177th of Nemulum, 334 EA
Thainav, Katravok
Broneimir knelt in the wash of pure white light, not warm nor cold nor any other feeling, perfect.
The light emanated from above, as golden creatures of hoof and tusk and wing flew through the endless white feathers. His patron was a beneficent creature, like man, though lacking in any physical flaw. He was tall, and proud, adorned in three layers of gilded cloth under three layers of gilded armor. A hood obscured his face to most, but Broneimir had been put in a position such that he could view what was beneath, those seven great eyes to see past the intents of mortals.
“Athal.” It spoke, and in it’s mouth were the tongues of demons made tame.
It needed not say more. Broneimir knew his charge, knew what this meant.
“Athal.” He repeated back to it, feeling as though his own voice were somehow thin by comparison to this celestial. “Why? What glory am I to enact there?”
The figure gave no indication to answer, and Broneimir felt the lump in his throat tighten. “Is Athal to be the place of my death? That knowledge is yours, yours since my birth, but though my death is yours my life is still my own. You must tell me, please, in the name of Rytarr-”
“Do not speak that name, sinner.” The voice now boomed, tearing, and no sound would ever resonate in Broneimir’s chest so fully ever again. “The god most high is not some dealer against to beg. Nor am I. Though my blood is in your line, it has long diluted. You are still worthy to be one of my warlocks, my hands in the world and by extension our great god’s. Guard your heart against doubt, should you wish to retain this honor to the death and beyond.”
“Of course.” Broneimir felt suddenly childish at the reproach, a boy in the face of endless aeons. “What will you might have of me will doubtlessly lead to honor, patron.”
“Athal, then.” The deva nodded, the hollyphants orbiting it’s massive head sent into flutter. “Seek your valiance there, and in so doing find your true purpose towards the best of all possible things.”
Broneimir kept his kneel, feeling suddenly indistinct. The light pulled back, until all he could see through the darkness were the outlines of those seven eyes, ever watchful.
He came to at the foot of the altar. The chill of the air rushed back to him, but ee was drenched in sweat as every muscle in his body had been held taught. He rose, slowly, lifting with him the weight of the congregation behind.
“What say you, light-touched?” The priest he had trained under looked now to him with hope and reverence.
Broneimir took a steadying breath. He turned, and addressed the church, the Crux of Rytar. He hoped beyond all hope that his voice gave a view of the unshakeable confidence that he needed. “I have been tasked with a mission, one I take to readily and without hesitation!”
All around, cheers went up. His friends, relatives, peers, those that had been alongside him as he devoted himself to the leadup of this day, those that he would now be leaving, rushed up to congratulate him. To bless him, as though he had not received enough blessings in his life.
A deep, expectant tiredness set into his bones. He would not let it show, not to anyone.
And with that, Broneimir walked on to Athal.
The Etra Anthology 