Thraben Cathedral, Gavony, Innistrad
Sep. 4th, 2024 07:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathsmajestyMacher paced the cloistered courtyard in the inner sanctum of the church, an acid unease gnawing his stomach. The courtyard was normally a place of serene comfort for him. A lush, beautiful garden where he could retreat away from the world's horrors and pain, especially in the cool dark night when no other priest walked its paths.
But when the pain was inside the soul, no place offered succor.
Macher stopped his pacing underneath Avacyn's silver symbol, mounted on a long iron pole at the center of the courtyard. Under the deep orange light of the late harvest moon, the pointed edges of Avacyn's silver symbol seemed poised to drip and splash into the mossy ground below, a neat moonlight illusion. Macher's mind returned often to the nature of illusions. Avacyn is real, isn't she?
Macher had no doubt Avacyn existed, of course. He had seen her, had seen her angels. That Avacyn was real was not in dispute. But is she worthy of worship? Is she our god?
Those thoughts he could not escape.
He had been a true believer for most of his life, still just a toddler when his family had abandoned him at the door of the local parish, a fate of many a young child in this corner of Gavony. He had been fed by the church and clothed by the church and protected by the church, introduced to the doctrine of Avacyn before he could even read.
The doubts had started years ago, when Avacyn had mysteriously disappeared. It had been a grim time, the horrors of the world pressing upon Gavony and almost overrunning it. Macher had known Mikaeus, the former lunarch, and the night he had seen Mikaeus as a zombie had been the worst of his life. But then Avacyn had returned, and Gavony was now as safe as it had ever been. Safer. So why should doubt arise after triumph?
The rumors had run rampant through the clergy that Avacyn had been entrapped, imprisoned in the very Helvault in which so many creatures of darkness had been sealed away. The priests spoke of miracles, of Avacyn's power breaking her free from the prison, bringing a new era of light to the world.
But how could a god ever be imprisoned in the first place?
A prayer occurred to him unbidden, and he gave a rueful smile. Avacyn, please exist. Please be true. The full orange moon glowed in the crisp night air. Avacyn's symbol was completely framed by the moon, and the symbol seemingly shimmered and twisted under the orange light. Macher watched, transfixed, and lost himself in the moon's soft glow.
There was a beating of wings behind him.
Macher whirled, his mouth agape, and saw an angel descend. Striking white eyes rimmed with black, large lustrous wings, silver-white hair tinged with orange and red hues from the moonlight. A long moonsilver spear, glowing deep white with sparks of red at the tip, held in her hands. Avacyn. It was Avacyn herself, descending into the courtyard.
She landed, her wings folding behind her, and she stared at Macher. He had never seen her eyes before. Ivory-white irises, but the black frames surrounding the iris caught his attention and did not let go. The black deepened, spread, inky pools dancing, a growing chaos that...
"Do you hear the bees? Do you hear their cries?" Avacyn's words tumbled from her mouth in a rush, breaking the spell of her eyes. Her gaze darted frantically from one side of the courtyard to the other.
Macher did not understand what she referred to, nor why she appeared anxious. "Avacyn, you came! You are here!" he blurted out. He was overcome with relief. He had prayed to Avacyn and now she was here before him. He felt ashamed at his doubt in his god. She is here to lead me back to the light, to truth.
Avacyn's face changed. She stopped looking from side to side and focused on Macher instead. "You prayed for me to come." Her voice was cold, crisp, snapping him to attention. "You prayed to me. You prayed to me because you doubted." There was a scratch to her voice now, a pause before some words as if she was listening for something, or to something. She raised her spear. "There are other ways of ending your doubts." Her lips turned upward, trembling, an awkward mockery of a smile.
Macher shivered in the darkness, looking past Avacyn at the moon and its bright orange light, wishing he were somewhere else.
"Are you pure?" Her words flowed like honey.
"I...what?" Macher did not understand. Many times he had envisioned meeting Avacyn. Never had he imagined an interaction like this.
"Are. You. Pure?" Now each word clear and sharp as crystal.
"Yes! I am pure!" Macher was relieved. His god was angry with him. She should be. He had doubted, but now his doubts were gone. "Pure in my..."
Her words overtook his, left them no room to be heard. "Of course you are not pure. How could you be? You were born." The scorn in her voice as she said the last word was unmistakable. She looked into his eyes, and he once more saw an inky blackness welling up, an endless blackness threatening to swallow him whole...he became dizzy, and almost stumbled to the ground, losing sight of her eyes, and the dizziness passed. He stood back up, careful not to look directly at her. You are not meant to gaze upon divinity.
"Have you lost faith in me so easily, mortal?" Avacyn's lips quirked in a way that would have been a sneer on a human.
Macher sputtered, unable to form coherent words in reply.
She continued, ignoring him. "The more interesting question is..." she paused, and looked up at the dim night sky as if the moon were speaking to her, "...have I lost faith in you?" As she said the word "you," she looked directly at him. He wanted to scream, but no words would come. A wet stream flushed down his leg, puddling at his feet. Terror overtook him, and he crumpled to the mossy ground, clutching himself with eyes shut tight.
Even through his fear and closed eyes, he could sense a luminescence drawing close. A chill shook his spine and he screamed. The scream subsided, and he heard a whispered "Soon," as a light, feathery touch brushed his face. A flapping of wings, and the luminescence vanished. It was a long time before he opened his eyes. He lay there huddled through the night, cloaked in terrifying certainty about the nature of his god.
