Carnifex Story Time: The Book of New Life

Galilei

In which a Consanguine Pontifex brings an Lleisian book to life with her reading. Ironic.

Each time I RP with this song, it's a different experiment into how one can play with something already written. I greatly appreciate whoever wrote the Cathres, it has all the psalmic notes I might look for in a text like this.

A spacious common room.
This single room fills the entire second level of the southwestern tower. Large and spacious, the chamber is furnished with an array of couches and armchairs, giving members of the Keep a place to rest when off duty. A massive fireplace dominates the interior wall, keeping the mountain's cold at bay; nearly as tall as a troll, the immense hearth hosts a roaring fire, kept fed by logs large enough to be trees, obviously hauled up from the mountain's slopes - perhaps even as part of training for green recruits. Simple furnishings adorn the hall, hinting at interests pursued during off-hours: one table is strewn with implements for wood whittling, while a surprisingly well-executed painting of the Keep's residents hangs over the fireplace. Tokens from game hunting - a rack of antlers, several polished claws, a quiver of hand-fletched arrows - are scattered across the mantle and the rest of the room's decoration is simple and utilitarian, with weapon racks flanking each door. Sharpened and ready for use, the halberds and bardiches possess their own sort of beauty, their deadly lines tempered by the more relaxed, casual environment of the room. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. A slate leather couch has been placed against the southwest wall. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground.
A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see exits leading north, east, and down.

You have emoted: "I've something far more scandalous than Wylliam and Fanico, actually." Galilei fetches two cushions from a couch, though the one likely for @Bulrok is hardly large enough for his bottom.

Bulrok blinks in mock surprise, holding a hand to his chest. "More scandalous than /that/?" His voice is full of curiosity as the Troll makes his way towards the fireplace. "I don't believe you."

You have emoted: Galilei lays the lone cushion beside Bulrok and sits upon her own. a delicate book of ancient construction makes an appearance from within her pack, and she smiles softly. "The book of the Cathres."

Bulrok takes a plush cushion of jade paisley from a surplus Bloodlochian militia pack.

Slithering into your mind unbidden, an uneasy sense of... something lingers, and as a sinking pit begins to manifest in your stomach, the sickly sweet stench of death makes your nose twitch.

Bulrok produces a familiar looking cushion of his own from his pack, before he lowers himself to the ground, sweeping up the other cushion as he angles his feet towards the fireplace. He then places both cushions on top of one another, the jade one on top to protect it from the floor, and lays himself out, using the cushions to prop up his elbow while he puts his head in his hand. "What's this book about, Pontifex?"

You have emoted: "You'll see the scandal in this." Galilei's lips curve in a little smirk. The firelight reaches her eyes, bringing out their burnt-amber glow. "The Cathres hold praises for none other than... Lady Lleis."

Bulrok's breath catches in a gasp of surprise.

"Not the type of scandalous I was hoping for, but intriguing nonetheless." Bulrok admits with a smile.

You have emoted: "There will be a reading of Fair Fanico and her prince in time," Galilei reassures. Her fingers go about dismantling her boots, buckle by buckle, before sliding both off and stretching out her legs before the fireplace. "A tale of wonder this is, of hope and will and carving one's own path - enough will to bring Gods into being." The ancient book falls open in her lap, to a page much loved from the state of its corners. "I may even sing you to sleep with this one."

Bulrok's smile grows a little, his face soft in the fire light. "Don't make promises you're not going to keep, Pontifex."

You have emoted: "We'll see how capable my voice is," Galilei murmurs knowingly. "The Book of New Life, shall we? It is long enough to be a sermon on its own right." There is nothing to hide the woman's fangs, nothing to conceal the bloody mist at her back. But, as with Bulrok's face, the glow of the commonroom's flames only serves to warm her features.

Dark, alluring whispers lift away from a creeping tendril of jade essence that snakes into the vicinity, twining around anything that gets in its way.

Bulrok shifts slightly, adjusting his position as he gets a little more comfortable. He takes a deep breath and exhales. "Read on, Pontifex."

You have emoted: Galilei's smile is gentle. Who is it she could be seeing when her gaze goes to Bulrok? When her lips part, the courteous, slightly mischievous placidity she usually take up in his company melts into the soft voice of a nighttime storyteller. "Before Hope, there was little."

You say, "The world was cold, and filled with meaningless void. The forces of the elements were harsh, and undirected."

You say, "The land was barren, and empty. What had been created was without feeling, without emotion, without light."

