith, but it gave him little in the way of actually identifying the differences and more lectures on why it was so wrong. That didn't sit right with him, simply being told it was wrong instead of how or why Terra had been cut from the cloth of the the Luminaries.
Eithne blinked as Roathe scoffed.
"Why does it matter? We've gotten what we needed, hopefully that smell comes out of her clothes,"Roathe muttered, walking off.
It was just Eithne and Lyon now.
Eithne moved, walking around to the other side of the altar with a quiet solemnity Lyon had not expected from her.
"Blessings, born of Terra and the.. You call them the Luminaries," Eithne gestured to the altar. "A practice of care and well-wishes crafted usually in the light of one of the two Celestials." Eithne hesitated, watching Lyon's brow furrow. "One is for Sol's Peace, the other is Lua's Protection."
"And how do you go about asking for such blessings?" Lyon found himself asking as he scanned the open book, his expression softening slightly seeing the guidelines on how Eithne is to make, and seal, said blessing.
"Through meditation, prayer, the usual ways," Eithne hesitated, "And with an offering to each. Sol is not so hard to set up a consecrated offering for, it is Lua whom usually challenges me."
Lyon nodded, watching as Eithne struck a match against the hardened plating that sat just atop her wrist. The candle flame danced with some unknown breeze, and the match was quickly snuffed.
"And why are you making such.. blessings? Does something trouble you?" Eithne's gaze fell upon Lyon as she opened a leather pouch, a shimmering moonstone inside catching the light.
"For you and Marie," Eithne finally relented, "I worry for you both, thinking pain is a necessity to be blessed. To be welcomed by Lua and Sol as one of their children. This.. Will bring me some peace of mind that I have done what I can for you, in a manner that I hope would be kinder than how I was treated for also being different."
Lyon blinked, looking up at Eithne's expression. She meant it, that he did not doubt. The idea the Luminaries had bodies outside of the planetary, that is what went against the faith he had built. The Luminaries were untouchable, vast and beautiful as they were dreadful some days. To think they had blessings to be brought forward with some offerings in an exchange.. Though that was truly no different than asking the Luminaries for a blessing or peace by any other means, like disciplined pains, or the solemnity of prayers..
In fact, it may have been more sincere, given the resources and time simply required to incorporate the third, Terra, into the faith.
"It is…Kind of you, to think of us in such a manner." Lyon nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the altar, his brow furrowing again. "Marie will be pleased to see you thought of us."
"I would hope so," Eithne laughed a little, reaching for the mortar and pestle. She had set aside the moonstone, which seemed to bloom in color under the candlelight. "I have meant to apologize if I misspoke earlier. As much as it, worries, me to see others in pain, I must accept it is apart of your faith just as much as the burning of old bones and the scattering of ashes may be apart of mine."
"It would be more a concern if your faith had you worshipping spiders as Terra's greatest blessing," Lyon spoke without thinking, almost immediately regretting it, if not for the bright laughter it brought Eithne.
"By Lua no! Absolutely not," Eithne giggled, "While spiders are a friend to the planter, they are not by any means worshipped. They are friends, not Gods."
"Dieu merci," Lyon whispered, nodding along with Eithne's remark. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, though the grinding of herbs was a slightly grating sound.
"You.. don't like spiders do you?" Eithne glanced toward the small terracotta pots by the stained glass window.
"Non, I do not. All life under Sol is scared, but.." Lyon could not help how he shuddered, "I would not mind if spiders disappeared."
Eithne chuckled, nodding. "So, if I know where one is, don't tell you?"
Lyon blinked, looking toward the corner himself. He could see the spider silk in the dim lighting, and he shook his head.
"Do not tell me." Lyon looked to Eithne, "And, for the sake of my remaining sanity, do not allow it to wander the halls."
Eithne paused, looking Lyon over. Her brow furrowed, and her ministrations ceased. Lyon could sense the question on the tip of her tongue. "Remaining, what do you mean?" He watched, before she shook her head.
"Ah, so we share a plight then." Eithne teased, perhaps all too lightly. "Those migraines should have clued me in. The lights flashing, the heat of your robes, no wonder you retreat to the quieter halls." She was more careful in her motions, looking down and continuing to grind down the herbs, the sound quieter. "I imagine the pain is more grounding than I anticipated."
