O Holy Night

O Holy Night
Date of Scene:	22 December 2012
Location:	Mullonde
Synopsis:	Faruja Senra seeks words of wisdom and direction from his superiors within the Church order. He is also the best judge of character ever.
Thanks to:	Faruja for giving needed information on FFT.
Cast of Characters:	Faruja Senra, Folmarv Tengille

---

Faruja Senra has posed:
If the slightly exaggerated penmanship is any indication, one Temple Knight Faruja Senra had been slightly tipsy when writing his request for a meeting with his highest superior. It contained all of his usual flowery language and formality that made him a natural for the Church's ranks; polite, respectful, and military-bred formal. Oddly enough, it is even relatively to the point, at least as far as the rambling Burmecian ever is. To meet with High Templar Folmarv Tengille, on the subject of 'a Knight's strength' as he put it. Looking back on it now, as Faruja enters the smaller Church pressed into service since the main Cathedral's destruction, he's truly amazed he received a reply!

The ratling is dressed in his best everything, robes clean and without a single frayed edge, armor clean and shining, and his most ornate spear on his back. The church in question is ornate, and ancient, like most in the city. Often considered the lesser when compared to the Cathedral, the pews and stained glass are nevertheless beautiful and lovingly maintained. It's an hour past the usual dining time for most in the City, and the church is mostly empty in the main building aside from the occasional nun who walks from one place to the other. Most of the actual work is done in back rooms and other such facilities.

Pausing, Faruja kneels before the altar, praying as he awaits his superior.

Folmarv Tengille has posed:
The hushed activity punctuated by long reaches tendrils of silence is finally broken by the approach of armored footsteps. They come resounding through the halls of this small but ornate church with the unhurried resonance of authority.

The High Templar arrives and dismisses his guard, his voice low and indistinct. He continues alone down the central isle until he is standing behind the knight who has asked for this audience. There is a palpable aura, a presence that extends from the man. The armor he wears is burnished but shining and meticulous.

The High Templar genuflects and without comment, kneels at the altar himself like any common soldier. He turns an eye towards Faruja, smiling very faintly at the corner of his mouth before turning his attentions to prayer.

Only when a cycle of prayer has been complete does he address him, still kneeling. "You wished to speak to me?" There is a note of authority certainly, but it is softened by a hint of genuine curiosity and a humbleness that dampens the aura of presence as he rises slowly back onto his feet.

He sets his shoulders back, peering slightly down and across at Faruja as he makes an offer for him to sit nearby.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Folmarv is heard and felt long before he is seen by the young Burmecian. The familiar sound of metal on the stone of a church, that feeling of command and strength, it all uplifts the Burmecian as he finishes his own prayers. A spear is placed on the ground before Folmarv, an old custom of many knightly orders to their ultimate leige. Even if he's doubting his own wisdom in this, he kneels as straight and proper as he can. He won't embarrass himself before a man he respects almost more than any other.

"Lord Tengille! Lord bless. Yes, my Lord. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me." As much as he tries to control himself, there's a hint of awe in his voice. He'd never seen the man so up close and personal. The Burmecian feels very small next to the human.

And sit he does. There's no hint of nervousness he'd felt earlier. No, the humility in the man's eyes sets him at ease, alongside the earlier meeting with Mickey some time ago. Almost belatedly, he remembers his purpose, his goal. Single eye glancing about, he waits for a nun to usher out those few who remain. Then, they're alone.

"Yes, Ser Folmarv, I did. I shall put it bluntly; I have heard tales of your strength, your perserverence, your wisdom! Your skill as commander of men, as a soldier! Some would say your piety is equal to that of the High Confessor himself!" The rat starts, more naturally, gesticulating mildly.

"I fought in defense of Manhattan, M'Lord. Against the unholy Abominations, in the name of the Church. Yet, despite it all, I fell short. Whenever I draw blade against these so-called 'Heartless', these 'Shadow Lords', my efforts seem to be inadequate!" Some small hint of that desperation he felt earlier returns. Realizing he's about to rant, he stops. A calming breath, and he continues.

"Why are you so strong, Lord Tengille? How do you do it, Ser? Please, tell me. In the name of the Lord, for Church, for my countrymen who have not yet heard the calling of Faith, for all of the people I have befriended in these news lands...I have something of the will, but 'tis strength and wisdom I lack. I wish to bring pride to the Church, to the Order. How do I gain such power? What trials, what training did you place yourself through to be so blessed with the Lord's divine will, my Lord?"

