On the 2nd day of Godrick's return, he received a letter from an unexpected person. The letter was addressed to him, and it was written in exceptional calligraphy. Alana it read, on the Senders template cuing him to believe, that it could not possibly be the same one.
Normally one would place the Mrs. with the name chosen for marriage. Peasants were not the most literate however so he could not expect much of their grammar. Not that he could talk much about their peasantry, soon enough he would be joining their strata.
“To my dearest heretic,
It is most pleasant to write to you, my dear heretic. Let me start by saying that I would be dead today if it wasn’t for you, so be happy to know I am forever grateful! I am more grateful to you my dear heretic, however. For helping me see what an imbecilic and shallow piece of manure my husband Lenny was. Not even a full day after you, my dear heretic was gone. Had his incessant complaining of my appearance grown to a point that his children had to pull me back from strangling him. Afterward, I went to town and found myself a nice gentleman of an oaf to board with for the night. Sorry for my blaspheming but I never was much to care for religion. Ignore my prayer to Cynthia, in that miracle thing you did, and don’t ever bring it up; my dear heretic. After that, I went to file for divorce, and it got terminalized that very same day thanks to my wit and charm of course. Only for me to hear about you being excommunicated for saving my life. I’m en route toward your temple at this very moment. Expect me no later than after you receive this letter,
From yours truly, Alana.”
Despite his knowledge of Lenny Price's character, he had not expected their situation to turn volatile this quickly. The woman certainly lived life according to her whims, married one day, and divorced the very next, thank the gods those children were not of her blood. It was of no consequence whatsoever since he was no longer among them. Naturally, the administration of the Ecclesiarchy would put him on trial and there was nothing she could do to assist him in this matter.
He was about to toss the letter before a sudden bout of emotional discord forced him to stop. The effects of the fruit were destabilizing his psyche. Forcing his mind into fancies or ambitions of unnecessary proportions.
Reading through the letter once more, a small tug from his heart forced him to store it in the bottom compartment of his briefcase. In all the unlikeliest events, it's not like the recently divorced and petite woman would shake the will of the council. Despite his witnessing of her shaking the mountainous soul of a great spirit; they were two different matters altogether.
If Godrick was, to be honest, he hoped she would not show. The woman was too unstable to be near the clergy, if she did not get her way, violence could ensue. Having learned of her heritage as a Northender, and her struggling path as a Berserker. No doubt clouded his mind that if she did arrive, both would be tried for execution instead.
Putting aside his thoughts on the letter, Godrick went about another day of his daily duties. Since he commenced earlier in the day, his duties were finished before dinner, allowing him more time to continue researching his work.
He had left off in a sorry state the first time. And so he moved his workstation, lamp in hand, to the apothecary of the temple. Last night's attack had made him more conscious of his work. As the last generation of Priests within the Temple.
Once Godrick was excommunicated, and Ventura passed on, operations would cease. Becoming a forgotten yet hallowed landmark.
He spoke to Ventura of his intentions, the Bishop simply responding with “Just keep the Heresy to a minimum.” Continuing with his stack of documents that seemed ever diminishing with his progress.
Godrick recommenced his efforts, the mix of Pulpish goo had seemingly never happened within the jar. only the Fruit's slowly convalescing form existed. With how the animals and he behaved around the fruit. It was clear that its magical effects were targeted at anything that seemed even remotely intelligent.
Small insects seemed unaffected, ‘intelligence may be a key element,’ he noted down. It had finished reconstituting, meaning it was the perfect time to begin a new round of experimentation.
Hours passed once more yet his original goal of staving off its madness remained hidden.
Switching his focus, he left the slowly regenerating fruit on the stone table. Pulp and juices slowly yet visibly reform into the Perfect double-rounded, golden peach of patterned swirls.
He unequipped the apron and goggles he wore; sitting upon a cushioned stone couch. It was sculpted expertly onto the wall, a perfect view of the cosmos visible from the open window. Across from his seat, was an artistic louver window made of wood. Its placement next to the couch lit its area in a gentle moonlight.
The dual celestial stones shone through the window, illuminating his seat. They rested high upon the skies of the heavens, twinkling stars visible throughout the night sky. Very few sceneries that Godrick had experienced could move him in such a way as the night sky usually did. An endless expanse of creation for him to view.
And whenever he felt overwhelmed or lost. He would take such a night to reflect upon the eternal mysteries of the cosmos.
The Planet of Grenite, Celestial property of the Divine Ferrus. Its radiance shone behind the moons, enormous compared to the smaller celestial objects.
