Author Topic: {{ A Pewter-Pressed Psalter }}  (Read 133 times)

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SergeantWombat

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on: July 02, 2020, 03:23:28 AM
{{ This simple but well-crafted black book is inlaid with an artfully styled pewter 'V'. It contains personal notes and elements of liturgy among pages and pages of hand-transcribed sheet music and devotional lyric craft. }}




SergeantWombat

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on: July 02, 2020, 03:27:17 AM
Quote from: Entry I
I pray what I hope to impart upon these pages does not constitute some vainglorious self-indulgence. But if I am to write, for Heaven and for House—to be the Cantor of this blessed Congregation as I am sworn for life to be—I surely must find some means to purge myself of the thoughts that plague me.

The past nights in the Refuge have been dully somber, and justly so, these hallowed halls echoing with many steps fewer than they did just a few sunrises prior. Brother Belisarius and Brother Lucien have been taken from us in craven disregard for honor, in a spitting upon the Ward, and gentle Brother Collen has cast away his colors and returned home. I do not blame him, of course. The House grieves, for our brotherhood is holy and our camaraderie leal.

And the Lictor—Liam...

It feels so long ago, when I first met him as a Novitiate in the chapel. What a fool I must have seemed, singing a psalm—"And Now Stand Ye Beside Me," it was—for the joy to hear my voice resound in such glorious, inspiring architecture. Looking back, I suppose in some way I had hoped someone would hear me.

But now the night is darker, a cloud of bloodshed and uncertainty hanging black and brooding over our home. The Lictor has taken the Heavensight Fast; to mourn, to be alone, to further plumb the depths of his devotion? I would never question his piety, but he refuses even the allotted daily tack, and I worry deeply for him. I worry for all of us—he is a font of faith and courage for the Refuge, a leader among the bannermen of Lord Adaias. He must recover, whatever I must do.

Even still, the sun rises. We march on. Preparations for the funeral rites have begun, and soon we will see our fallen off to Heaven. And then we will do what must be done.

Our Lord has called us, and The Golden Chorus is without end.

Tomorrow, it is a dirge we sing.






SergeantWombat

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on: July 17, 2020, 01:01:40 AM
Quote from: Entry II
It would be to turn a blind eye, were I not to look upon the congregation and see that they—we?—grow weary. Where once we were so vibrant, so driven, so bound together in our oaths... I fear much has been taken from us, between the reckless actions of the Ward and the war. I see my brothers and sisters in passing, in the many corridors of the Refuge, though rarely do we share the same wing or the same path for long. I miss their camaraderie.

Though he returned to us from his fast, the Lictor has now gone into permanent seclusion in a cloister of the Lord. I do hope, with all my heart, he finds the peace he seeks there—perhaps I was wrong about him? Or perhaps that is just spite, ire, upon my tongue. I considered us friends, and I looked to him as a man of great faith and principle—I still do, of course—but I cannot claim to understand his choice. I do think, often, of the scar upon his face... the look of distant horror in his eyes, the memories of his struggles against the Torc.

I pray for him. I pray the stillness of the monastery is solace for him, where he found only chaos and death serving the House.

And where, then, do I find solace? To toil in Heaven's name, to do the work of the Lord: these are meant to be enough for the faithful. I fill the shelves of the Holy Library with canticles and psalms, I pen works to bring prestige to the Holy Family, I sing the liturgies of our Lord...

I was a music teacher, tutoring the sons and daughters of lesser nobles, when I found myself drawn to the House of Nephezar. Violin, mostly—the occasional request for lessons on the harp or mandolin. Swearing fealty to the Family was a matter of faith, of course—not the other way around—but I confess here, too, that it was because I sought more.

I sought to write grander works, of the inspiration of Heaven itself, to reforge myself in golden light and capture with my voice and music the very nature of my love for our world and how to better it.

And still—I seek.





SergeantWombat

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on: July 21, 2020, 06:20:48 AM
Quote from: Entry III
Not even prayer can shake death’s dreary shadow tonight, I fear.

Shortly after I joined the Holy Family’s service—Liam and I were still Novitiates, then—the congregation thrived with such life, teemed with such promise.

And now?

Broxin, Danielle... we are all that remains of our cohort, now, with Padernig gone. In the wake of our companions, we three Censors yet stand in our solemn vigil.

How worldly, my concerns for my companions’ grief.

What am I, to them...? To my House?

I feel more with each day that passes that I am no leader, else I would have steered us differently, taken charge in the Lictor’s absence.

Some days it feels more akin to a steward’s work: tidying the ranks, overseeing the junior members as they come up, entreating politely with retainers of other Houses in their visits (lest they forget the Nephezarim are incapable of hospitality and temperance).

Or perhaps I am a glorified librarian, dusting the shelves of the Holy Library each time I add another work for the public’s entreatment with the Lord’s faith.

Perhaps it is not for me to say at all. I must be mindful: I am, after all, but a humble servant, whatever my role. For Heaven and House.

Broxin, God be with him in his training, was right about one thing: we must be brought to heel.

And, as the seniormost active retainer of the house, it must begin with me.

There is no burden not worth bearing for Heaven’s work.