Game Log

Going to the Chapel

Very, very few of the ambassadors and foreign courtiers in le Chateua du Soleil chose to make the trip beyond the city limits for Soldi mass. L'Empereur did not approve of the Church nor of its trappings, and most everyone at court was desperate for his Majesty's favor.

Cardinal Erika Durkheim made it a point, then, of going out and saying mass weekly. Sometimes, the only communicants were the Eisen assistants she had with her.

The train required for this daytrip was almost absurd. First, because she was a high official in the Vaticine Church with which the Montaigne were at war, she was accompanied by a pair of Musketeers. They would report if she spoke with any suspicious persons or otherwise appeared to be engaging in espionage. Next, there was her own personal guard, the former Musketeer Riva Gatreau. There was a gaggle of north Eisen Vaticine, the priests and servants who had come with her to Charouse three years ago. And of course, the cardinal herself.

The cardinal had an etheral, fragile look about her. Her skin was very pale, and the perpetual dark circles under her eyes looked almost like bruises. Her hair, long and blonde, was neatly pulled back into a single long braid, and her red robes were simple and modest, and without the corsetry and petticoats of Montaigne ladies' dress. She wore no cosmetic, and it was said she abhorred all mirrors on account of an oath of modesty she had taken. She was, indeed, very beautiful, and apparently feared that mirrors would tempt her to vanity. Standing, she exhibited great poise, but the effect was ruined when she walked. Wounded as a girl in the War of the Cross, she limped ever after, and walked with a cane.

Her purity and delicacy had apparently attracted the attentions of l'Empereur, or so everyone said. But the cardinal's oaths also included one of celibacy, and she had so far managed to elude his advances.

She was seated in a carriage in the Chateau's courtyard, preparing for the trip into the country. Her hands were folded over the handle of her cane, and she was watching Riva Gatreau give the newcomer a once-over.

Gatreau, an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair cut square around her jaw and a rapier on her hip, didn't like what she was seeing. "Can I help you, viscount? As you can see, we are about to depart."

Salvador bowed to the women. "Yes, I believe that you can help me - or so I hope. I have missed services and have heard that you hold them outside of some radius to stay within the law. I would like to accompany you and attend service this day. If it is acceptable to you both."

The guard narrowed her eyes and backed away from him, toward the carriage. Tilting her head up, she whispered something to the cardinal. The Eisen patted the other woman's shoulder. "I know who he is," she said. She smiled in Salvador's direction. "Please, do join us, viscount."

Gatreau protested. "He's likely been sent - "

"You know no such thing," the cardinal said sharply. "I shall turn none away who come seeking the sacraments, save those the Church compels me to reject," she said, meaning the poor whole of excommunicated Montaigne. The cardinal looked back at Salvador and gestured toward the interior of her carriage. "Please, forgive Riva and ride with me."

"Thank you, your Grace. I have not been sent by anyone, but of course that is what I would say even if I had been sent. I do appreciate the offer of services and a ride. I try and maintain the observances whenever I can."

The guard stood aside to allow Salvador to mount the carriage step, then climbed aboard herself. The cardinal was still smiling kindly. "And that is not easy, here. Theus bless you." She paused and her smile faded into a more serious _expression. "I do hope this will not cause trouble for you with your patron." She spoke softly and smoothly, without any telling pauses, but colored slightly at "patron."

"Patron? I don't think that this will cause any problem with Prince Mon - oh you mean... No, she's not my patron, really. Although I understand that impression in Montaigne, now that I think about it. I'll have to do something about that."

Salvador settled himself into the carriage. "Speaking of patrons, would you have any priests that you might recommend to me? I am staffing my household and while I know a few priests, someone unattached to the local politics..."

"I know a great many priests," she said, somewhat carefully, "some of them very well. But - please forgive my Eisen way of speaking - I am afraid that I do not know you well enough to recommend you to them. But," she went on, smiling gently, "we have two overly long carriage rides to remedy that."