That was it, no asking what he meant, but an acceptance and assumption that the pain kept him centered. He blinked, watching as Eithne set down the mortar and pestle, before picking up the candle and dripping some of the hot wax into the ground herbs. Lyon watched as the scent of lavender and.. moonflower? Hit him, almost calming his nerves. For a moment, his mind was entirely quiet. Lyon's shoulders dropped, causing Eithne to look up with a smile.
"Smells better than the candle, huh?" Eithne offered for him to talk if he wanted. An invitation for perhaps the lowest stakes conversation they'd had to date.
But Lyon simply nodded, a subtle smile dawning across his face as she worked.
Lyon did not realize how long he had been watching Eithne, but she did not shoo him away, instead returning to her ritual and prayer in silence. Marie came up to investigate, worried that Lyon had come down with another megrim. To see Lyon, quietly watching Eithne work, and finding the sweet scent of lavender.. It warmed her heart to see him happy.
"Eithne, Lyon, whatever are you up to?" Marie made her presence known, and Eithne lit up.
"Ah! Marie, perfect timing, dear Sister," Eithne sounded so elated, setting down her materials, again brushing off her dress. This time Lyon noticed, the green stains on Eithne's fingertips, the knotwork patterns along the hems of her dress, the small patches done by hand and the layers in her skirt she had taken care to organize. Lyon looked to Marie.
Eithne lifted a small, Sol-patterned satchel, which was sealed shut with a golden color wax. It had the soft scent of lilac, and perhaps warmed sunflower oil. Eithne held out one hand to Marie.
Marie lifted her hand in turn, and Eithne gently pressed the golden satchel into her hand.
"From Sister to Sister, I offer a blessing-spell of Sol, for guidance and protection and peace. Whatever it may look like for you." Eithne carefully guided Marie's fingers to close over the satchel. "I.. Sincerely hope you like it.."
Marie blinked, opening her hand up as she looked at the satchel. She smiled, giggling, holding the satchel.
"The Blessing of Sol? In such a small satchel?" Marie questioned, rolling the satchel around in the palm of her hand. It was a sweet perfume, that was for certain, and there was a soft clicking as it moved in her hand.
"Yes, in such a small satchel, to keep and to hold, in case the days of prayer alone leave you feeling lonely." Eithne was quick to answer, "Think of it like a.. a different version of prayer beads,a way to ground oneself."
"It is a lovely thought," Marie giggled, looking to Lyon for direction. Lyon nodded, a soft smile on his face. Marie looked back at the satchel, the sigil of Sol beautifully woven into the shimmering fabric. "Merci, Eithne."
"Tá fáilte romhat, Marie," Eithne bowed her head for just a moment. Marie and Lyon blinked, looking to one another. Marie lit up even more, looking to Lyon. Lyon tilted his head, before turning to step out of the Sanctuary.
"You hear that? Such a beautiful sound!" Marie giggled, following Lyon. Lyon could not resist the small chuckle that escaped him, nodding to Marie.
"Oui, perhaps we were all just too quick to judge one another.." Lyon relented, stepping into the surge of the voices again, but feeling somewhat prepared for them. Their anger was no longer directed at her, if anything, there were whispers to learn more of her practice, to witness more. Not to practice it himself, of course not, that would be heretical, but…
Perhaps it was not Terra who at fault for being cast out of the Luminaries circle of worship.
Discovery - The Last Worship of Terra Chapter 4 art piece
Synopsis for chapter 4. Roathe tattles on Eithne, getting Lyon involved again when he smells something burning from the Sanctuary. Lyon discovers some of Eithne's "medicines" and pouches with small bows for both himself and Marie.
What's inside? Spellworks considered heresy by the Church of Lua and Sol, yet so lovingly crafted, it's almost hard to decline the idea they might just be a show of care for them.
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Summary:
Lyon, Marie, and Eithne discuss how medicine can be used to relieve pain, to minimal success. Roathe then corners Eithne about an endocrine disorder with no name. (Loosely based on the author’s own endocrine disorders, yaaay!)
Read on AO3 or below!
"Medicine?" Marie raised an eyebrow, "You know how to make medicines?"
"I do," Eithne laughed a little at Marie's surprise. Eithne glanced over Marie, her eyes widening seeing her feet for a moment. "You take anything for the pains?"
Marie blinked, glancing down, before shaking her head.
