The Awakening/Stories
The Beginning
It was night.
Gauihu had selected the location already. It was at the dead-end of the road which led into the Wasteland Village, overlooking the vast and barren plain, with the slate-gray sea beyond, at the foot of the great volcano of the Chaos Island.
He had a few men with him. Not many. A few farmers and peasants were nearby. Not many. As the new Baron of the Wasteland, he was observed, particularly since he seemed to be doing something unorthodox. But the nature of the Wasteland itself ensured the witnesses would be few.
He stood, and suddenly flung off the wealthy robes he had been wearing. He was unarmored, but removed his gloves and his overcoat. The wind seemed to pick up, blowing ash across the hardscrabble and into everyone's eyes. The crash of the waves upon the rocky shores combined to drown out any words.
He withdrew his dagger. He waited a moment, perhaps to utter words to his God, perhaps merely to steel himself. Then, slowly, he drew the blade firmly and deeply across his left hand, spilling his blood between the fist and onto the flat ground.
Shadowy figures moved now toward him. Laborers, stoneworkers. As he stood they built the Temple around him, out of hard rock brought at expense from the mainland and the sharp volcanic rocks that abounded upon the plain. It was small and went up quickly; soon the gray turned dark, and the Temple rose like a quiet black stone. The sun was long from rising again, but even when it did, the building's color was as blackened as the Wasteland plain itself.
The Awakening had begun.
The First Converts
Part One
Days went by. No one visited the new temple except a few messengers, who entered the temple with wariness but left in apparent mollification - unreadable expressions on their face, perhaps confusion or even boredom. The impression was that nothing was overtly wrong inside; nevertheless the Wasteland Villagers mostly avoided the place.
Life continued as normal. It was near harvest time - but not much to harvest. Small plots of hardscrabble exhibited signs of potato. Stunted trees resembled those which could, theoretically, yield delicious fruit.
In the early evening, an elderly man and woman walked slowly up the road, toward the houses near where the new temple was. They shuffled awkwardly, and the woman, huddling in a shawl, walked with limp; stopping frequently. The sun was a whitish-yellow smear, low in the overcast skies over the ocean.
Suddenly, the man tripped himself and stumbled, almost falling. He regained his balance, glanced to his right (seeing his companion had not fallen), and to the left - and there he was.
The man who appeared now wore a flowing black robe under a large black cloak. He had a stern, weathered and somehow paternal face. Even as he hefted the man up (who no longer needed the help), the man recognized his assistance as none other than Gauihu, having at last exited his temple.
"My lord! Thank you, kind lord!" the man exclaimed in surprise, the question obvious - why have you helped me?. Gauihu only laughed softly in response.
The man started to stutter a response, but now the old woman collapsed, panting as she had been in a wet, phlegmatic way. The man held her desperately, telling her to just breathe, breathe. Gauihu stood; a silent, armless pillar with blue eyes staring out of a marble-carved face. "It is the lung disease," said the former king, "There is no way to save her."
The man frowned at the lord. "M-my lord, please, do not say such a thing." Then, to her: "Breathe, breathe."
"I speak only truth," replied Gauihu. "She is in the final stages. You see? You hear the sound, the straining as she attempts to breathe? That is tearing of the lung tissues. It can only get worse, and more painful, from here."
The man cried, but gazed fiercely at his companion, attempting to smile through the tears, to comfort her - all the while fearing this terrible Gauihu, this Mad King, was right. Voicing his fears, Gauihu then said: "The best thing you can do for her is to leave her be. For soon she will be given a Gift - but only if she, like you or I, is willing to accept it."
"What 'gift?'"
"Eternal peace," Gauihu answered, and the man broke into renewed sobbing. But he stopped to observe her. She lay in the ashen dirt, breathing in shallow, wet gulps. Blood ringed her pale lips. Her eyes were shiny and dark. The breathing quickened, shallowed, and she closed her eyes. The breathing continued - but, slowed, faltered, and finally stopped.
"Do you see?" Gauihu asked quietly.
"Shut up!" the man burst out, and then, ashamed and grieving, he crumpled into the dust, bowing his head as he wept. After a long moment he felt a hand, warm but firm, on his shoulder, and he looked up.
"I speak truth only, my friend," Gauihu said, with such kindness that the man could not doubt it. "Your wife had a long, hard life, full of suffering. Even more, as the sickness grew. There was nothing to do and you knew it, but now she has ended her torment. She knows a peace you or I can only dare to imagine. Her suffering is ended."
