#theseventhchantry

Flicker. The sound of many footsteps resonated through a dense forest, filled with towering trees of golden bark that seemed to almost sparkle when the sunlight caught them in a particular manner, their fiery leaves of red, orange, and brown waving and occasionally cascading downward to the mossy floor below. The wind was gentle today, rustling the canopies overhead just enough to ensure that these woods were never silent. Not that they needed to, as the delighted cries of adventurous children bounced back and forth through the forest. About a half-dozen children from the nearby village scurried and ran after one another, all seemingly eager to reach whatever destination it was that they were heading towards. Humans all, they had not a care in the world, for in this distant corner of the realm, they knew only peace. Only the daily life of a peasantry undisturbed. Here, in the Autumn Vale, named so for its eternally-colorful foliage, there was no sign of the greater turmoil that afflicted the rest of the world. And it was during another such blissful day that a raven-haired girl found herself lagging behind the rest of her friends, her sandal-covered feet lightly pattering away at the mossy earth beneath her as she tried to catch up to the others. They were headed towards a small stream that made its way towards their village, brought to them by the mountain springs over yonder. Even if she couldn’t reach them, she knew where they were going - the same place they always did, a wide, flower-strewn clearing within the forest that gave them ample room to run and play. Just as she reaches the stream, the blue-eyed child catches sight of the backs of her fellow village children, who had already crossed over via the stone walkways they had laid out in months past. “Heeeey…! Scipio! Marus! Guys, wait for me!” The girl called out, but her cries went unheeded as her friends continued deeper into the woods. Pouting, she begins to grumble to herself, too preoccupied to take notice of one sizable stone blocking her path. As soon as her toes struck the stone, the girl let out a yelp and tumbled down to the gravelly earth right next to the stream, landing onto her hands and knees. Wincing, and with the occasional whimper escaping her, she could feel that her knees had been cut up a bit from the fall. But before she could stand up to inspect her lightly-wounded limbs, her eyes caught sight of something else - something...unusual. Further upstream, the corpse of a local buck lay near the edge of the water. Seeing dead beasts was not exactly uncommon, even for a young child such as herself, but something about the creature seemed odd to her. For one thing, while it looked as if it had been mauled by another beast - likely a roaming predator - the wounds on it appeared to not be fresh. But, surely, the kill had to be fresh, as a faint amount of dark, sickly blood dribbled from its open wounds and into the stream. Before the raven-haired girl could dwell on the curious sight too much, she once again heard the shrill cries and laughter of her friends further on in the woods. With a grunt, she climbs back up onto her feet, gingerly wiping away the pebbles from her knees and hands before she too crosses the stream via the makeshift stone “bridge” they had made. Following the distant voices, the child raced towards their usual playground, though she would occasionally glance upward to see that some dark-looking clouds had begun to roll in, and rather rapidly at that. Strange, the village’s skywatcher had not predicted any poor weather today - she made sure to ask before leaving the village, as she always did! And the closer she drew towards the forest clearing, the darker the sky became. When she finally arrives, the sky appears as if it were about to pour down a deluge upon the unsuspecting children, the other five all running around and attempting to tag one another in whatever game it was they had chosen to start. Panting from her dash to reach them, the raven-haired girl stops just at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a nearby golden-barked tree and calling out to her friends. “...G-Guys! It’s about to rain! Come over…here?” Her voice trailed off as she looked to the sky overhead of them. The dark clouds that had so rapidly formed had grown denser, and bright, orange-red lights flickered within their depths. That wasn’t lightning, and the girl heard no thunder. What was happening? And as if to answer her confusion, the first of many fiery streams descend from the heavens, illuminating the sky in their radiance before slowly fading away well before they struck the earth. Dozens - no, hundreds of the falling lights fell from the rumbling sky, a cacophony of lights. Feeling a mixture of fear and awe, the girl could not help but stare at the display within the sky for a couple of moments before she looked at her still-playing friends, who all seemed oddly oblivious to what was happening. Concerned for her fellow villagers, she rushes forward and reaches out to grab one passing girl, lightly tugging on her sleeve as she points to the sky overhead. “Look! It’s a starshower! We need to go home!” She tried to inform her friend, her fear evident in her voice. However, the other girl - a