"Non, nothing, pain is a balance in life we all must manage in our own ways." Marie was quick to dismiss the thought, the hope, that the pain would ever fade. Eithne's brow furrowed, and she shook her head.
"Sister," Eithne started gently, "You know Sol blesses the life beneath your feet, that the world around is alive because it can grow with his gifts of light. Why not ask his blessing in helping make the pain lesser? To reclaim some time lost to pain to devotion, perhaps even joy in Sol's light?" It was question of whether or not the resistance was purely religious, or perhaps just a set denial that the pain could ever change.
Lyon shook his head, his voice low, "You need not answer her, Marie. We all keep our pains for our faith, reminder of what blessings and penances we pay for the Luminaries."
Roathe scoffed, shaking his head, taking his leave to his room.
Eithne, on the other hand, paused, looking to Lyon. Her grip around the rosary tightened, and her eyes narrowed.
"You pretend as if all suffering is holy, I have despised those under Lua who cannot differentiate between penance and needless suffering. Simply because the body revolts does not mean it is a punishment!" Eithne finally stood, meeting Lyon's gaze. "But I suppose all pain in punishment in the name of the Luminiaries if you hate yourself enough."
Marie moved back, her eyes wide as she glanced between Eithne and Lyon. Lyon's jaw tightened, his shoulders rising slightly, his eye narrowing.
"You know nothing of us," Lyon spoke, before turning his back on Eithne. "Le Cardinale was correct to have you hunted."
Eithne didn't flinch, letting Lyon walk away. Marie moved toward Lyon, shaking her head. The contempt for such an accusation was overwhelming, Lyon could feel his heart hammering, the heat of anger and the chorus of voices screaming at him to strike Eithne down, to purge the new snake that had dared spoil such consecrated grounds. Walking away was the greatest mercy he could grant her.
So when she did not follow, instead heading elsewhere in the Cathedral, the thought dawned across him and Marie that Eithne knew exactly how thin the ice was that she so readily tread on.
So the quiet of the next few days; the cleaning of the pews, the pillars, some of the hidden rooms; the silent replenishment of incense, candles, parchment and inks; the quiet introduction of a few small sprouts in well-worn pots like lavender, sage, frankincense, and cardamom that brings a quiet, reverent life to the dusty, stale air of the Cathedral; feels less like a reverent apology, and more like a statement that insisted on its own importance in the fold.
For all her efforts to infuriate the triad, Eithne was, in fact, quite helpful, and respectful of the designated spaces, once she learned where they were. Eventually Roathe was the one to break the uneasy silence.
"You mentioned making medicines, what of posions?" Roathe bluntly inquired late one evening.
"No, Roathe, I will not have you poisoning the communion wines." Eithne continued her task of watering the plants, carefully cutting a few leaves and preparing them to dry.
"That was not my intention, not at all, Druid." Eithne froze, her hand hovering over the next plant as Roathe spoke. "You've demonstrated such a striking familiarity with the plant life, with the making of incense and medicine, I was simply curious, do you know what it takes to kill from a distance? Have you ever tried?"
"You do not get to call me by that title," Eithne glared at Roathe, setting down the small pruning shears. "And I certainly see no need to tell you of the bloody pasts, you should know them well enough by now, Carnus."
Roathe laughed, the sharp end of his tail trailing along Eithne's throat. He could feel her pulse under the blade, but as the blade traced up her throat, he paused, a strange irregular bump where the neck should be smooth caught his attention.
He tilted his head, stepping closer. "Careful, child, you don't know which den you're kicking." Roathe moved the blade away, watching Eithne's slow exhale. "You used medicine to survive."
"Who hasn't?"
"Not like that, medicine is a constant, you grow what you need in order to survive, and Loid.. He comes to see you, doesn't he? I've seen him handing you something in exchange for whichever the Cavia have requested." Roathe pressed, standing firmly in Eithne's way.
"That is my business, between myself, the Triad, and Loid." Eithne turned her back to Roathe, cautiously rubbing at her throat, checking for any blood drawn. "The Cavia only know me to grow plants they enjoy."
Roathe took ahold of Eithne's shoulder, turning her back around. He stared at her hand, her face, that strange puffiness that had been there when they first met had gone down, she seemed slimmer, her joints less stiff in her movements.
