Odux, the chieftain. Your word is absolute; your authority respected by one and all. Premier of the Natural Gods, your power and your virtue are unmatched. Merciful Odux, grant us the gift of your radiance, so we may live our lives with honor and grace. Let us follow in the steps you have walked towards true Benevolence.
-Sun-prayer of Altemplum monks.
Climbing the precarious steps up to the cliffside monastery Altemplum, the Young King looked back on the lengths he had traveled. Two days since he had left to cross the plains of Cortezum, and only a week prior he had entered these holy lands. Presently, he stood at the base of a great peak reaching up from the plains. Just how far will this journey take me? "Drya, is it true that the monks here are welcoming of newcomers?" He asked his sagacious companion. "You art more than any ordinary newcomer, Young King. Is it true that this will be your first time summiting the alms ascent?" "Admittedly, it is so. I do hope they will be sympathetic towards our mission." The duo climbed now, sweat surfacing as they hauled their bags. In this high domain, the sun was hot and all-knowing. "Forgive me for mine insolence, your augustness, but perhaps it would be unwise to tell the truth of our journey. I would we not cause alarm in this peaceful monastery." "Then, I suppose we should play as travelers until we catch wind of something..." "A clue," she offered, finishing the Young King's thought. "Ha! Let us track this tome as a hunter tracks prey."
With gritted teeth the holy wanderers made the journey upwards. The Young King found excitement in the act of shedding that royal title which he did not request. The sage Drya was eager to see the consecrated grounds of Altemplum and convene with its residents, the high monks. As the duo crested the incline, they were met with the sight of a temple of bleached stone. Constructed on the ridge of the cliff, behind this facade was a small town populated by monks and various denizens. Ropes adorned by tassels strung across archways on the duo's route. Hardy brown trees and bushes lined the road to the monastery buildings. A lurking scent of citrus hung in the air, an invitation to come further within.
Along their sunlit path, the Young King observed monks coming down from their cells to the walkway, like streams to a river. Wearing airy, light colored robes, all their visages were turned abroad as they walked onwards. It seemed the sort of procedure, the Young King pondered, which was so well-practiced to the point of becoming second nature.
"Monilay, fortunate visitors," spoke a calm voice from behind. "Ah," the Young King exclaimed, startled by the stranger. It was but an old ascetic, his eyes wrapped with bandage and his robes but partly veiling his withered musculature. "Monilay, honorable one," Drya said with apparent veneration. So the stories are true about the high monks, the Young King thought. They are indeed willing to harm themselves in the name of the First God. What fidelity! "You will find that my mien betrays mine humour," the ascetic started, sensing the leering eyes of his ruler. "This brotherhood of mine is less austere than you would surmise. So worry not, treasured guests! For all art welcome, regardless of the breadth or depth of their devotion." The ascetic spoke with a wide, trustworthy smile which put the Young King quite at ease. "Monilay," the Young King started, mimicking Drya, "Despite our baseborn appearance, our devotion is as wide and deep as the sea. We are, truthfully, here to--" "Join you in prayer, if we may be so fortunate," Drya interrupted, unaware of just how loose the Young King's lips were. Oops... Gods bless your acumen Drya, and please do forgive me- the keeping of secrets is not in my nature. I shall better act the part of the vagabond hence.
The ternary party followed behind a pilgrimage of monks. The Young King was enraptured in the old monk's tale of the temple's founding and operations. "Is it not true that sages have migrated here, from Mazar Cultus or further abroad?" The Young King asked. "You speak the truth, treasured guest. Many of our most devout brothers came to join us after a lifetime of sagehood in the Mazar." "If I may, honorable one," Drya said, "Those wise sages I have known to retire here report that they harbor much appreciation for the monastery." The ascetic thanked her, smiling warmly. He had finally led the duo to the central plaza, the convergence of many roads. Monks all around were turned to face the approaching group. "I profess, under Odux, that I must make an admission," he said cordially. "To mine ruler, and mine ruler's companion, we have foreseen your arrival here. We art honored to provide for your sojourn, as long as it may be. If you would do the honor of joining us in sun-prayer, as you have traveled here to do, we will begin swiftly." The Young King felt a cold apprehension growing in his chest. How did they...? To pray to the sun is to blind thyself. Alas, it is a king's duty... But is it my duty? ...I wish they would all cease their gawking!
"I would elect to first tour this most fascinating temple," the Young King exclaimed awkwardly, starting towards the nearest shelter from the many expectant eyes. He could still sense their gaze boring through the stone as he scampered 'round a corner. "Oh, my Young King," Drya said downheartedly as she observed. To the monks, she said "His eminence means no affront towards your hospitality and charity, I must assure you." The ascetic only laughed and welcomed her to join the congregation in ceremony, which she promptly accepted.