Whilst Godrick could no longer focus on the work of Fruit study and Biology, there was more to his mind, than just musing upon magical supplements. If he was to be stripped of everything then he would be ready when the time came. He opened his Grimoire taking some blank parchments to the side as he spread himself on the bed-like couch. His notes upon the miracles were of the utmost secrets guarded by the faiths.
Leaving with highly classified information was of course not possible unless…
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The third day arrived, and with it –Godrick received another letter, this one less humorous than the prior.
Hark! Witnesseth the breach in faith, - ‘a grievous insult to Harketh at him in a most superior tone thought Godrick whilst continuing to peruse.
Upon taking heed of the recounting scroll, the Council of Faiths hath decreed thy ponderings and acts on thy latest task to border upon blasphemy, ye', even verging on Heresy. Thus, thy trial is ordained, at the earliest convenience of the nearest tribunal. It is appointed to convene at “The Temple of the Shadow in his Light” within no more than half a week's passage. Thy preparations shalt be undertaken ere the trial in case of an undesirable outcome. Swift departure shall follow subsequent to any, and all rituals,
By decree of the High Tribunal of Light,
Church of Hadrian.”
A couple of days ago this would have been devastating to read. The fact that all the work he had done for the past twelve years when he had arrived, as an orphaned and escaped slave was no more.
Gaining wisdom, reputation, and advancing from cleric-nouveau to exorcist priest at the age of seventeen. The youngest ever in the history of the church. He would have indeed been devastated. If not for the blue orb, floating at his side.
He threw the letter upwards, flying into the air. An arrow-sized hole pierced through it without letting it fall. Another hole appeared, and another; the letter finally fell to the ground in pieces.
Godrick felt that although it was a little bit off on the trajectory, he was satisfied with his progress. He annotated a possible adjustment to the spell, the mana consumption was still restrictive. Not up to his standards yet but very close.
It would do for now but further improvements could be made.
The reason he was no longer devastated was because of the spherical breakthrough of magic he had managed to perform and recreate multiple times last night. He had successfully created what he proudly stated was a proper spell. Staying up all night produced results early into the morning. Above his finger, a dimly shining coagulating ball of mana amassed into the shape of a spearhead.
He had decided to dub this spell of his, as ‘Arcane Bolt’. Once he tapped into the alien forms of thinking of the Primals. The inspiration he needed was retained to work on a Spell Form of the miracle of ‘Searing Light’. Utilizing the hexagram-mic circles of the divine, and mixing his knowledge of the heretical Magic circles with it.
All he needed was the correct formulae of equations; he corrected many of the numbers and variables that needed to be adjusted and reworked multiple times in his attempt. This allowed him to create a proper spell construct that utilized complex Hexagram-mic circles to wield mana instead of divine power. He had reshaped them into a heretical Magic circle.
These circles were precise and eloquent compared to the works of Apostate mages within the imperium.
His work could be said to be an interpretation of the Saloheems system. The usage of another language unlocked new variable numbers, words, and letters. Translating them with the Primect language system.
The entry for this spell took a total of seven pages, an insane amount of information compared to the one-paged miracles. The spell no longer held any of its powerful blinding and searing abilities from its miracle form. What it did possess, however. Were the abilities to be shot with sight, thought, and devastating penetration.
Neat holes in the chambers traveled upwards a total of four feet of the chamber's roof. Proving the penetrative improvement it had gained. This was in comparison to Searing light –whose specialty lay in its blinding and searing qualities.
Its accuracy, despite not being at the level that Godrick wanted –was a signified improvement to the prior Miracle.
The lone spell proved one thing to Godrick, his fate would not be limited to the common. Servitude would not be opted into his life unless he so chose.
Because if there was one thing that he knew, it was that the Pathless were resources to be traded by the Fated and the strong. From the fertile peasantry, many could never truly hone in on an actual path. They lacked education, resources, experiences, connections, and most of all. They would experience discrimination.
Godrick was not blind to his reality anymore, while dogmas were inspiring. They were man-made to comfort the masses, not real truths, and certainly, nothing that would actually help mankind prosper; merely keeping them content with their demands barely being met.
In a society that constantly sought to limit people such as this. His life could be forfeited at a whim. And as a past slave, current priest, and future wandering scholar –there was no situation in which he would not prepare himself.
Common people relied on the assumption that situations arose due to fate and the Divine. In reality, only the prepared could weather the storms of fates. The Divine's only purpose was their own.
The threat stated within the letter was quite impactful. A High Tribunal’s clerk wrote the letter based on the seal of Dignitar. Nothing less than a Tribunal would conduct his hearing, and most likely conclude with an Undivining.
It was a ritual used during the ex-communication of a priest or higher.