You say, "There was nothing but creation, and the stars above shone alone across the void that was." A heartbeat, and then, music. "The winds blew to the north. What are we?"

You sing, "The winds blew to the west. What are we?"

You sing, "The winds blew to the south. What are we?"

You sing, "The winds blew to the east. What are we?"

You sing, "The sea flowed to the north. What is this?"

You sing, "The sea flowed to the west. What is this?"

You sing, "The sea flowed to the south. What is this?"

You sing, "The sea flowed to the east. What is this?"

Softer now, asking and asking, you sing, "The earth rolled to the north. What are you?"

You sing, "The earth rolled to the west. What are you?"

You sing, "The earth rolled to the south. What are you?"

You sing, "The earth rolled to the east. What are you?"

Bulrok's head hangs lazily in his hand, his eyes latched onto the fire as he watches them dance around the logs. His smile remains, but only slightly, as his muscles seemingly relax entirely while you sing.

You have emoted: "Ideas blew in the wind. Ideas flowed in the sea." Flowing ideas, the flames' dance - one and the same. "Ideas rolled in the earth - ideas grew." With those ideas, Galilei's song also grows, slow like the beginnings of a flowering tree. "It is nothing, called the earth. Why is it nothing? Asked the sea."

You sing, "For there is nothing more for it to be, spoke the Stars."

You sing, "The wind is the wind. The sea is the sea."

You sing, "The earth is the earth."

You sing, "All of creation... Is."

You have emoted: And now song morphs into recitative. The questions are just as soft, Galilei's voice carrying them like the heart of a rippling wave. "Why? The question came to the wind. Why would Creation be, if it was to be so? Can there be nothing more?"

You have emoted: A slender index finger catches the firelight as it rises, moving as though to draw Bulrok's eye. "The barren earth reached up to the august Stars." Galilei's eyes widen, and she murmurs, "And it cried out."

You ask, "What of it? Can there be nothing more to us?"

You sing, "What of the wind? It cannot blow forever."

You sing, "What of the sea? It cannot flow forever."

You sing, "What of the earth? It cannot roll forever."

You say, "Why? The question came to the wind." And for its reply - she is softer, lower, tranquil, for now. "Creation is perfect, answered the Stars. It is as it was created."

You ask, "How can it be? The wind asked. How can this be perfect?"

Every sentence rolling forward like the earth, you say, "The wind blew. The sea flowed. The earth rolled. But there was nothing. The air was without it."

You say, "But there was nothing. The sea was without it."

You say, "But there was nothing. The earth was without it."

You say, "And the Stars answered..."

You say, "And there was Renewal."

Bulrok's eyes flutter once or twice, and the troll adjusts his position, perhaps a little too comfortable before. His eyes move from the flame towards you, his full attention now on the Consanguine as he listens.

You have emoted: Yet, Galilei's face has not deviated from its softness. Perhaps it is indeed someone else she sees lying where Bulrok lies, and her words once more reach out. "It opened itself to the earth, and the earth was new. It opened itself to the sea, and the sea was new. It opened itself to the wind, and the wind was new." A sermon, a story, unfolding with only the whispers of the fire and the cadences of her own contralto voice. "Each blew, flowed and rolled with new purpose. They were Reborn, and they had meaning."

You say, "The wind was to blow. The sea was to flow. The earth was to roll, just as before. But it was new, and they were."

Murmuring, you say, "Creation was as it was."

You sing, "As the earth grew old, it became new again."

You sing, "As the sea grew old, it became new again."

You sing, "As the wind grew old, it became new again."

You say, "But this new idea was not."

You have emoted: "It was alone, among the wind." And that loneliness sings where Galilei would not, without her even noticing. "It was alone among the sea. It was alone, among the earth."

Quietly, you say, "But it had something else; something that creation had not expected for it."

A heartbeat with every murmur, you say, "It had Hope. For where there is Renewal, there is always hope."

Dark, alluring whispers lift away from a creeping tendril of jade essence that snakes into the vicinity, twining around anything that gets in its way.

You have emoted: As long as Bulrok is here, there always would be the flutter of jade. Not the warm, golden-green of beech leaves, not the bottle green of rose leaves, but the clouded green gloss of stone. "Hope for a new day, hope for a second chance." Galilei speaks to Bulrok directly now, whispering hope she did not think she would speak so well. "Hope for direction, hope for purpose. Renewal brought Hope to creation, and the world knew it."

You say, "The wind had hope that it could blow forever. The sea had hope that it could flow forever. The earth had hope that it could roll forever. And the Lady was not alone, for She had hope that - " A wavering, but from what? "That She would be more than She was."