To his own surprise, the man laughed cynically, and heard himself say, "So this is it, then? You worship - this? Death?"
"-No. I worship no doorways. And my god requires no worship - he grants his Gift regardless of creed; he offers it to all men and women who come to death, and stand at the door. A door which we all stand before, sooner or later."
"Well, whatever it may be," the man replied. "I need to. I need to move on. I need to get... get her ready. For burial, my lord."
Part Two
Night and darkness. The man buried his wife on the cemetery plot, picking at the ashen earth, the sound of blade striking stones. The harsh breaths he took as he worked. Gauihu stood by, watching this go on for a while, until he broke his pause.
"Ashes to ash," Gauihu commented, as if to himself. His voice carried in the dark, as if the absence of light somehow made his words freer to travel.
The commoner said nothing, only worked. "Your reticence is understandable. A great tragedy has happened to you."
Still no response. Gauihu took a step or two closer. "Your tragedy, however, is quite selfish. Where once you had a living wife, now there will be only a void. How will you fill it up now?"
The sounds of digging stopped. Other sounds were heard - the dragging of a large object in the dirt. Gauihu went on: "So now you face this dilemma. You count yourself lucky to alive, and wish she was as lucky as you. Yet she wasn't, and so you grieve - selfishly, not thinking that she was the lucky one after all."
Finally all sounds stopped but the man, who replied with barely restrained anger. "My lord. Please, leave me alone."
"Yes! You are angry, now! Do not let my rank stop you, dispense with the formalities. Your wife has died, and I tell you that it's a good thing, so how does that make you feel?"
"What is it you want!?" the man shouted. Flickering lights appeared as sleeping - or at least quiet - villagers lit lamps in curiosity. "Yes, I'm angry! She didn't deserve to die, you bastard!"
Gauihu nodded. "And so she deserved to live in torment?"
"She deserved to live in peace, damn you!"
Now Gauihu shook his head. "Perhaps that would have been nice. But this is not a peaceful world, is it?"
The peasant rasped, "No."
And now others began to gather around. Gauihu was visible by firelight, still a white face framed by blackness, his demeanor commanding; practiced. "No, it isn't. And perhaps you know that. We've all heard of stories about great wars on the mainland. We all know the recruiters take whoever they can. Father, son. We all know what happens in war, too. Think, man! Would you preferred that she have died while you were fighting on some frontier battlefield? Alone?"
"I - " the man began, but stopped.
And Gauihu seemed to know anyway: "You would rather she never have died, but lived forever, or at least a little while longer... but more, you wish she had not felt the pain, the fear, and that you yourself would not. But pain, fear, death - these are constants, and there is no peace in this world! Not for you, not for a king, nor emperors, warlords, dukes or barons! Death is as certain as the horrors of war - peace is not. Life is not. Comfort is not. Life is as harsh as this volcanic soil, and who here doesn't know that?"
There were some murmurs from the crowd, which had grown larger.
"Even such as I can't help but desire eternal life and peace. But this desire is misguided and dangerous, I assure you! For who has eternal life on this world? The likes of you or I? No. Only the hideous Undead walk without life, live without ending - and, friend, I tell you from first-hand experience, they know no peace! Their pain and chaos are like hungers that will never be satisfied, because at the moments of their death, they refused to accept the only true peace - clinging instead to immortality, to affairs incomplete, to lovers remaining behind. Where do you think the Undead came from, anyway? They are merely the living - who refuse the one thing that will grant them peace - they refuse the Gift, and consign themselves to the ranks of walking corpses!"
Ilandra and Gauihu
Ilandra walks down the one road in and out of the only town in the region that probably deserves a better name but is known only as Wasteland. Several of the peasantry greet her as she arrives, making sure she is aware of the new faith that has taken hold and been converting their friends and fellow followers of the Church. She tells them she will do what she can but can make no promises, for the gods one holds dear to their hearts work in mysterious ways.
Slowly she strolls out of the town and onwards to the new temple erected recently. The quiet black stone dome hiding well in from of the mountain that gives the region it's name.
It was mid-day and Gauihu was still speaking to the crowd.