Folmarv Tengille has posed:
Lord Tengille listens to the young burmecian's account with an attentive if slightly imperious expression. When they begin to speak of the heartless and the shadow lords, his eyebrow raises a fraction of an inch in an otherwise implacable reserve.

When at last the burmecian has wound himself down and silence begins to creep back into the small church, the High Templar begins in an even keeled voice of firm rebuke. "You have placed outwards that which should be turned inwards, young knight. Not every soul who walks and fights and struggles in the name of our lord does so in the same way. To tell you my path is an excuse for failure and folly to creep into your spirit."

The moment of disapproval passes and the High Templar continues. "And I certainly do not wish that, for we need every follower of the divine will to be ultimately victorious." he tilts his head up slightly, settling one hand across another. "But there are ways-- and means-- by which a panacea may be concocted for any need." These words he delivers with straight forwards gravity, staring straight at Faruja as if boring down into his spirit to divine his worthiness.

"--should our god be gracious enough to show the way and to bolster your strength through such a trial." There is another pause, allowing a lonely and bitterly cold wind from the outside trickle into the stone edifice of worship. "However-- " Softer now, coaxing out the words.

"before I release you onto such paths, I must know more. What break, what-- crisis put you in so low estimation of your abilities that you went in search of mine?"

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja takes in the rebuke wholeheartedly, looking briefly like he'd been smacked in the face with the obvious. The young Knight had certainly been off as of late. Remaining almost unnaturally silent, his attention is rapt, even as he considers the man's words. Indeed, on further reflection, it was foolishness to consider himself following the path of the great High Templar. For are they not both unique? Both of different races and talents, brought together by Fate to work towards something greater than both?

Single eye meeting the older Templar's two, the gravity doesn't seem lost on the nezumi barely into adulthood. "...Yes M'Lord." It's said with a certain amount of 'what was I thinking'. The young nezumi, not a day before looking so much weaker, seems to have regained some of his usual fire. He doesn't turn away from his great leader, red eye containing hopes, dreams, and above all, a desire to burn away the Darkness he'd convinced himself is the enemy of Church, friends, and the worlds at large.

Faruja shivers a moment, the chill catching him despite the fur. He tries to not let it show.

"Manhattan's fall, M'Lord. And the fact that the one who helped it fall slept in the same building as I. A boy, M'Lord, by the name of Riku. Silent, brooding youth. A touch rude, but he seemed passable enough...no offense Ser...for a human. He was talented, or perhaps something else touched him to act as he did. I know not, the full details yet elude me even as I have worked to discover the truth. But I witnessed Heartless turn against their Master. The boy was near. I had not connected the two. Blindness...perhaps some trust in the boy had pushed me to it. Those who I would call friend suffered for what I did not see. And during the battle for the city? 'Twas all I could do to defend those who fought alongside me. What victories we gained were temporary, for Darkness claimed the city yet. Mayhap it would not have saved the city, but clarity of sight and strength both at the least may have at least a few more innocent lives." He explains. Something occurs to him, and the rat speaks his mind.

"I know I cannot save every city at threat, no single person can. But to grow stronger, wiser, and...more confident? To be worthy of solid allies, and to stand against the Darkness and not break? To stare into the eyes of a creature of Abyss, and not collapse into fear? /That/ is what I desire. Ask anything of me, M'Lord. I wish to show myself worthy of serving the Lord, this Church, and /you/."

Folmarv Tengille has posed:
Again, the High Templar listens to this recounting in silence. Letting the nezumi spool his words until he has again exhausted himself, as if simply by his silence he was allowing the knight to purge himself of the poison that he had kept inside.

When the settling noises of the church around them are the only voices save for the distant scuffling of feet in distant rooms "Many are the forms that shadows take, and many and a thousand ways there are to defeat those shadows. But this?" he pauses. "This requires faith most of all. Let me tell you a small secret, young knight." The High templer lays a heavy armored hand on Faruja's shoulder, tilting forwards and dropping his voice into something that would be a vaguely conspiratorial whisper if his face were not completely devoid of humor. The eyes though. Oh--the High Templar thinks something at least is very amusing. A spark of that wicked humor comes and goes like heat lightning. "When you stare Darkness in the eye. It is only YOU that allows yourself to collapse in fear. It is only you, that breaks. No Darkness may touch your innermost self, young knight. Not truly. You only ALLOW it to happen, because you believe there is no other way."

