01-04-2007, 04:13 AM
Dalin sat in Lady Sorentine's office. Her pictures stood proud on the desktop, displaying her with the family of the Chapel, even a picture of Sapphire on the corner edge. The secret winery box she kept inside her desk was now open, a decanter missing from the top shelf. A solemn breeze came through the busted stainedglass window and glazed upon his cheeks, rousing the fine facial hairs, and left as it came. Stilled flower scents wafted from her bedroom.
"How?" He asked himself. "How did they know I was adopted?"
For a couple years Dalin had learned of his adoption. Lady Sorentine and Hermit Arnold told him during the night of his eighteenth birthday, armed with the papers, and Dalin's reserve of Gil for himself. They were the only ones who knew of the baby floating down the Aqueduct in a wicker basket. But did anyone else know?
"Were they old Clergy?" Dalin asked. "But why would they kill Lady Sorentine?" Alot of questions. He could think of these because he was the only man in the Chapel that could defend himself. "To kill a defensless woman."
He unstoppered the decanter and drank. Fragrant whiskey, a product of the Colmer Nectar growing in the garden, which he gave her for a birthday once. Dalin thought she drank all of it. But tasting the flavor gave him a bitter pang in his heart.
"Now what do I do..." He muttered. As he went to stopper the decanter, something clicked. His head panned towards the source, near the floor, next to the desk. To his wonder, the safe door slid open. He left his chair and opened it.
A letter greeted him. The Prayerer picked it up:
Dear Dalin,
If you're reading this, then I am truly dead.
Dalin recoiled in shock.
The safe is enchanted, only to open when my life has expired in this world. Hermit Arnold and Prior Garren also have these, and just like mine, they are for you to open and no one else.
"Why me?"
You are adopted. Your birth parents had left you with little inside that wicker basket, but a year later we started recieving packages from them, from both your father and mother. They urged us not to give them too you until... Until your destiny caught up with you.
Dalin scritched his head. "Destiny?"
You are to protect the Cetra, Dalin.
The statement took its own paragraph. "Protect?"
It's difficult to explain on paper. Your parents were protectors as well, but I fear they sent you here to protect another. For years this other Cetra remained a complete mystery, driving Hermit Arnold into fits one time too many. Until the day I met her by accident. She was sitting on the fountain looking at the seeded garden boxes. I was dusting off the statues when the dust made her sneeze into the flower bed. I thought nothing of it at first, but when I came back after morning services, the said box was brimming with flowers.
"She can't be talking about who-I-think-she-is." Dalin said.
They were after her, Dalin. They wanted her. If my death means saving both your lives then let Salomon smile. You must go now my little boy, and find out this Cetra. Protect her at all costs.
Dalin drowned the last of the whiskey. "Lady Sorentine..."
We thought of some practical things for this journey, and puit them in my safe. Hermit Anorld's holds the gift from your mother, Prior Garren holds your father's. I am sorry for not telling you Dalin. You seemed so happy living as a Prayerer.
The last of the letter was crumpled, but Dalin didn't read it. Tears slickered down his face. He placed the letter on the desk and bent to retrieve his 'practical things', which forced him to mumble in shame. Two potions, food rations, water canteens, and two hundred gil sat on her desk. Too much to waste on him.
Sorentine had spoken about how Salomon failed to save his brother from deah. He was so distraught that his spirit lingered in his brave warriors and gave them doubt, and they lost a major battle for some mountain top. It reminded him of this moment.
Before the past could be embellished, Dalin rifled the other two safes in both Hermit Arnold's and Prior Garren's room. Arnold's safe held a single amulet. Garren's contained a coal-colored, wide-brimmed hat and a black storm coat with a high collar. A simple note on the hat:
These belonged to me when I started my destiny. They helped me on many occations as they will with yours.
Curious, Dalin draped the coat over his robe and placed the hat on his head. It came snug against his forehead, leveling off at the eyebrow, hiding half-his face in a deep shadow. He looked... Mysterious. Must be what his father had on him when he started Witch Hunting.
He placed his mother's amulet around his neck.
*Items Gained: 200 gil, One potion, Beef Jerky, Bottled Water, and an Amulet of the Countess Lost (Prevents Instant K.O.)*
Ensuring the last of whatever gifts meant for him, Dalin decided to give his foster parents a forever good-bye. He placed them upon the altar on the pulpit, finding Prior Garren cut down by bullet holes, and dribbling lantern Kerosene on them. He dribbled it on the pews, the walls, the doors, and the thick carpet.
When the can was empty, he simply grabbed another and took it into the vestibule where the flowers sat. Before they too would be drowned, the Prayerer collected any seedlings he found among them. He placed them in a satchel on his belt. Then the second can was emptied.
Standing outside, he locked the doors. Then, tasting Kerosene on his lips, he struck a match on a flint. It roared to life. Intense heat speckeled his cheeks. He threw it on a Kerosene puddle and a fireball of flame raced across into the door.
Soon he watched the Chapel burn.