plump, brown-haired and mousy child - gives her raven-haired friend a confused stare before also looking at the sky. “...What are you talking about? There’s nothing there!” It was the blue-eyed girl’s turn to be confused, as she once more shot her gaze up towards the sky and...nothing. No more falling stars, no more dark clouds, just an endless expense of blue sky with the occasional, white puff to dot the horizon. “I...wh-what?” The dark-haired girl stammers, slowly releasing her friend’s sleeve as she stares dumbfoundedly at the sky. With a sigh, the plump girl took her younger friend by the hand before calling out to the others. “Hey, I’ll be back! I’m taking her home!” A brief chorus of responses come their way, before the older girl begins to gently tug her dark-haired friend behind her, back towards the way they came. “C’mon, are you not feeling well? Your mother will kill us if you get sick again, you know…” The mousy child chides, as the other girl allows herself to be pulled along, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere. After a few attempts to get the younger girl to talk, the brown-haired girl finally gives up, leaving her friend to her thoughts as she leads the way back to their village. Meanwhile, all the raven-haired child could think about was the falling stars. Was it all just her imagination playing tricks on her? Why did it seem so vivid, so real to her? And did her friends really not see it, either? The sight had instilled in her such a sense of dread, something she had never felt before...what could it possibly mean? “...O-Octavia, I’m so-” _________________________________________________________ Flicker. A week had passed since that fateful day. One long, horrific week. Just the day after the raven-haired girl had witnessed the star shower, the first person in her village had gotten sick. An elderly man known for sharing countless stories and myths, Septimius, had fallen ill with a mysterious ailment. He had grown haggard rapidly, eyes and flesh losing their color, and virulent purple buboes forming on his body. Not long after, he began to secrete blood and viscous ooze from his mouth and ears. Before the sun had set, Septimius was dead, taken as swiftly as the disease had appeared. But that was just the first day. On the second day, like wildfire, the sickness began to spread through the village. The same symptoms began to show on the eldest first, plunging their ancient flesh into horrific agony and draining them of their life. The raven-haired girl’s mother, the local healer, did her best to try and ease the pain of the afflicted...but there was nothing she could truly do to stop their demise. Almost immediately after the second patient perished, the healer sent forth a letter via carrier pigeon - praying that it would reach her contact in time. With the arrival of the third day, the village’s adults came next. Mothers and fathers, working-aged men and women who were responsible for maintaining the village’s day-to-day functions, now rapidly fell ill themselves. Much like their elders, the adults seemed to show the same symptoms...however, they also seemed to become more aggressive, with a tendency to lash out at those near them as they came closer to death. By the time the moon reached its zenith, all that remained were the village’s mourning children, the raven-haired girl, and her mother...but not for long. The raven-haired girl knelt by her mother’s bedside, as the dutiful healer struggled with every breath she made. At this point, the woman knew what had struck her village. The violent behavior of the adults nearing their demise was the final clue...and now, all she could do was fear for the life of her own daughter. Turning her own once-blue, now whitening, gaze on the tear-stained face of her daughter, the healer lifted up a dagger from the bed, and held it handle-out towards her child. At the look of horror on her child’s face, the healer did her best to offer as soothing of a smile as she could...but given her current state, she doubted that it would do much. “...Songbird...I n-need you to do this. Please…” The dying healer rasped out, her exhausted eyes wavering in their vision already. The raven-haired girl violently shook her head, in denial of what was happening. “No…! No, Mama, I can’t...I c-can’t! You can’t...please don’t leave me alone…!” The blue-eyed girl sobs, begging her mother. But even the child knew that such pleas were futile. She had seen with her own eyes that no one, not even her own mother, could escape the disease’s reaping grasp once the symptoms had set in. Knowing that there was little time left, the healer used her other, ghostly-pale hand to take her daughter’s and guide it to the dagger’s handle, gently wrapping the girl’s fingers around the coarse leather grip. By the time the moon had reached its peak, the horrific curse unleashed upon their village would finally awake...and there would be nothing but screams. Red-tinged tears fall down the healer’s face, her lips quivering as it came time for her to beg. “...You...you have to listen. I...don’t w-want to hurt you, Songbird...but I fear I will. W-Which is why...you have to do this.” She whispers, slowly pulling the dagger’s blade towards her chest, right over her heart, even as her