"Ah yes, I understand and appreciate that. What would you like to know? You obviously have some knowledge of me and who I associate with. Although it seems as though some of that is perhaps a bit more colored than I thought."

The cardinal raised an eyebrow somewhat skeptically - and she looked disturbingly like the countess when she did that. "Your... mm, sponsor? at court is a very colorful person."

The guard, who had been doing her level best to be invisible, turned with wide, unbelieving eyes. "Colorful?" It was clearly not the word she would have chosen.

Durkheim blinked back at her. "Well, yes." She paused, thinking. "Would you prefer to ride up front?" she asked, softly.

Riva's eyes went involuntarily to Salvador. "No," she replied firmly, settling back onto the bench.

"Then be at peace." She shifted in her seat, stretching her bad leg briefly. "It is so hard," she continued, "to have any real conversation these days. Have you noticed that, in Montaigne? Everyone is too worried about what people will think of what they say to say anything with meaning. Every question could be a trap. Given the circumstances... the most inoffensive and open thing I can think to ask is if you would tell me a story. Whatever you like - truth or fiction, parable or fabliaux."

"Indeed - everyone talking around and afraid. Let me think a moment, yes I have a story you may enjoy. Perhaps you can tell me its meaning and if it is truth or fiction...

"There was a good Vodacce family, or at least as good as a Vodacce family gets, that lived according to Vaticine principles and dictates. Indeed, the family even had a priest in it. This family was well established and could trace its roots back far into the history of Vodacce. They could even trace relatives into other countries and parts of the world. Because of the family's heritage, they educated all of their young men, as a good family would. One day, the brothers of the family went out on a trip to visit their Prince and pay respects. The head of the family's wives came along as well to see the sites along the way. These women were both very beautiful and younger than most of the brothers. One being a fate witch, it was considered helpful for them to come along as well.

"This party traveled for many days. They stayed in lovely houses from the connections that the family enjoyed. During their travels, they visited a very old castle. The castle appeared to everyone outside as though it was perfectly normal, although being rebuilt to get to some of it's former splendor. The fate witch shrieked in the courtyard though as they were visiting. She almost fainted, there was a red hole into nowhere that appeared. One gallant brother put his finger into the hole and it was cold or hot or something not right. A man vanished and was not seen again. The brothers tried to find something to help, but there was nothing they could do and so they left.

"What do you make of this story? Not perhaps my best development of plot or character and the ending seems a bit abrupt, but an interesting tidbit that I am trying to expand..."

"It is a very frightening story," she replied gravely, "as any story about sorcery ought to be. If that is what you mean it to be; of course the red hole sounds much like a Portal. But there should be no Portal without a Portier." She lapsed into silence, eyes half-lowered, thinking. "I make that you are likely not an agent provacateur; your story comes too near the mark but misses, when a hit should have been simple. It is singularly unsatisfying as fiction, though your delivery speaks of someone familiar with tale-telling, and so it may be fact, or at least perception. That you have told it to me implies that you seek guidance or assistance on this matter, and that you hope I can provide either or both. That you have told it to me on ten minutes' acquaintance shows faith and trust, or deep alarm and concern, or extreme arrogance and presumption." She opened her eyes fully, lips pursed slightly. "I should think the second of the three options, primarily. Because, if true, it is a matter for concern and alarm."

Salvador leaned back in the coach. "Perhaps my telling it was merely a story to tell that I see as an interesting, but not too personal story." Salvadore started, realizing that indeed this tale is more than that to him and he is looking for something comforting from this Cardinal. The fate witches didn't seem to have a handle on it and perhaps more truth could be found here than there. "Well, indeed, it is based on truth. And I am curious about what alarm and concern you see in this tale. As we get to know each other, the rest of this tale may become more fleshed out."

