Sparks: A Luminary Story

    • Sparks: A Luminary Story

      Where did we go wrong?

      My brain hammered the question home, in a similar manner to my sabatons pounding the stone tiles of the hallway. So much had changed. So much had been lost. So many had been lost. And how- I stifled a sob. There was no time for grief. No time for rage. No time for suffering. My breath caught, my sides burning as surely as any of the flames topping the sacred candles. Light the Votives

      Of course I had been at the Arena. I was there when the world broke. I saw the things coming to blight existence, pouring through a rift that made my mind ache simply to remember. I even saw our Light, our sacred Mother, Lyvaanth herself, lead the charge against the being that came forth first. Lyvaanth

      I mourned her loss. I questioned our purpose. I resolved that it had not changed, drawing forth the Light of Lumos into a world that needed cleansing, healing, and blessing. The others... came to different conclusions. Fractured Faith Malevolence

      Our holy sites, beacons of life and light and laughter, became abattoirs. No. An abattoir suggests dispassionate killing for a purpose, primarily food. This was different. This was... evil.

      She returned. She had changed. How had one so full of life, of beauty, of purpose... Scion of Lyvaanth

      Become so cold, callous... twisted? Iron Maiden

      I knew not what it must be like for her, to see a parent ripped apart by a thing from beyond reality. But I did know that the mandate she laid down was wrong. Her heart had been altered. How, I knew not. The moment of demand was not the turning point, simply the most obvious signpost along the road to despair and degeneration. It was a fork in the road, with some few taking the high road... and having it collapse beneath them, undermined by the majority who had already embraced pain and suffering as an end, rather than as symptoms. Heart of Agony Oath of Anguish

      Still, the sparks of light and hope had not been extinguished in all. Those of us without bravado to stand and die resolved to make the sacrifice of those who did worthwhile. Their fight and death gave us hope, our flames coalesced to crystalline resolve. I no longer had fear or grief. I had purpose. As I ran down the hallway, I feared that I would be too late... again. Visions of pain and torture flitted through my memories, of excoriation, ritual mutilation, and drawn out agony, as though it was a refined sacrament.

      Sister Malinda stepped into my path, three cloisters ago. She had traded in her beautiful blade for an ugly, spiked hook. She had raised her unwieldy weapon, and I'd run her through without breaking stride. Never raise a weapon you're not prepared to die holding, the instructor had told us. One of us had. She had laughed as she bled, and I'd had no time to properly grieve for a fellow swordswoman, twisted into a nightmare. Templar of Lumos Oppress the Unworthy

      The librarian had barred my way, two scriptoria ago. She'd gone from a musing recluse favoring scrolls and books to a shrieking harridan, claws dripping the blood of her victims. I ducked one vicious slash, which mercifully ended her most recent subject, and swept a cut into her elbow. Unable to meaningfully impair me, she'd run, still screaming praises to "The Flayed Man." Silent Sentinel Painstoke Sister

      Last reliquary, Mother Lucinda flung bolts of fire and hatred at me for interrupting her desecration. I'd swept two back at her, but been bodily thrown from the sanctum as if a shadow had banished the light, rather than the reverse. Radiant Servant Servant of Suffering

      My steps resounded down the hall to a dormitory. Unlike the others, there were still whole icons and uncorrupted Candlekin. I pounded down a hall that was just as I remembered from scant years ago... and stopped short as I met the wide eyes of a trio of young initiates. "P-praise Lumos, and b-blessings of Light to you, sister," one quavered, holding a small censer. Initiate of Wax Choir of Lumos

      My purpose was complete. I gave them a quick nod, and managed a smile that I'd hoped wasn't too forced. "Blessings of Light, sisters." I drew a ragged breath past aching sides, turning back toward the entrance and unsheathing my sword. "We need to leave. Quickly." Devoted Exile

      (Author's note: Card images for relevant/flavorful art.)

      The post was edited 1 time, last by Zyblen ().