Unlike spells that only relied on mana to complete the cast. Godrick had understood after late hours in the night theorizing. That Miracles and spells, although the same in many aspects; each relied on different sources of energy, formulae, and language systems –achieving more or less the same results.
A priest’s Divine power mixed his mana in with the divine essence from their gods, Giving them a significant increase in miracle efficiency. This was in contrast to the mana-filled vessel of a cleric who had not undergone the rites of the higher clergy. This trade-off in power made spells more efficient but complex in their designs, and miracles simpler in design but less efficient for mana.
If divine power was present, however. The miracle would be both powerful and require next to no energy to cast.
The Undivining was a ritual meant to take the gift of the god’s divine power back unto their beings. Eliminating as much knowledge from your mind as the miracle judged you worthy or not of. The deity of the follower itself is the one that does this supposedly. But some scholar priests believe it to be an avatar of said god.
Because of this ritual. He had sacrificed much-needed sleep, in order to create a magic he could defend himself with. For once his divine power was severed from his, only very expensive means to travel could be relied on in search of wisdom. The roads were unsafe due to monsters and brigands.
He was not a man of the sword, he exercised as necessary but held no real warrior strengths. Nor talent and proficiencies with weaponry; preferring not to utilize such crude methods. If he instead defended himself with a form similar to his miracles, the situation could at the very least guarantee his survival.
The Priest understood that this one spell would not be enough. He needed more knowledge, and so for the last four days, he followed a routine. When he needed to do his duties he would do them with compulsion, otherwise he was busy experimenting. He practiced his techniques, learned ancient languages, explored ruins, and collected local materials.
At first, he went to the other nearby temples. Transcribing as many texts as he could. Biology, anatomy, ancient scriptures, and historical documents were all repurposed within his tome. Being compressed into the pages of his grimoire.
Its pages were filled with his strange and arcane writing. Allowing pages of information to fit within lines and paragraphs. The sect of En’Wuin's priests were allowed their secrets so long as they could encrypt evidence in a way that few of the master linguists could decipher.
He practiced new research methods for creating spell constructs. These constructs were not spells exactly, merely constructs taking the shape of how reality would interpret its design. He found this practice essential to not receiving feedback. An often exploited weakness of apostate casters.
The feedback he had received from failing a casting between miracles and spells, was different in multiples of harshness. Divine feedback felt like a slight discomfort in the body through numbness. Magical feedback felt like one's mind, body, and soul were assaulted by the magics attempted.
On his final days before the trial, Godrick was out exploring more of the surroundings. He was picking random herbs, roots, and mushrooms while observing the properties contained within them. He was no botanist nor an alchemist that could brew potionry.
But he would learn, research, compare, and analyze having learnt that the secrets to safely consuming the contents of the fruit lay in potionry. And since there was no subject he could not comprehend, he would learn it; he became aware of this early in his life. His Parents knew of this as well, they had taken him to the Elder who had named him an Old Soul. What this meant; not even the elder could say.
The interest it sparked in the elder was the cause for his higher teachings. To learn of the elder's ways as an Elementalist. The parents, however; fought against the Old Ways. Not wanting to hound their child with past traditions with the ushering of the New Ways by the imperium.
Not one to take offense, the elder offered instead to teach him the power of words, numbers, leadership, and stability. No one refuted then, the child became his student, and here he saw his genius and potential.
The Childer was a genius, Anwen as he was known, Godrick as he is, and Wanderer as he will be. Whether it be politics, ethics, numbers, or letters the childer comprehended at a pace that baffled. He was more intelligent than his peers, more profound than adults, and a cunning he possessed not yet humbled by loss.
The loss he held not in the past, is what drove Godrick onwards today. He had limited his approach to the fruit, along with his new knowledge and insights. The limit had been the confines of his beliefs, but the cunning of his youth surged once more.
A sparkle came upon his eyes as he found patterns in his actions.
He would be ready, he would not suffer, he thought to himself “I will be ready, I will not suffer.” His pursuit of knowledge could be said to be almost uncompromising.
His will was strong to the point of obstinacy, the reason he tried as he did. Images of his past flashed by and he stopped. Stunned and fearful; his breathing became harder, trying to reach into his bag and managing to pull out a fleurel.
As he attempted to light it, his fear-filled tremors became erratically unstable. No longer able to exert control over himself. His face contorted in fear as he began hyperventilating to prevent the asphyxiation his body had subconsciously forced him into. The man curled untowards himself in a fetal position, crying, and screaming. Whimpering at the loneliness of no longer being part of his community fearful of the coming future and unable to see where it could lead him.
His mind was still addled with the effects of the Fruit, and when a mood of melancholy touched upon the scars of his past; the insurgent trauma forced Godrick to lay waste to his mind.