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Sun-prayer, a long-practiced ceremony, is held daily in the Altemplum plaza. It begins with a prostrate vow to the earth, the body of Odux, to devote oneself to him. Next, one turns their body upwards, towards the sun, to take in the light of his spirit which he mercifully sends to us. In silence, one is to absorb it as fully and vividly as possible, till the final ceremonial words are spoken.
Drya tried to discard the vision of her hapless ruler as she lowered her body. She momentarily considered pursuing him, but the best course of action she decided would be nonaction-- The Young King could only get so far in the test with his hand constantly held, after all. As she began her vows, she requested Odux to shine his light upon the Young King in her stead. Anon the vows were complete, and at the signal of the prayer leader, it was time for the true test of devotion to take place. Drya soothed her mind in preparation for the light; it would surely take all her focus not to look away. She raised her crown, opened her eyes, and...
A shadow fell over the plaza, too suddenly to be a passing cloud. As the eyes of the monks adjusted to the dark, they noticed a figure standing high upon the cliffs, blocking the sun's path. Standing proud, the silhouette emanated a fiery glow. "It is I, Odux born anew, come to scorn thou for thy sins!" Drya considered then that she might be dreaming, or receiving a divine vision. Aghast, she glanced around to find she was not alone in this vision. "Expostulate elsewhere you wicked old dog," one monk called upwards with annoyance. "You're blocking his heavenly light!" Called another. Drya had never witnessed the high monks lose their patience like so. "Thou dare speak to thy God with such insolence?" The figure called in return with a hearty laugh. "I shall smite you down, despots!" The plaza of monks began to stand and mill about, the holy ceremony irrevocably spoiled. The blind old monk stood, discerning the source of the commotion without even the use of his eyes. "Catros, prithee, move and come down from there. Did we not make a pact- that you would no longer cause trouble during sun-prayer?" Drya noticed that his unwavering smile still held true, finding humour in the chaotic scene. "Bah, thou do that absurd staring every day. What does it matter if I stand here for but a moment?" The trouble-maker, evidently Catros, was perched upon a precipice without shoes or sturdy footing. "Evacuate that ledge for your own sake instead of ours, if it is what you wish. To fool around up there is unwise!" The ascetic headed towards the trail up the cliff, as did the other monks.
Bewildered, Drya watched them go. The only soul left in the empty plaza, she wondered what exactly spurred that odd fellow's temerarious actions.
***
The Young King, erstwhile excited at the prospect of escaping from his title-- and all the baggage placed upon it by his father-- now felt all too visible. Hastening from the plaza with chagrin, he had the impression that everyone in Altemplum was aware of his identity. The horticulturalist pruning her orchid tree, the old curmudgeon on his morning stroll, the weary mother walking with child in tow; what pressure the townsfolk imposed upon him with mere looks!
Howbeit, despite all his strife, the Young King's worries settled when he caught wind of that drifting scent yet again. The heavy burden of kingship lifted for those next blissful moments, as he explored the temple complex. He passed through the beautiful chapel district. He saw the monastery gardens where food and flowers grew. He gazed at frescoes depicting scenes of worship. And, finally, he pinpointed the origin of that saccharine smell: One humble little building outside of an orange orchard.
Above the door was engraved, "Holy Office of Magnanimity & Charity." Here, 'neath the shade of the eaves, in possibly the only corner in all of Altemplum to escape the sun's reach, leaned a fair looking woman. She quarreled with a monk who was toiling about in the orchard. The Young King received the impression that he had walked into a most dire altercation. "I struggle to see thy point, girl," dismissed the monk as he heaved a bushel of the fragrant oranges. "How," he continued, "could gift-giving ever be misconstrued as doing harm? Benevolence is the pinnacle of what is Right." "I renounce thy order and its excessive charity!" she called back, most ardently. "Thou may think it virtuous, but I implore, please, envision the bigger picture! I will not step foot off these temple grounds until thy order heeds my plea." The woman had a fighting, desperate spirit that captured the attention of the Young King. Suddenly, the weight of kingship returned, sinking deep into his stomach. The onus was on him to step into this issue, although he internally fought the compulsion to turn tail once again.
For the Young King, the truth was as clear as the limitless blue o'erhead: It was high time to embrace the title of king.
Perhaps being a ruler isn't all about virtues as lofty as self sacrifice, or honor, as my father led me to believe... If I can merely help my people through their trials, that is how I'd like mine kingship to be remembered.