He kept by the Temple, allowing for those interested, or not, to listen by staying, or not. As Ilandra strode up along the road - there was only one road in the Wasteland, and it dead-ended right about here - the first thing she saw outside the stony temple itself was Gauihu, dressed still in black robes. He no longer wore his armor and he seemed to be unarmed - though it was hard to tell, what with the voluminous robes fluttering in the wind.
Gauihu spoke in a voice which carried far, depending on the strength and direction of the ever-present winds. Winds which, while pleasantly warm and moist sometimes, were often dry and cold, sweeping aside living vegetation like a scouring scythe. It was this type of wind that now prevailed as he spoke, his own voice ebbing and flowing in energy, hooking new visitors as they came to hear more. People stood with him, in front of him, and farther away; those with him, the core of converts, numbered about 30, including an old man whose wife had just recently passed away.
He was finishing up a long speech - how long, no one was exactly sure, but at least a day continuously. "..and do you see? Your soul, my soul, there is only one choice. Acceptance, or Refusal! Salvation or Damnation! Liberation or Imprisonment! Do you doubt, my friend, the existence of the fiendish hordes of walking corpses? ... Do you doubt, my friends, their torment, their unholy and unending suffering? ... of course not! We all know of the Undead; they are no myth! I have seen them tear apart a living city of thousands, I have heard their wails amidst the burning wreckage! Do you want to become one of their ranks, always dying, never dead? ... Do you want to live forever, chained to this earth like a slave? ... No! Accept the Gift. Accept the Awakening..."
He was a trained orator, trained by experience, and excelling in pontification. Clearly he had gone on like this for hours upon hours; his converts eyes had a deep, glassy look in them, as if they were held spellbound, mesmerized by the dynamics of his voice.
Finally his speech died down, like the wind itself; the crowd slowly dispersed, while many of his converts spoke with him; some went into the temple, others left to go home; others stood by him while Ilandra approached.
Ilandra kept walking, taking note of how many of those he had attempted to convert welcomed her in the name of the Church. Gaihu could speak dramatically, but the effectiveness was still rather questionable. Strangely, she could've sworn a couple more were greeting her that had avoided her yesterday. The word of mouth of the commoners was not a thing to underestimate. Gaihu still controlled the only minority in these islands it seemed.
"Greetings Gaihu Olik. My god led me here it seems for reasons I've yet to fully understand. I did notice something on my approach though. You can draw a crowd, but you seem to lack the ability to connect with them."
Ilandra's simple brown cloak blew slightly in the wind, revealing the longsword she kept underneath. Not a weapon on the Church, but a weapon of Qyrvagg of Beluaterra. She also wore light leather armor underneath that added some resilience to her 5 foot 6 inch figure. Both the metal and the leather that made up the armored were slightly damaged, but still appeared sturdy enough to take a blow if needed. Her time preaching had taught her things that few other priests even attempted to know.
"A priest is more than a spewer of words Gaihu, a priest is the inspiration of commoners and nobles alike. It is knowing how to use this inspiration that will make your words carry far and wide." She advised Gaihu as she stopped a few steps in front of him.
Gauihu listened without comment, thinking his own private thoughts. She paused and he responded.
"Ilandra, of the House of Tian," he replied, with a short bow of his head. "Your experience and wisdom are most welcomed!"
"Yet, I feel inclined to disagree with your assessment. I have connected, insofar as any mere man can connect with others on spiritual affairs," He gestured to those who stood by him.
"Still, I am not here to gain quantity of followers, to subdue minds and gain gold and power. Those who listen, listen - those who don't, do not. In the end, the messenger is unimportant, and the truth is paramount, would you not agree?"
"So the beginning is but a means to an end?" She asked rhetorically.
"Without a beginning" She explained, "There is no end; without a messenger, there is no message to be received. And truth takes as many forms as religion itself. A wordbearer is only as good as the words they bear, are they not? You do show promise though Gaihu, though it is unfortunate that you do not spread the word of my Church.
"Though I do not believe that is the reason I was led here. I believe I was led here in order to learn of what you preach, so I may let those under my wings know what view they should start with."
"Indeed," he replied, nodding. "I am but a messenger, not the beginning of my message. To many, a messenger such as I will not even be needed. To some I will be."
"I understand those - under your wings, may be concerned. New religions, old religions too - these can cause unpleasantness, as we all know. All I can assure you is that I intend no one any harm. You are welcome to stay and listen, though for today I am retiring for a modicum of rest."