"There's nothing for me here, not anymore." He whsipered. "Farewell Lady Sorentine."
He fished a paper inside his robe pocket and pulled it out. Sapphire's address was hastily scirbbled with an oil crayon. "Destiny then."
"How?" He asked himself. "How did they know I was adopted?"
For a couple years Dalin had learned of his adoption. Lady Sorentine and Hermit Arnold told him during the night of his eighteenth birthday, armed with the papers, and Dalin's reserve of Gil for himself. They were the only ones who knew of the baby floating down the Aqueduct in a wicker basket. But did anyone else know?
"Were they old Clergy?" Dalin asked. "But why would they kill Lady Sorentine?" Alot of questions. He could think of these because he was the only man in the Chapel that could defend himself. "To kill a defensless woman."
He unstoppered the decanter and drank. Fragrant whiskey, a product of the Colmer Nectar growing in the garden, which he gave her for a birthday once. Dalin thought she drank all of it. But tasting the flavor gave him a bitter pang in his heart.
"Now what do I do..." He muttered. As he went to stopper the decanter, something clicked. His head panned towards the source, near the floor, next to the desk. To his wonder, the safe door slid open. He left his chair and opened it.
A letter greeted him. The Prayerer picked it up:
Dear Dalin,
If you're reading this, then I am truly dead.
Dalin recoiled in shock.
The safe is enchanted, only to open when my life has expired in this world. Hermit Arnold and Prior Garren also have these, and just like mine, they are for you to open and no one else.
"Why me?"
You are adopted. Your birth parents had left you with little inside that wicker basket, but a year later we started recieving packages from them, from both your father and mother. They urged us not to give them too you until... Until your destiny caught up with you.
Dalin scritched his head. "Destiny?"
You are to protect the Cetra, Dalin.
The statement took its own paragraph. "Protect?"
It's difficult to explain on paper. Your parents were protectors as well, but I fear they sent you here to protect another. For years this other Cetra remained a complete mystery, driving Hermit Arnold into fits one time too many. Until the day I met her by accident. She was sitting on the fountain looking at the seeded garden boxes. I was dusting off the statues when the dust made her sneeze into the flower bed. I thought nothing of it at first, but when I came back after morning services, the said box was brimming with flowers.
"She can't be talking about who-I-think-she-is." Dalin said.
They were after her, Dalin. They wanted her. If my death means saving both your lives then let Salomon smile. You must go now my little boy, and find out this Cetra. Protect her at all costs.
Dalin drowned the last of the whiskey. "Lady Sorentine..."
We thought of some practical things for this journey, and puit them in my safe. Hermit Anorld's holds the gift from your mother, Prior Garren holds your father's. I am sorry for not telling you Dalin. You seemed so happy living as a Prayerer.
The last of the letter was crumpled, but Dalin didn't read it. Tears slickered down his face. He placed the letter on the desk and bent to retrieve his 'practical things', which forced him to mumble in shame. Two potions, food rations, water canteens, and two hundred gil sat on her desk. Too much to waste on him.
Sorentine had spoken about how Salomon failed to save his brother from deah. He was so distraught that his spirit lingered in his brave warriors and gave them doubt, and they lost a major battle for some mountain top. It reminded him of this moment.
Before the past could be embellished, Dalin rifled the other two safes in both Hermit Arnold's and Prior Garren's room. Arnold's safe held a single amulet. Garren's contained a coal-colored, wide-brimmed hat and a black storm coat with a high collar. A simple note on the hat:
These belonged to me when I started my destiny. They helped me on many occations as they will with yours.
Curious, Dalin draped the coat over his robe and placed the hat on his head. It came snug against his forehead, leveling off at the eyebrow, hiding half-his face in a deep shadow. He looked... Mysterious. Must be what his father had on him when he started Witch Hunting.
He placed his mother's amulet around his neck.
*Items Gained: 200 gil, One potion, Beef Jerky, Bottled Water, and an Amulet of the Countess Lost (Prevents Instant K.O.)*
Ensuring the last of whatever gifts meant for him, Dalin decided to give his foster parents a forever good-bye. He placed them upon the altar on the pulpit, finding Prior Garren cut down by bullet holes, and dribbling lantern Kerosene on them. He dribbled it on the pews, the walls, the doors, and the thick carpet.
When the can was empty, he simply grabbed another and took it into the vestibule where the flowers sat. Before they too would be drowned, the Prayerer collected any seedlings he found among them. He placed them in a satchel on his belt. Then the second can was emptied.
Standing outside, he locked the doors. Then, tasting Kerosene on his lips, he struck a match on a flint. It roared to life. Intense heat speckeled his cheeks. He threw it on a Kerosene puddle and a fireball of flame raced across into the door.
Soon he watched the Chapel burn.
"There's nothing for me here, not anymore." He whsipered. "Farewell Lady Sorentine."
He fished a paper inside his robe pocket and pulled it out. Sapphire's address was hastily scirbbled with an oil crayon. "Destiny then."