You have emoted: "As the Sun rose over the world, so did She look upon it." The surge has not died, as evening does not spell death of the light but merely a postponing. "Its falling light was constant, and strong. It filled the wind, it filled the sea, it filled the earth. As its waves passed over all things, so were they made warm. She saw..." Galilei draws in a breath her kind would not need, and speaks. "And was awake."

As you continue, Bulrok's breathing comes almost to a stop, reaching the point of relaxation that threatens sleep again. Despite this, his attention remains on you, taking in every word you say, his body entirely still.

You have emoted: So the Sun has risen, and the Lady awoken. Galilei's amber-glow eyes lift from Bulrok and from the tendrils of fear and jade, looking up from where she sits into the towering flame of the commonroom's hearth. Her murmurs pick up, and her voice gives a written tale the soul it needs to come alive again. "To join with the wind, with the sea, the earth, She made a great effort. She called to them, and they knew Her, gave Her their strength."

You have emoted: Deviances from the text in the form of summary - the spirit of Galilei's words would still align. "The earth gave Her its knowledge, granting Her wisdom and awareness. The sea gave Her its dynamism. It promised Her vision and awareness. The wind gave Her its song, and awareness. Voice granted Her the ability to share Hope. Wisdom gave her the ability to know Hope. Vision gave Her the ability to define Hope. She was the wind, She was the sea, She was the earth. She sang."

You say, "As her voice rose through the wind, She thought of many things. She imagined the world. She imagined the Sun. She imagined the Stars."

You have emoted: Longing, unmistakable and thrumming in Galilei's words: "Through Her imagination, such things became a part of Her song."

You have emoted: "The Sun set over the world, and so did She look upon it. Equally beautiful by starlight as it had been by sun, yet She was cold, and worried all would suffer in darkness." Nothing about the emotion beneath the tale is foreign to Galilei, or him. How could it be? "She had only Hope for that which gave Her so much, and so She watched diligently over the wind, the sea, the earth, until the Sun rose again."

You have emoted: "Something new happened, and Renewed even the dreams of Hope herself, of the potential she had seen; As she opened Her eyes to the light of a new day, She saw - " Life. "It swam through the sea, it flew through the wind, it crawled upon the earth. It was everything they were, and more." The flames leap and dance, and it is unclear whether it is to they Galilei speaks, or to Bulrok.

You say, "It passed through the wind, and left it changed."

You say, "It passed through the sea, and it was changed."

You say, "It passed over the earth, and it was changed."

Music in the rhythm, if not yet in melody, you sing, "Through hope, the wind had found purpose."

You sing, "Through hope, the sea had found purpose."

The last three syllables at once a closing and a herald, you sing, "Through hope, the earth had found purpose, and there was life."

Bulrok finally moves a little, lifting his head out of his hand. His elbow raises from the cushions a little, scooting the jade one closer to his body and revealing a sliver of the bottom one. There his elbow rests again as he shifts his body, pulling himself up a little as he leans into the jade cushion and rests his weight on his forearm, leaving his head to only be supported by his neck. The new position offers him a better view of you, still listening to every word.

You have emoted: "What is this? asked the earth. What is it that crawls upon me?" Earth, low and husky. "What is this? asked the sea. What is this that swims through me?" Sea, sleepy in tone yet flowing as all other verses flow. "What is this? asked the wind. What is it that flies through me?" Through it all, tremulous wonder, and for a moment Galilei's mind opens to Bulrok, a glimpse of memory flitting by. While it fades before anyone could catch, there is a warmth that suggests the warm chest of a father to back into and hide in, a safe haven awaiting an exploring child. Not alone, as the world was not alone. "It is Life, She answered, and it is more than any had imagined."

You have emoted: "It was blessed by the Stars, and it was perfect." What Galilei has never seen save for in the forests she had walked, in what mortals had not made. "Just as the earth, the sea, the wind, had been. Life was. Life continued to be. It crawled, it swam, it flew."

You say, "It walked through light, it walked through night. It *was.*"

You have emoted: "What is it? They asked," and Galilei is asking Bulrok, now. For a brief moment her eyes flit to his neck, as though in concern, and her voice calls out to him all the more, aiming to distract from that discomfort. "It is Life, but what is it? Why does it not change? Does it have no Hope? But it is perfect," she insists, and the tranquility of the Stars hold a restlessness that is so very mortal. "It is, called the Stars."