[Taken, unedited, from "A Gaze Blank and Pitiless," by Ken Troop. (First section of that here.) NFI, NFB. Look, this is just what Innistrad is like sometimes, okay?]
But when the pain was inside the soul, no place offered succor.
Macher stopped his pacing underneath Avacyn's silver symbol, mounted on a long iron pole at the center of the courtyard. Under the deep orange light of the late harvest moon, the pointed edges of Avacyn's silver symbol seemed poised to drip and splash into the mossy ground below, a neat moonlight illusion. Macher's mind returned often to the nature of illusions. Avacyn is real, isn't she?
Macher had no doubt Avacyn existed, of course. He had seen her, had seen her angels. That Avacyn was real was not in dispute. But is she worthy of worship? Is she our god?
Those thoughts he could not escape.
He had been a true believer for most of his life, still just a toddler when his family had abandoned him at the door of the local parish, a fate of many a young child in this corner of Gavony. He had been fed by the church and clothed by the church and protected by the church, introduced to the doctrine of Avacyn before he could even read.
The doubts had started years ago, when Avacyn had mysteriously disappeared. It had been a grim time, the horrors of the world pressing upon Gavony and almost overrunning it. Macher had known Mikaeus, the former lunarch, and the night he had seen Mikaeus as a zombie had been the worst of his life. But then Avacyn had returned, and Gavony was now as safe as it had ever been. Safer. So why should doubt arise after triumph?
The rumors had run rampant through the clergy that Avacyn had been entrapped, imprisoned in the very Helvault in which so many creatures of darkness had been sealed away. The priests spoke of miracles, of Avacyn's power breaking her free from the prison, bringing a new era of light to the world.
But how could a god ever be imprisoned in the first place?
A prayer occurred to him unbidden, and he gave a rueful smile. Avacyn, please exist. Please be true. The full orange moon glowed in the crisp night air. Avacyn's symbol was completely framed by the moon, and the symbol seemingly shimmered and twisted under the orange light. Macher watched, transfixed, and lost himself in the moon's soft glow.
There was a beating of wings behind him.
Macher whirled, his mouth agape, and saw an angel descend. Striking white eyes rimmed with black, large lustrous wings, silver-white hair tinged with orange and red hues from the moonlight. A long moonsilver spear, glowing deep white with sparks of red at the tip, held in her hands. Avacyn. It was Avacyn herself, descending into the courtyard.
She landed, her wings folding behind her, and she stared at Macher. He had never seen her eyes before. Ivory-white irises, but the black frames surrounding the iris caught his attention and did not let go. The black deepened, spread, inky pools dancing, a growing chaos that...
"Do you hear the bees? Do you hear their cries?" Avacyn's words tumbled from her mouth in a rush, breaking the spell of her eyes. Her gaze darted frantically from one side of the courtyard to the other.
Macher did not understand what she referred to, nor why she appeared anxious. "Avacyn, you came! You are here!" he blurted out. He was overcome with relief. He had prayed to Avacyn and now she was here before him. He felt ashamed at his doubt in his god. She is here to lead me back to the light, to truth.
Avacyn's face changed. She stopped looking from side to side and focused on Macher instead. "You prayed for me to come." Her voice was cold, crisp, snapping him to attention. "You prayed to me. You prayed to me because you doubted." There was a scratch to her voice now, a pause before some words as if she was listening for something, or to something. She raised her spear. "There are other ways of ending your doubts." Her lips turned upward, trembling, an awkward mockery of a smile.
Macher shivered in the darkness, looking past Avacyn at the moon and its bright orange light, wishing he were somewhere else.
"Are you pure?" Her words flowed like honey.
"I...what?" Macher did not understand. Many times he had envisioned meeting Avacyn. Never had he imagined an interaction like this.
"Are. You. Pure?" Now each word clear and sharp as crystal.
"Yes! I am pure!" Macher was relieved. His god was angry with him. She should be. He had doubted, but now his doubts were gone. "Pure in my..."
Her words overtook his, left them no room to be heard. "Of course you are not pure. How could you be? You were born." The scorn in her voice as she said the last word was unmistakable. She looked into his eyes, and he once more saw an inky blackness welling up, an endless blackness threatening to swallow him whole...he became dizzy, and almost stumbled to the ground, losing sight of her eyes, and the dizziness passed. He stood back up, careful not to look directly at her. You are not meant to gaze upon divinity.
"Have you lost faith in me so easily, mortal?" Avacyn's lips quirked in a way that would have been a sneer on a human.
Macher sputtered, unable to form coherent words in reply.
She continued, ignoring him. "The more interesting question is..." she paused, and looked up at the dim night sky as if the moon were speaking to her, "...have I lost faith in you?" As she said the word "you," she looked directly at him. He wanted to scream, but no words would come. A wet stream flushed down his leg, puddling at his feet. Terror overtook him, and he crumpled to the mossy ground, clutching himself with eyes shut tight.
Even through his fear and closed eyes, he could sense a luminescence drawing close. A chill shook his spine and he screamed. The scream subsided, and he heard a whispered "Soon," as a light, feathery touch brushed his face. A flapping of wings, and the luminescence vanished. It was a long time before he opened his eyes. He lay there huddled through the night, cloaked in terrifying certainty about the nature of his god.
[Taken, unedited, from "A Gaze Blank and Pitiless," by Ken Troop. (First section of that here.) NFI, NFB. Look, this is just what Innistrad is like sometimes, okay?]