"Interesting?" the cardinal asked drily. "Sir, you have undoubtedly seen Portals since you have come to Charouse. Rips torn in the bleeding flesh of the universe are, I think, sufficiently frightening in their own right. They are only made slightly less so by the knowledge that men control their appearance and disappearance. Otherwise, one would have to think that the world was literally coming apart at the seams, tearing itself open and letting... whatever lurks in the Walkway out into the light of Sola."

She paused, looking out the carriage window. "A Portal - even a small one - appearing without apparent cause, and worse, persisting, is thus cause for extreme concern and not a small amount of alarm. For while there are permanent Portals," she admitted, "they are elaborate works of sorcery, constructed by ancient teams of Portiers and sealed and bordered with great stone doorways. That is not what you described. Immediate research into the possible causes and effects of this phenomenon should be undertaken."

"Indeed, when stated that way, this is something that needs further investigation and I will admit, it was rather frightening in person. Of course, since it occurred in Vodacce, sending a knoweldgeable group to investigate will need to be handled diplomatically. I have told you most of what I know already. We did not stay very long after being there. There was something about this hole and strands as well, but I don't remember exactly what. At any rate, it appeared in Agitazione at the old palace that is being restored." Salvador paused to think about what this may mean. "I could offer my help in trying to clear diplomatic channels. Not one hundred percent sure how effective it would be, but I will do what I can. I do know at least one of the leaders in the current work being done who may be able to help as well."

"That's... Mantua, isn't it?" the cardinal asked. "Cardinal Spada della Lucani. Hm. Who else has heard your story?"

"Yes, it's Mantua. I am not sure who else has heard the story. I have not told many about it, but I am sure that others who were there have spread the story, both on the island when we visited and where it actually occured. Are you on good terms with the Cardinal?"

Durkheim tilted her head back and forth in a "so-so" gesture. "I have had little cause to deal with him, nor he with me, since his election. We are not friends, but we are not unfriends, either. But if people are talking about it... surely your local Church authorities will have heard of it? Yet... hm." She tapped a finger on the head of her cane, nail clicking lightly on the gilded dove-shape. "I have not gotten a request for a Church Porte expert to travel to Agitazione. Which may mean exactly nothing; perhaps the... it's an archbishopric, the archbishop had someone specific in mind, or he chose to request the assistance of the Inquisition," she said the word like it tasted bad, "or the letter has simply failed to reach me. We would of course be pleased to help, if such help were requested."

"When I return to Vodacce, I will inquire about what has happened and try and request you assistance. Of course, I do not know what has happened in my absence, but I will do my best. I will send word if nothing else as to the outcome of the oddity. But enough of this disturbing talk! What can you tell me about the church here?"

"I thought you said enough of this disturbing talk," the cardinal said, a little bemused. "But perhaps you meant our good news. One of the archbishops has been located, thank Theus, and she is safe in Vaticine City. May he grant that the other eight be safe and sound and delivered to our keeping soon."

"Other than that... we are kept busy, at court, trying to give support and encouragement to those who would not wholly abandon the Church, despite l'Empereur's disfavor and," she regarded him steadily, "the active campaigns of certain parties to encourage distinctly immoral behavior as a sign of anti-Vaticine sentiment. I praise Theus that the Imperatice, at least, seems to value good behavior and virtue, and those who attend her court remember themselves better."

Salvador colored a little at the immoral behavior comment, but hid it well. "Yes, the joys of youth can indeed be encouraged into a direction the church would not approve of. Of course, a sin in one nation may not be seen as bad in another. Though if the sins are confessed... I would imagine that you would hold best not to commit them in the first place. Especially if they are flaunted as anti-Vaticine. It is wonderful news that the first archbishop has returned. I am sure we will have a new Hierophant before you know it."

The cardinal coughed gently into her hand. "I suppose a sin in one nation may not be seen as bad by the people of another nation." She shook her head. "But they are still sins in the eyes of Theus."

She paused, smiling slowly. "What a charming companion I make. Then, it is not my duty to be charming. But I will save the sermon for Mass."