The High Templar lets that sink in for a moment before continuing. "I have been meaning to set someone to a task that needs a steady and faithful heart to complete it's design, but have been dreadfully preoccupied with the situation we have here in the Holy City. Perhaps you will be willing to assist me, Ser Senra?"

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja is certainly wordy, the young nezumi given to long speeches. He'd been assigned to train several Squires short on patience for a reason in the past! But it at least makes him good for working a crowd.

One ear tilts as the heavy hand of the High Templar falls onto his shoulder. The taller man could probably lift up his subordinate with one hand and toss him like a rag doll! The thought strikes the rat, and he can't help but ponder if that's the reason for the odd humor that crosses his superior's face.

Wince. The little nezumi flinches, hitting him in that vulnerable core that oh-so-often likes to blame himself rather than the forces around him.

It only furthers his own suspicions, faults imagined and true, that had been soothed by the King. He had to become stronger, more powerful, greater than he was right now. Purpose, and trust, in the man before him shines in the unassuming Templar's eye.

"...Then I must gain the faith to turn to the Darkness, and say 'Nay. It shall not be.'" Faruja finishes.

Sitting as tall as his small size allows, both ears perk, all attention on the man before him. "What would you have me do, M'Lord? I am, as ever, yours to command."

Folmarv Tengille has posed:
Oh, the tale the High Templar spins for the young knight.

He tells the story of the sainted catacombs underneath the Holy City, and how they have been defiled by the darkness that has scoured the city in the recent days. THroughout his words are threads of a heavy-hearted sorrow, but a steely resolve that they would retake the holy city. "Is it not a sign, Ser Senra? Snow falls on the Holy City, as it has not done in it's long history of valiant struggle. It is time to stand firm and strike back at the darkness. There can only be temporary victory for villains such as they, for always the blinding light of the order can be carried into even the darkest places."

And down in those catacombs underneath the city was a sacred chalice. A blessed artefact of a long forgotten age whose healing properties would be of great use to the city and the surroundings should another scene of chaos descend. They were even rumored to purge the taint of any darkness, but the High Templar sternly rebukes such foolish notions.

"Do you believe you can accomplish this task, young knight? It will be gravely perilous. You may end up facing great darkness again far sooner than you might wish. Can I trust you with this task?"

Faruja Senra has posed:
Holy catacombs, with generations of hallowed Church dead. Tainted by darkness that has seeped into it! Already something that would set the zealous Faruja's heart aflame, the way Folmarv presents it twists the Burmecian's more violent and self-righteous tendencies. By the time the man is finished, his fur stands on end in indignity, entire body shaking with barely contained rage; a coiled spring of a Holy Dragoon. At least he manages to keep his voice even, though it's far too artifically. The light filtering off of his claws doesn't help either.

"Yes. Yes! That such a treasure lies buried, and now opened to us? A true miracle, M'Lord! Nay, it cannot be left beneath the ground! What if it fell upon the unclean hands of evil that lurks in every shadow, seeking to draw in the unsuspecting and foolish!" The rat doesn't realize the irony. It may one day be the death of him.

And this heavy, weight task falls to the young Knight; so eager to test himself, to prove his own deficiencies baseless, to seek out that which could help those who would need it most. Indeed, Folmarv has set the nezumi up perfectly, and the rat snaps at the bait eagerly.

The claw marks as he clenches the tables will be there for some time as he tries not to bolt upwards. "I shall see to this task, M'Lord, or become naught but another body to rest beneath hallowed soil! Faram guide me, I shall do us all honor, on my word, as Templar and Burmecian!" Conviction, confidence...it all floods into his voice. Seems all the little rat needed was a few firm shoves, and a final boot from his masters.

Folmarv Tengille has posed:
The High Templar smiles down at the young knight. It is a knowing and paternal smile, the authority and radiant presence pulled aside like a curtain so that the man can be seen not as a figure of awe but as a fellow Church Knight.

One of those also striving to drive back the darkness in his own way. "Very good, Ser Senra. You've a great deal of potential." he nods his head, bowing his head very slightly in dismissal as silence descends down on the small church. "God grace you with victory, young knight."

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja stands, knowing well when he's been dismissed, and eager as it is. "Lord willing, it shall be, M'Lord. Faram's grace be with you, Ser." A salute, then a bow, and the ratling walks away with far more dignity than he'd walked in with. This is a rat on a mission, though his face would almost be that of a young man racing off to make a parent proud. The lucavi-possessed Templar had worked the young nezumi perfectly. But to what end would this new fate lead the rat?