"You're healing something deeper than some surface wound," Roathe's voice rumbled in the back of his throa, not knowing what exactly had him… Somewhat nervous, admittedly. If Marie or Lyon got sick, he'd never hear the end of it, "What pestilence takes to you? Have you already infected the rest of us?"
"It's not catching," Eithne watched Roathe's reaction, the hardness of his expression softening as she spoke, though his brow remained furrowed, and his stare boring into her features. "It is a chemical imbalance that mimics common illnesses, sore throats, joint pains, but I assure, they cannot catch if from me, they would have already had it."
"It has a name?" Roathe asks, and Eithne shakes her head.
"Not one that's well-known, a goiter simply put. Nothing they can catch from me." Eithne finally relented, stepping away from Roathe. Roathe's shoulders dropped, and he sighed, nodding warily.
"So you have an endocrine disorder, like Entrati's family above.. Lovely." Roathe rolled his eyes, "There was no need to be so secretive with it, there's nothing shameful about a revolting body."
"You're using my words against me," Eithne scoffed, "It is not shame that I hide it. I simply do not wish to add to the burden of others with things that are already managed and cannot change."
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Warframe
Word Count for Chapter: 1,387
Summary:
Lyon, Marie, and Roathe discuss and reconcile some differences with Eithne, the new protoframe who appeared in the Sanctuary. Discovering a worshipper of Terra means figuring out how to navigate the religious similarities, and notable differences.
Read here or on AO3! Next chapter of the longfic, just everyone getting to know one another really.
So when Roathe descended the stairs, carrying the young lady like a princess, Lyon watched. Marie looked between Lyon and the stranger.
Roathe's voice was a harsh rasp, his hands trembling as he set the stranger down in the back pew.
"She lives." Roathe briskly walked to his usual spot. "Eithne is alive."
Lyon looked up from the scripture, having just found the sigil that had been painted on the back wall. He now understood Eithne to be a worshipper of Terra, a woman of medicine and groundedness through her devotion to life under her fingertips. The Scriptures of Terra were considered heresy, in his time, but in hers, they must remain pillars of her faith, for the Celestials without the Earth that harbors their worshippers are.. Nothing.
Heretical, but faithful nonetheless, still accepting of the balance hidden in Lua, and basking in the light of Sol. Perhaps the perspectives of a Terra worshipper would shed some light on the older scriptures.
"Very well," Lyon nodded, glancing at Eithne from the altar, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. The familiar bio-metal plating had solidified against her skin, the gold having faded to a warm earthy brow, and her dress having shifted to that same emerald green of her eyes. The plant life once sprouting from her back are now firmly imprinted patterns on the new plating. "Why bring her down from the Sanctuary?"
"That, you need to see for yourself, Lyon." Roathe slumped into his chair, letting his head dramatically roll back. "Eithne seems to be, for all intents and purposes, a Priestess of some variety."
Roathe tossed an unfamiliar rosary in Lyon's direction. Lyon caught it without looking, glancing down at the jade beads with interest. The beads were connected by an aging copper chain, with a small book charm at one end. The well-worn book had writing on it's pages, of plant life and their medicinal properties, of prayers to honor Terra, and either Sol and Lua if they blessed the harvest. Lyon barely scanned the pages, looking to Roathe.
"And did you take anything else from her person?" Lyon set the rosary carefully on the altar, next to the book he had been reading about Terra's last worshippers. "You are uncharacteristically exhausted, Devil."
"Because she fought me every step of the way," Roathe laugh was a wry, dry sound. "She's just as sycophantic as you and Marie, though not to that beloved Cardinal. It was a breath of fresh air just to be called some Inquisitor's moppet."
"Le Cardinale? An Inquisition?" Marie asked, moving toward Eithne, her brow furrowed. "No holy wars were being waged in our time, were they?"
"Non," Lyon shook his head, watching as Marie approached Eithne. "There was no inquisition when le Cardinale approached us." He moved slowly, keeping his distance, but watching as Eithne shifted in the pew, coughing as her body shuddered.
"W-where-?" Eithne spoke, her voice hoarse as she lifted her head first, pulling herself up in the pew. Her gaze met Marie's first, before that scowl returned. "Oh, the Inquisitors holiest devotees.. Right."
"There is no need to be so bitter," Marie scolded, shaking her head. "We are not he who put you through this."
