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CHAPTER 180
293 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
Amidst the ancient grove, the accusations of devilry and blasphemy hurled forth from the lips of Ser Harlan and Ser Martyn, their visages contorted in anger, and their voices resonating with righteous indignation. The grove itself appeared to quiver under the weight of their fury, the very air electrified with tension.
In the midst of this tempest, Emrys, the enigmatic Druid, remained undisturbed, a symbol of tranquility amidst the storm. His response was marked by a sense of poise, his voice carrying not only wisdom but also a touch of sorrow. Emrys began, his words flowing like a soothing breeze through the grove.
"Noble knights, I bear no ill will, and my intentions are pure. The path I walk is guided by reverence for the ancient powers that course through our world. The Old Gods, guardians of nature's harmony, offer us wisdom and guidance beyond the veil of the mundane. What do your gods offer other than asking for coins?"
The confrontation escalated, tempers flaring like wildfire. Ser Harlan's countenance contorted into a mask of scorn.
"Preposterous! You speak of pagan superstitions and claim them to be above the grace of the Seven? Such beliefs have no place here!"
Emrys's gaze remained unyielding, his eyes shining with a profound understanding that seemed to transcend the boundaries of reality itself.
"Nay, noble Ser, my aim is not to diminish your faith but to shed light on the threads that weave through our world. I only intend to bring light to these dark parts of the world."
Aermir thought this was perfect, regretting that he hadn't thought of it himself. He continued to provoke the knights with every word he spoke, though he refrained from directly insulting the Seven. Instead, he prodded at their nerves.
"Hmph! Even the thought of these so-called gods existing in the same lands as The True Faith is nothing short of an insult! You are not welcome in the lands of The Seven."
As the debate raged on, the grove seemed to hold its breath. Then, in response to the growing tension, the atmosphere shifted. A thick, ethereal mist enveloped the assembly, the air heavy with magic as the forces of nature converged around them. Emrys, his voice taking on a timbre that resonated with something otherworldly, raised his hands to the heavens.
"Oh, ancient spirits, who have witnessed the eons unfold, I beseech you to reveal your presence and might!"
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The grove trembled, its leaves rustling in unseen breezes, and a sense of the sublime filled the air. The fog deepened. Then, with a voice akin to thunder and whispering echoes, Emrys offered a plea, one that reverberated through the hearts of all who stood witness.
"Let these doubting souls see the truth of your power, the essence of your ancient wisdom. Part the veil, and grant them a glimpse of the divine energies that course through our world!"
A hush fell over the grove, and then it happened. The earth beneath Ser Harlan and Ser Martyn quaked, with roots rising from the very ground to encircle them. Panic flitted through their eyes, and shouts rang out as the crowd gasped at the scene unfolding before them. Emrys's voice, now a channel for the ethereal forces he invoked, resonated like the heartbeat of the world itself.
"Look upon this display, not as a challenge, but as an invitation—an invitation to embrace the unity of all forces, to understand that faith is not solely the domain of one, but a tapestry woven from myriad threads. I invite you all to mix your thread with mine."
But the knights resisted. Their hearts hardened, and they spat venomous words. Ser Martyn roared, his voice a dagger aimed at Emrys's convictions.
"We shall not bend to your pagan sorcery!"
Emrys's eyes glinted, the winds around him answering in a mournful howl. And then, with a voice that resonated as if the very earth spoke, Emrys delivered a final plea, his words fervent and sounded divine.
"Then heed the call of the Old Gods—the gods of nature, of harmony, and of balance. As you stand upon this hallowed ground, witness the might of the Old Gods, feel the weight of their gaze upon your souls, and let the fires of their fury cleanse you of your arrogance. May their wrath sear your hearts, igniting a spark of understanding, a spark that shall guide you towards humility and reverence."
Thunder roared, the very earth quivered, and the crowd flinched with held breaths.
"In the name of the Old Gods, I beseech their judgment upon thee. May this wrathful plea be a beacon of insight, a reminder that within the realm of faith, arrogance breeds discord, and humility begets harmony. May you stand humbled in the face of their divine fury, and may your hearts be open to the truth that transcends your own beliefs."
Bolts of lightning illuminated the sky. Thunder boomed as if the very heavens resounded with Emrys's plea, and then, with a divine resonance, the lightning converged upon the knights.
The crowd gasped in awe as the two once-mighty warriors were consumed by celestial wrath, their forms seared by the power that Emrys had invoked. A profound silence descended, broken only by the murmurs of those present, whispers of astonishment mingled with reverence.
Kneeling before the Druid, the witnesses seemed to have glimpsed a truth that transcended the mortal realm—a truth that spoke of unity amidst diversity, of harmony amidst discord. Conversations sparked among the assembly, discussions that pondered the profound implications of what had transpired.
In the midst of it all, Robin Flint's eyes, once tinged with skepticism, now shone with fervor. The events of that moment had left an indelible mark on him, inspiring a newfound reverence and zeal for the Old Gods.
The Druid's plea had not just unveiled the forces of the natural world; it had unraveled doubt, igniting flames of newfound faith in the hearts of those present. The conversations that followed were filled with a mix of awe, fear, and a deep-seated respect for the Druid Emrys and the ancient powers he invoked.
Aermir turned into an eagle and flew away. He was giddy with the epic performance he gave, and he thought to himself.
-And Oscar goes to Aermir Drasil's most epic performance as the Druid Emrys fervent follower of the Old Gods.-
Curiously, Poe asked,
"Father, what is Oscar?"
-It would take too long to explain; just look into my memories.-
He hadn't initially intended to create such a spectacle; his aim was to convey to the people of the North that they couldn't have fertile soil as long as they followed the Old Gods. However, those knights had provided a golden opportunity. From time to time, he believed he should expose himself to zealous believers of the Seven and execute divine punishments in the name of the Old Gods.
Nothing drew people to a religion more effectively than tales of divine wrath and punishment. While individuals might profess their love for benevolent gods, they often fixated on stories of divine retribution. His plan was working, and he was gradually tightening the noose around the Manderlys and other Seven worshippers in the North.