You sing, "You are to blow, wind, blow with Hope, now. You are to flow, waters. You are to roll, earth, roll with Hope, they are to Live, always."

You have emoted: The moment of song is lilting and brief, sweetest of her deviations. When its echoes spiral away into the still air of the Keep, Galilei is murmuring once again. "She wondered. She felt something new. She imagined, and She watched. She came to Life, and She gazed upon it."

You say, "She watched as it crawled, swam, and flew. She watched as it was."

You say, "But it had no purpose. It was perfect, and would stay perfect."

You say, "But in its perfection... it could not sing."

You have emoted: Steadily the pages had turned, and Galilei's slender fingers now lie splayed across one while her other hand gently cradles its spine. Almost lifted, and not yet so. "How can something without song be perfect, She asked. The Stars would not answer Her, yet She would learn."

You have emoted: A passage Galilei knows well, better than memory. "The Stars had told the wind, the earth, and the sea that this was its design. This was perfection. She felt lost, but had Hope. There *must* be something more." You see not a youth raising a clenched fist, promising marching strides; you see a girl lifting her head in a candlelit room, gaze turning from her sewing to the window's pre-dawn gloom. "And so... without the blessing of the Stars... She gave it Hope."

Tremor mingling with placidity, you say, "For She was strong, and would not waver in Her conviction. All things need Hope, for how is potential reached without Hope? It cannot be the will of creation for things to remain Hopeless."

You have emoted: Again, the music is subtle, breathing from her throat and lips on the rhythm of a storyteller. "Her song was sweet, and it rang through the hearts of Life. Life listened, and soon, its very nature - changed. It flew, swam, and crawled, but Life was new." Galilei speaks of a Cycle they both have left, speaking with the fervor of one looking to coax a star from the skies into small and cupped hands. "It began, it grew old, and it came to its ends, only to begin anew once more. It was Renewed, for She was the very idea of Renewal."

You have emoted: "The Stars smiled upon Her work - " Too real, too glad, enough to be painful. "Perfection itself could be improved, for without Renewal, it was not perfection at all. The Stars smiled upon Her work - for the Stars knew the truth." Now, a branch of history that must not have stayed long with Galilei, for her voice is hushed when she continues. "There was something new, some new thought that came to visit Her. Some things new, some new thoughts. They were powerful, and would not be denied through Her concentration."

You say, "Survival was, and would not be denied by Hope. Death was, and would not be denied by Hope. They looked upon Life, and smiled."

You say, "They saw what She had done, and they gave Life their own blessing."

You have emoted: "And the old ideas, they came to visit Her as well, for She was new to them. Truth visited Her and looked upon what She had done." Truth, Galilei's desired guide. "Truth smiled, for what She had done would bring knowledge and awareness to Life."

You have emoted: Artifice, a necessity Galilei and others acknowledge. "Artifice visited Her and looked upon what She had done. Artifice smiled, for what She had done would bring struggle and deceit to Life."

You have emoted: Galilei is silent for a few moments. The narrator is no Star, no Lady of Renewal, and certainly not Her siblings. Yet there is such warmth when she reads the final passages to Bulrok. "The Stars did not visit Her."

You say, "They only smiled."


Bulrok doesn't say anything as the story ends, not immediately at least. The light of the fire dances across his face, revealing a man either deep in his thoughts, or bored out of his mind. His rapt attention to the story likely indicates the former however. "I think I've learned more about a Goddess from that story than speaking with most Order heads." His admission is accompanied by a smile, and his gaze shifts from you to the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance. "Thank you, Galilei." The use of the Consanguine's name rather than title is a new change, as he almost always uses your title when he addresses you. "I'm afraid it's a little late into the week for me, and I need to retire, however."

You have emoted: There is no blanket to draw over Bulrok, though the fire stands sentinel. "Will you rest here?"His name is slower to come for Galilei, but she cannot have forgotten she has never yet called him by his name. All is quiet, and no matter the weather outside the Keep, inside it would be safe and warm, as commonrooms are meant to be.

Bulrok's answer is made known as he leans off his forearm, gripping the cushions and pulling them out from under his side as he lays repositions them for his head. "Mmhm," is all he utters, his eyes already closed as he begins to drift off.

Softly, you say, "Goodnight, Bulrok."

You have emoted: With a gentle clap, Galilei's book folds shut. One last smile, one he may or may not have seen, and then she rises. Her boots are the next to be collected, and she walks out of the commonroom without stopping to pull the heavy things back on.

Thank you for listening.

Bulrok grows still and his lips begin to move silently.