"No, but you did sic the Devil on me," Eithne countered, looking to Lyon. That scowl stuck, but Eithne did not stare at him for long, looking back to Marie. "I'm right to be under the impression I'm about to be beaten again within an inch of my life?"
"Non!" Marie gasped, shaking her head. "We do not— why would you be under such an impression?"
"The thurible looks awful sharp for someone who says they don't beat the heretics," Eithne's initial impression was correct, that the thruible was indeed sharp, but it was not for use against those who might have some hope of being redeemed. "Besides, our sects don't exactly get along, Sister."
Marie raised an eyebrow at Eithne's tone, as she sat up despite the angry protest of every fiber in her body. The mop of terracotta colored hair in desperate need of a wash, ferns and flowers woven in like a beautiful chaos that starkly contrasted the clean, dark, damp world of the Cathedral.
"You consider three Gods a little too pagan, not enough divinity to go around, right?" Eithne continued, and Marie hesitated, looking to Lyon.
Lyon could feel his teeth grinding, the audacity of this woman, to be so certain of where she stood with them, when she hardly knew anything. A victim of circumstances he was unsure of. His next words were measured, as calm as he could manage without scolding her.
"That may have been true, where you have come from, but here, faith is faith, regardless of to whom you pray." Lyon watched as Eithne's expression flickered, from anger, to confusion. Her eyebrow raised, and she turned her head to him. "The thurible is for purposes of cleansing agonies, yes, but not against another unless the lives of those present is threatened. It is a tool of my worship." That's when the anger fully broke, and Eithne's expression softened.
She looked to Marie, shaking her head. "He's serious?"
"Oui, what reason would he have to kid with you, madam?" Marie smiled a little, seeing the change in expression, "We mean you no harm. It is clear you share our faith in Lua and Sol alike."
Eithne nodded, mumbling halfheartedly, "I am aware of the Luminaries, or we'd call them the Celestials.."
Marie nodded, smiling, eager to bridge the gap. "Oui, and so long as we can respect that in each other, we have no reason to fight."
Eithne looked to Marie, and for a moment, she could almost agree with the Nun before her. Eithne sat proper in the pews now, finding the most delicate way to put the next part.
There was no delicate way, as Eithne reached for her pocket, not finding her rosary. "And you do not think me a heretic for my worship of Terra?"
Marie's lips pulled into a thin line and she sighed, "We cannot judge based on an addition, so long as the light of Sol and Lua are present as well."
"They always are, otherwise Terra would be nothingness as well," Eithne was quick to respond, the guard in her shoulders dropping. "A triad's balance is not all that different to a duo's balance."
Marie smiled, moving to sit with Eithne. "Then we were never enemies."
"Right, I apologize for being so harsh earlier," Eithne rubbed the back of her neck, taking a deep breath. "I will admit, I am not used to the Sisters and Brothers of Sol and Lua being so accepting of a Child of Terra."
"Would that be because of your biting wit?" Roathe taunted, languidly laid across his chair, his tail flicking up as he glanced across the room.
"No," Eithne answered honestly, "the Inquisitor insisted upon a singular truth, that the scriptures never mentioned Terra as being worth worship. That worship of the Earth was demonic, and lacked the reverence a true devotee ought to have. As if we were lesser for bringing glories to our own homes!" Her voice raised in pitch,before deflating into a defeated wheeze. Lyon stared. "Called us snakes, venomous and dangerous to all who listened. I should have beat him over the head with my Shillelagh.."
"Shillelagh?" Marie tilted her head, and Roathe shook his head with a cruel laugh.
"You mean that wooden cane you tried to beat me with? It wouldn't have left much of a mark on him!"
"Maybe not, but it woulda made the point that he wasn't all that rational, when I saw 'im," Eithne sighed. The Shillelagh appeared in her hand, and she leaned on it. There were a series of straight notches that seemed all to deliberate, as if spelling something out. Lyon shook his head, before offering Eithne her rosary, the little book and all, back.
"Oui, he may have done well with some sense not to leave his devoted behind," Lyon spoke quietly, watching as Eithne carefully took the rosary back. She pulled it over her head, tucking the booklet back under her dress. "The book on your rosary, what is it's purpose?"
knowing that Lyon’s VA is a tumblr lurker and shitposter is one thing but realizing he trawls ao3 and there’s very much a non-zero chance that he’s read your very explicit fanfiction about his character is a whole other ballgame
Word Count: 1,447
Fandom: Warframe
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Summary:
It's been many a century since the all Cathedral's corridors had been accounted for, that's the thing with old buildings, you never see all of them all at once.
