#thearchcurate

I see a vampire.

Well, well, well. Look at what we have here!

He was hungry. Starving, even. However, such a small degree of personal sacrifice was nothing to one who had faithfully stood watch at his post for millennia. A few days without food was a small price to pay, in order to ensure that his gift would be ready on time. The New Life Festival... A time of joy, and a time of giving. Such simple sentiments truly warmed the old guardian's heart, granting a temporary reprieve from the bitter frost of penance and lament that laced it. It was thus that Gelebor had spent the past few months gathering precious herbs and spices, both the local area and from those lost travellers whom stumbled across his Wayshrine. A snared Vale Deer, caught as the rising sun heralded the dawn of Wayrest's Saturalia, completed the delectable ensemble. Food was hard to come by, especially among the gelid climes of the Forgotten Vale, and thus, the old guardian savoured not a single bite of the venison intended as a gift for his defiled sibling, despite the time between Saturalia and the New Life Festival. A day's slow cooking ensured that the meat was deliciously tender, the aromatic twist of the donated herbs and spices nigh on irresistible to those lucky enough to savour it. The pelt of the fallen deer was not wasted either, as the aging Snow Elf carefully fashioned the fur into a pair of long-sleeved gloves. He knew well that frost mercilessly nipped at exposed fingers, even when concealed under lined gauntlets; as such, it was his dearest hope that, perhaps, this gift would finally be the one to be gratefully received by his estranged brother. The pot of stew, carefully wrapped in the remainder of the insulating fur, was left at the entrance of the Inner Sanctum upon the eve of the New Life Festival. The meticulously crafted gloves were placed atop the piping hot vessel, wrapped in a delicate bow skillfully fashioned from woven Frostbite Spider silk. A troubled sigh escaped the ancient guardian as he straightened his posture, wondering if all his effort would, once more, be in vain. Try as Gelebor might, Vyrthur had not once accepted any of his New Life gifts for as long as he could remember, and such blatant rejection from the brother he revered grieved him. He could only hope that when he returned the next day, that he might, at last, be greeted by the joyous sight of the Arch-Curate's icy countenance thawing amongst the gentle warmth of a long forgotten smile. Unfortunately, as the sun of the First of Morning Star rose upon the fallen sanctuary, the Knight-Paladin's heart sank as he realised the lovingly made stew had frozen solid in the very same place he left it. Another year, another rejection.

Send me a ▣ and my character will tell you the last thing they’d say before having to kill yours.

When one considers how it was that Gelebor came to arrive at the Chantry, a key piece of insight is presented upon mention of one of his quotes regarding the construction of the Wayshrines. "However, the magic used to construct these wonders was lost long before I arrived here." What can be inferred from his choice of wording is that Gelebor did not always pursue the religious path in life, for he recalls the construction of the Chantry and the Wayshrines at the beginning of the First Era, but was clearly not there when it was founded. Indeed, it seems most likely that he sought the comfort of the salvation of faith after a traumatic event of sorts... And few can compare to seeing the fall of the Snow Prince at the Battle of the Moesring in the Late Merethic Era. Gelebor certainly has the protective and selfless personality to wish to defend those of his kin, even if he would hold a heavy penance for raising a sword to another. Even though he would certainly not have agreed to the sacking of Saarthal, he would not have let his sword arm rest while the Atmorans issued their retaliation and drove his people out of their lands. Thus, it is this author's surmise that Vyrthur stayed behind in the region that would later become the Chantry, having chosen the life of faith, while Gelebor departed to help protect his people from the oncoming war with men. The turning point for Gelebor likely came as he fled Solstheim, for given the close bond between the brothers, there would be few other places he would go to seek solace and comfort other than with his sibling. Devoting himself to faith likely came quite naturally, thereafter - Both because he desired to follow in his brother's footsteps, and to seek forgiveness for his actions in the war with men.

"Does he have a brother? I'm sure he's just as ugly as his counterpart. If he were a vampire I'd of course be disgusted by the mere thought of laying with him, but a rotting corpse! Oh, I'd be delighted!" Horror once again overcomes her features - she covers her face, giving a despairing wail. "For fuck's sake..."

[ Pssh. Gelebor gets -all- the fangirls. The sour old git needs some love, too! ]

Gelebor could reel off a list as long as his arm relating to the fears that encompass how he feels about Vyrthur - How his soul is unlikely to find peace whilst he has turned his back on their deity, what fate he will face for his insanity and heresy, and also the fact that he might never again be the proud mer he once was before the touch of the Betrayed stole him away. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, indeed. Only the Knight-Paladin’s faint hope that death is not the only answer is what keeps him going, regarding his defiled sibling. However, there is one thing that frightens him even more than the aforementioned criteria. The single biggest fear Gelebor harbours regarding Vyrthur, above all else…… Is that he is right about Auri-El abandoning them.