daughter’s breathing quickens between sobs. “T-This will...keep me from coming back…” Her eyes moved over to the door that served as the entrance to their home. “...When I’m gone...you need to block the door. P-Put whatever you can in front of it. And whatever you d-do...do not go outside…stay quiet…” While her mother’s words confused the raven-haired girl, she knew that there was some sort of reasoning behind them. After all, mother always knew best...but that did not make this any less hard. Any less painful. “...M-Mama, I...I don’t want to be alone...wh-what will I…?” She tried to speak, but her sobs kept drowning whatever else could come out, her eyes now centered directly on the sinister edge of the dagger her hand now held. With her daughter’s fingers now wrapped around the dagger, the healer moves her hand to gently cup her child’s cheek, tips softly stroking against the alabaster skin. “...You won’t be. Someone v-very important is coming...he’ll help you. H-He’ll take you far away from here...somewhere better, I promise…” The tears now spill freely from the healer’s face, even as she reaffirms her resolve and returns her hand to join her daughter’s upon the dagger. “...Now. Now, my dear…” The dying woman swallows, and attempts to offer one more smile. “...sing, like I taught you. I love you...b-be strong, and live...” With that, the raven-haired girl grits her teeth, hanging her head and unable to meet her mother’s eyes as she obeys...as she always had. To fulfill her mother’s one final request. And thus, with a quiet voice but laden with grief, the young girl begins to sing for her mother… “Shut your eyes and listen close, As I sing under the moon, newly arose, So that your dream will take you far from here, To the home we keep, so far yet so near. A land of flowers, carried upon a gentle breeze, A place where one's heart knows, but never sees. Rest well my heart, forget all your fear, For the Light blesses us, even here, Forever loved are we, the children of the Mother, Cradled are we, long after our last whisper. Listen close, for on the distant gale, Are the prayers of our Mother, who has heard of our tale, When you have lost all hope, and have only despair, Know that you are not alone, our bonds kept safe in the air. Some day, one day, we all find our way home, To the place where fields of flowers endlessly roam. Rest well my beloved, forget all your fear, For the Stars watch over us, even here, Forever loved are we, the children of the Light, Cradled are we, for long into the night. So wipe away your tears, stifle your cries, Brush away the hurt, and all of the lies, When you have buried the pain, not to let it show, Know that home is near, by the Mother's eternal glow, For She guides the Stars, upon which our rest is made, And guides us back home, so that our scars may at last fade. Rest well my dear, forget all your fear, For the Heavens wait for us, even here, Forever loved are we, the flock of our Shepherd, Cradled are we, long after we are severed. One day, some day, I pray you'll be saved and left be, To make your way home, and finally see, That the world is not so cold, nor as cruel as it seems, And embrace the Light's warmth, borne upon gentle beams. Just listen to Her Song, to the promise it brings, To remove your burdens, as the hymn of Freedom rings. Such is my prayer, my own dream for you, Mother, may She listen, and make my wish true, May She keep you, guide you back to the blossoming trees, Where your pain will be gone, carried on a far away breeze… Yes, I sing, for a far away breeze…” By the time the hymn had reached its conclusion, the raven-haired girl could tell that her mother had ceased breathing. Choking back her sobs, she looks up once more, to take in the pale sight of the healer’s visage. A gentle smile remained upon her lips, a sense of peace resting over her. It was too much to bear. Averting her eyes once again, the girl whispers a prayer of her own...feeling the magic invoked by the song flow into the dagger’s blade, as she drives it home into her mother’s still heart. The child knelt there at the bedside, for what seemed like ages, before she finally stood back up onto her feet and turned away from the corpse resting upon the bed. There was still one thing she had to do, to fulfill her mother’s last words. Struggling to move whatever heavy furniture she could reasonably position in front of the cabin’s front door, she worked through a haze of tears as she steadily barricaded herself inside. Now, left by herself, she extinguishes the lights in the cabin, plunging her into absolute darkness. With nothing else to do, she sits herself down on the floor by the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her head into her arms...and waits. The raven-haired girl did not have to wait for long, before the panicked screams of the village’s children began to be sounded outside the cabin - along with the guttural, inhuman screams of the risen dead. Such screams would echo within the girl’s head for years to come, and continued to pound inside her skull...long after they had abruptly ceased. By the fifth day, the raven-haired girl was all that remained of the once-prosperous, peaceful village. The risen dead continued to shamble about outside, unaware as to her