So when the Sanctuary doors open, Father Allard is caught surprised by a young lady lacking the usual garments of the Sisters, kneeling before an unfamiliar sigil of Lua, Sol, and .. Terra? Touched by the Cardinal and with a despicable distaste for the Cathedral's inhabitants.
My goal is to make myself cry for this series, so we at least have 3 chapters until we get there lol. Enjoy! Be safe!
Read on AO3 or below!
"It may be wise to inspect other parts of the cathedral, Father," Loid had been cordial, taking note of the changing structures. "It appears you and Sister Marie will have plenty of space, even an opportunity away from Roathe."
Hence began the never ending task of recreating the maps of the Cathedral, as it appeared to them now. Roathe was relentless in his nagging about dusting, until Marie politely shoved a duster into his hands.
"Was your idle hands that brought you here, Devil, oui?"
Roathe ceased his complaints immediately when faced with the threat of actually working, instead taking his time to idly wander the corridors.
Lyon had taken his time, using the darkened corridors as escapes into the quiet for his mirgrims. He had discovered they both tended to stay away from the double doors labeled with "Sanctuary". Perhaps it was by Lua's blessing that it had been his hidden escape, though he had yet to open the doors.
At first, he thought the sobbing was just an echo of the voices, acknowledging the pains of the migrims, the cracks and pulses of pain that wrapped around his head and stabbed behind his eye. But then Marie came to him, late one evening.
"I am afraid, Lyon," She spoke quietly, looking over her shoulder. "I continue to hear the cries of someone in a great deal of pain. You would say something if you were hurting that badly, oui?"
"Oui, Marie. I assure I have not kept my late pains a secret from you. Are we certain it is not the Devil mourning his own sins?" Lyon's gaze flickered to Roathe. Roathe raised an eyebrow, staring back at Lyon.
"If it was, you would know. I do not weep so easily for relics." Roathe hissed, his tail flicking with his agitation. "Are you certain you're not falling into the same madness as our dear Priest, Marie?"
"Non, and if you speak of it again I will cut your tongue from your throat." Lyon glared at Roathe, that seething hatred for the Devil bubbling up once again. Marie looked to Lyon, shaking her head.
"Then I have not been the only one to hear her weeping?" She sounded hopeful, and Lyon nodded, looking back to her. His expression softened, reassuring her as best as he could.
"I have also heard the weeping, I had thought they were an echo of the mirgrims," He confessed. "Perhaps Monsieur Loid was right to urge us to map la Cathédrale, especially if there is someone here who weeps so loudly as to disturb us."
Lyon stepped past Marie, his brow furrowing. This time he was listening, and Marie gasped as the weeping echoed through the halls.
"Oh la pauvre âme," Marie whispered, following Lyon through the halls. "Are they in the Sanctuary?"
"That musty old place?" Roathe scoffed. "It has been weeks! If anything is left, it is their bones and we're listening to the Ghost of the faithful trapped in a faithless afterlife."
"Or it is the damnedable Murmur," Lyon murmured, picking up his thruible. For the moment, the voices have gone quiet, perhaps in anticipation for bloodshed to come. It was the one thing they all could agree upon, after all. Roathe barely trailed behind, watching as Lyon move with purpose toward the Sanctuary doors.
Lyon whispered a prayer to Lua that it was not some twisted trick of the Murmur, but an understanding dawned across his mind with their proximity to the InDifference itself, the doors may need reinforcements to keep the danger at bay.
The wooden doors loomed now, the tarnished sign above the door glittering in silver as the candlelight danced within the halls. Marie stayed back with Roathe, as Lyon pulled open the doors. Dust greeted him first, that musty inhale of old parchments and ancient dirt hitting his nostrils first.
He blinked the dust away, the light filtering in. The sobbing was at its loudest now, and he stared at the floor. There, a woman on her knees, elbows pressing against the hardened stone, sat, aching sobs escaping her as ferns and petite blue flowers blossomed from her back. Her terracotta hair splayed across the floor, nearly coverly the soft blue and gold dress that clung to her form. She was not a Sister of the church, nor was she any convert he had ever seen before.