And so she did:

Today, we heard the story of St. Tobias the Meek, the Numan Senator who sought out the First Prophet the night before his execution. We remember that Tobias recorded the First Prophet's final teachings and his prophecies of the three other Prophets who would follow him. But what drove him to that cell that night? What was he seeking?

Tobias was repentant - sorry that the Senate, of which he was a part, would execute the First Prophet at dawn. He wanted the Prophet to know that. Why? Perhaps in the hope of forgiveness.

What did Tobias think, going down into that cell? He did not speak for the Prophet in the Senate chamber earlier that day. He stood by when the Prophet was taken. What would the Prophet say to him? Was there any reason, any logic, for the captive to bless him, to forgive him his inaction? No! Why not let him suffer with his guilt, as the Prophet would suffer the next morning.

But of course, the Prophet did not let him suffer. He forgave him, and gladly, and entrusted him with a sacred charge that put in place the foundations of our Church today.

Confession: repentance, forgiveness, and atonment. The sacrament of confession is, I feel, the most misunderstood. We are taught it when we are young: the laundry list of all the bad things you did that week? Number of sasses back to parents, number of other children teased, number of fibs told and chores neglected. Yes, we all remember that. But that's not a confession. It's the start of one, but an incomplete start.

Sin is nothing more and nothing less than living a life which is less than the best life Theus has given you to live. What that best life is, is for only you and Theus to know. We priests, we are here to offer guidance and whatever small wisdom our studies and experience can offer.

So, when you look upon the choices of your life, if you examine your life honestly, you will find - I will find, we all will find - choices we have made which fall short. Which we regret. We know, in our hearts, that we are more than that - yet, our actions show us to be exactly that. That is the first half of repentance, and repentance is necessary for a good confession. That is Tobias watching the First Prophet led away, wanting to speak out but failing to, and knowing that he has failed because of fear and weakness. It is hard! Who among us wants to admit that we have been weak or foolish or proud? Isn't it easier to say that we had no choice, or it wouldn't have mattered anyway, or what we did isn't so bad after all, or that it was necessary. Yes; honesty is hard, but when we are honest with ourselves, we will allow ourselves to see our shortcomings - and only then can we heal them.

The second half of repentance is the sincere desire to be better, to do better. To believe that, if we had it to do over again, we would choose differently and better. To sin merrily, with no honest desire to reform, and then to confess does you no good at all. Your soul is in exactly the same, unexamined state it was before, and you have moved it, moved yourself no closer to Theus.

So you repent, sincerely in your heart, and we believe that Theus will forgive you. Why the confession, then? Why admit to a priest these failings and shortcomings which are so hard to admit even to ourselves?

Because with the urge to repent comes the urge to find forgiveness. Tobias did not repent in his own chambers - he went to the First Prophet to confess. He needed to hear with his ears whether or not he would be condemned to his guilt for all time. While we believe that Theus will always forgive the truly penitent, confession reinforces that belief with action and words, spoken by the priest.

And also, we keep confession among our sacraments because with the urge to repent comes the urge to repair. When we sincerely feel badly, we want to make amends. We want to do something to make up for the wrong we have done. Sometimes, that is possible; sometimes, it is not. Tobias could not go back to the Senate chamber and stand by the Prophet. He could not free him from his prison. He could not fix anything that had gone wrong.

So the Prophet in his wisdom gave him a task - an important task and a dangerous task. It would cost Tobias his life to fulfil it. But he took it, and gladly, to atone for his prior omission.

Today, in confession, we assign penance so that this atonement process can take place. As priests, as guides, we try to find the words and actions that will heal the wounds left by the sins. Like doctors, we have seen many diseases, many disfigurements, many ailments, and understand something of the cures. But no cure will work unless the patient undertakes it wholeheartedly and faithfully.

In such a way, we heal, growing stronger as we do. We heal, all our life long.

On the way back, Salvador was much more quiet, pondering the message given. It was a shift in thinking that he would consider to decide if it made sense to him.

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