presence. On the sixth day, those very same walking corpses began to crumble apart and fall to the earth, plunging the ruined refuge into absolute silence. It was not until the seventh day that the village’s last child finally mustered the courage to step outside, both in search of food and to finally see what was left of her home. The sights would scar her till the end of her days...and perhaps long after. But before the girl could bring herself to leave, she had once last obligation to fulfill towards her fellow villagers. And so she grabbed Forgemaster Brutus’ shovel, and set to work… ________________________________________________________ Flicker. It was near high noon, on the eighth day, that the raven-haired girl would be disturbed in the midst of her grim task. Ever since her emergence from the cabin that had once been her home, she had labored away in an effort to dig graves, drag corpses, and bury what remained of the villagers. Her hands had long-since become cracked and bleeding from the work, and her general demeanor had fallen into something more akin to a zombie than that of a living girl. The shock of recent events had forced her to repress what emotions she had felt since the dreaded fourth night. However, even in her current state, there seemed to be some semblance of cognisance still active, as the distant sound of hoofbeats could be heard from the distant forest word that led towards the village. Pausing in the middle of digging the last of a whole, fresh graveyard - the grave meant for what remained of her mother - the raven-haired girl could not be certain whether the source of the noise would be a threat or not, and thus hastily dropped her shovel and ran to the cabin, shutting the door behind her and hiding herself underneath the dining table. Not long after she curled up beneath the table, she heard the hoofbeats draw even closer, until the sound of men calling out to one another could also be gleaned. Their voices sounded firm, authoritative...harsh, as they barked their orders. “...You know the drill! Scour the village, search for survivors! The Chantry does as it must - and ready the torches!” Within the cabin, the girl could hear as the men dismounted and began to spread themselves outside, kicking in what doors remained closed as they occasionally made shouts to the others to verify their status. “Clear!” “Clean here!” Until, finally, her own cabin door was kicked open and off its hinges, the door cracking and hanging off to the side as the sound of heavy, plated footsteps slowly entered the room. The girl flinched, holding her breath as she curled up even more, remaining perfectly still in the hope of not being seen. The first indication she received as to the identity of the person who had arrived, was their retching due to the heavy scent of death and decay in the cabin room. A woman, from the sounds of it. As the armored woman delved further into the cabin, she would spot the corpse still remaining on the bed, a grunt escaping her from the stench...and a weary sigh. “...Poor woman...I wonder if she died alone...” The mysterious warrior muttered to herself, still unaware as to the young girl’s presence. After another moment, the woman has herself another sigh, grumbling. “...Curses. This one died of the plague after all.” “Tessarius Tutor! What did you find?” The voice of a man - the same one that had been issuing orders outside - called out to the armored woman from the cabin’s doorway, as a similarly-attired man strode inside. The raven-haired girl tried her best to remain still, but the need to breathe was beginning to supersede her fear. At the man’s inquiry, the mysterious warrior-woman turns on her heel to face him, replying as any soldier would to a superior. “A body, Centurion. I believe she died of the plague that was reported.” There is a sound of disapproval from this ‘Centurion’, along with a heavy sigh of his own. “Yes, I see the pustules. A mass grave site was reported, so we believe that there may be a survivor or several here. We will have to-” The man is cut off when the raven-haired child attempts to take a breath, and in doing so, moves just enough to cause the floorboard beneath her to creak. Both of the mysterious intruders fell silent, before advancing towards the table. The man raises his greave-protected right foot and uses it to kick the table back and out of the way, exposing the girl underneath as she flinches and quivers where she is, like a frightened mouse. With the table gone, she could at last see the faces of the two warriors, even partially-obscured by their helmets as they were. The woman bore a pale visage, blue eyes, and traces of golden hair could be seen at the edges of her helm, while the man was of darker complexion, with dark brown eyes and a stern expression - one growing ever more dour as he glares down at the raven-haired child. “A survivor indeed…” After a couple of uneasy moments pass by, the woman bends her knees and slowly lowers herself, her eyes focused on the frightened child in front of them. Adopting a smile in an attempt to ease the girl’s fears, she tries to talk to her. “Do not fear, we are not here to hurt you, child...are you alone? Is there anyone else here?” The girl does not answer, opting to instead remain