His gaze flicked up into the room, this Sanctuary where she sat, for Gods only know how long, was dusty and cold. There were shelves, with what once were potted herbs, to one side, sat in front of a now dim stained glass window. Behind her, was the sigil of both Lua and Sol combined, with a strange third element. In the center, Earth sat, with a knife inlaid over it's visage. Not a sigil the church would ever recongize, and it was never noted in the scriptures as being an acceptable omage to Lua and Sol.
The rasp of the woman's voice drew his gaze back down. Marie moved in closer, her eyes widening.
"Terra forgive me-" The woman hiccuped, one hand coming to her chest. Roathe even paused, before he grumbled.
"Oh lovely, yet another pious child to deal with-" Something wrapped around his ankles, and the woman looked up, those blazing green eyes angry, hurting. She sat up, leaning back, her chest blooming with the changes of the Cardinal's blessings. The vines crept up Lyon's legs as well, but Marie was out of reach.
A Shillelagh appeared in the hand of the woman, and she shook, her eyes still watering.. Marie shook her head as Lyon moved to strike her.
"Wait! Wait, madam-" Marie moved closer, holding up her hands to show she is not armed. "You are in a place of peace, la Cathédrale, and it appears you have met le cardinal."
The woman spat to one side, her expression hardening.
"You mean that fuckin' genocidal earth shatterin' Inquisitor?" She spoke rather harshly, that Irish accent finally clicking as being so to Lyon. "Yeah, I met 'im. I ain't dying at the hands of his Priests and Nuns."
"Dying, perhaps not, but you'd be wise to let them help," Roathe spoke up, the vines retreating for a moment, singed by the heat of his hellfire. "You're in the middle of the change, and it is quite the painful experience."
"And why would I take the word of a Devil?" Roathe found himself halfway laughing and halfway scoffing.
"Because even the Devil knows the value of information. And hearing Terra invoked like she's still a goddess is immensely fascinating. At the very least you can explain your pagan differences to a curious mind." Roathe slipped forward, tilting his head as the woman screwed her eyes shut, leaning forward, sweat dripping from her brow. "Hearing Albrecht being called an Inquisitor may also break the illusion of him being such a loving Cardinal."
She spat right in his face, earning a startled yelp from Marie.
"I'd rather die."
"Non, no one is dying. If you wish to be alone with your agonie, then we know well enough to leave," Lyon asserted himself, anger burning in him like something fierce. At least she was sided with him on the issue of Roathe, at least for the moment. "You will not taint la cathédrale with your dying, nor will you stain it with your profanities."
"Or what? You'll get the switch, or are you one to truly use the thurible for all it can be used for?" She challenged Lyon.
Lyon stiffened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the thurible tighter. Marie covered her mouth, looking to Lyon for a moment, before rage overtook her.
"Espèce d'insolent-!" Marie looked half ready to beat the newcomer to death herself, but Lyon took her by surprise. His free hand was firm on her shoulder, his voice low.
"Enough, Marie. It is clear they are in pain enough. We will see how they feel once their changes have taken full effect." Lyon scowled at the strange newcomer. "Roathe, do as you please. We are going back to the altars. I pray the cleansing pains to come will aid in you seeing your grave errors."
Roathe tilted his head, before a wicked smile crossed his face.
It would be days before he, or the stranger, would be seen again by Marie and Lyon. Marie would ask if they should check up on the two. Lyon shook his head, moving to the scriptures, reading the old books well for any mention, any recollection, of the sigil painted in the back of the Sanctuary.
It's been many a century since the all Chapel's corridors had been accounted for, that's the thing with old buildings, you never see all of them all at once.
So when the Sanctuary doors open, Father Allard is caught surprised by a young lady lacking the usual garments of the Sisters, kneeling before an unfamiliar sigil of Lua, Sol, and .. Terra?
Y'all feel up to reading a tragic longfic? Cause I feel like writing a tragic longfic lol, keep an eye out here for the first chapter post!!
Summary: Drifter is confronted by Loid on behalf of the Devil’s Triad and the Hex, with concerns about emotional distance after Drifter had been so encouraging to everyone else about opening up, and distant about their own emotional trauma. It’s time Drifter takes their own advice, and it takes a fight to get it to click for them.
kianamaiart
2087
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
areudirty
janainaart