silent. The Centurion reaches to his waist, his hand seizing hold of the hilt of his gladius, and begins to withdraw it from its scabbard - but he is stopped by the hand of the woman standing next to him, who is looking at him with an expression of horror. “Stop! What are you doing?!” The woman asked, glancing between the frightened girl and her superior. Keeping his eyes locked onto the shaking child, in case she were to try and run, he answers his subordinate with a cold, harsh tone. “You know the protocol, Tessarius. Any and all survivors within these villages are to be executed, lest they spread the disease elsewhere. Now, unhand me.” The Centurion’s voice takes on a threatening edge to it towards the end, as if daring the woman to continue to hold him back. “She is but a child! Ask the Lord-Chanter to-” “Ask me to, what, Tessarius?” Another voice joined the fray, once more coming from the cabin’s doorway. This time, from a man wearing an odd combination of priestly robes and light, leather armor, adorned in the divine symbols of the Mother’s Chant and her holy Chantry. His hair, cut short in military fashion, was as pale as snow, his face featuring the wear that came with middle age. But it was his eyes, the piercing, all-knowing blues, that defined his visage. The Centurion raises his own voice to answer, violently shrugging off the woman’s grip as he did so. “Nothing, my Lord-Chanter. We will handle this situation promptly.” The man reassured the priest, his eyes fixating once more on the shaking child. But he does not get the chance to do as he promises, as the Lord-Chanter’s own response came immediately after. “Stay your blade, Centurion...the girl does not harbor the plague.” The reply came calmly, yet firm, as to dissuade any attempts to disagree or contest his assertion. The Centurion stays silent, staring hard at the raven-haired girl, before he briskly nods and removes his hand from the pommel of his gladius. “As you command, Lord-Chanter.” Waiting for a dismissive nod of the priest’s head, the Centurion then walks past him and back out into the village proper, barking more orders to his men with perhaps a hint of added heat to his words. The Lord-Chanter waits for his Centurion to pass him by, before he fully enters the cabin and looks down at the raven-haired child. His expression doesn’t shift, remaining as calm and stone-faced, but there is a glint of recognition in his blue stare. He then shifts his attention to the corpse laid out upon the nearby bed, and walks over to stand before it. For an uncomfortable period of time, the Lord-Chanter stares at the body, before he finally speaks once again. “Tessarius Tutor, was it?” The armored woman, nervous as she was, had waited to be addressed and directly dismissed, until the Lord-Chanter spoke to her. Swallowing, the woman places a fist against her chest and confirms. “Yes, Lord-Chanter. What do you require of me?” The Lord-Chanter does not turn to look at them, his eyes only for the body before him. But he continues, as authoritative as always. “You physically obstructed your superior from conducting his duty, before receiving orders to do so from someone of higher rank. Such behavior is unacceptable, and you will be chastised for it.” The Lord-Chanter informs, but before the trepidation grows too much, he proceeds. “For the time-being, as part of your punishment, you will be responsible for the child’s safekeeping. I trust you will fulfill this obligation to the fullest of your abilities.” The order came as a small surprise to the Tessarius, but she does not hesitate to respond in confirmation. “Yes, my Lord. I understand.” When the Lord-Chanter offers a single-worded dismissal, the woman turns back around to the child, still curled up on the floor and fearful. Crouching down, she kneels in front of the girl. “It is alright...you are in good hands.” She accentuates her words by extending both of her hands towards the girl for her to take, smiling. “Do you have a name…?” The raven-haired girl stares at the armored woman in front of her, blue eyes wide as they took in all of her features. Despite the intimidating attire the soldier in front of her wore, the face she bore was nothing but gentle. A welcoming, nurturing smile meant to instill some sense of ease in the traumatized child. Which, perhaps to both of their surprise, succeeded to some small degree as the girl shakily reached out to take both of the Tessarius’ hands. “...Valeria…” The child answered in a whisper. If the name came as a shock to the Lord-Chanter, he did not seem to show it, though the woman certainly seemed to find it a rather curious circumstance. “Valeria…? A lovely name. I am Justinia.” She introduces herself, gently squeezing the girl’s hands with her own, before she steadily works at bringing them both up onto their feet. “Now, come along...it is time we left.” The raven-haired girl hesitates, looking over to where the Lord-Chanter stood over the corpse of her mother. “...B-But…” “It is alright...Lord Camena will take care of her.” Justinia promises to the young Valeria, maintaining her hold on the girl’s hands before slowly beginning to lead them both out of the cabin, and onto the streets. Already, the Chantry’s soldiery had begun to set the village ablaze, the homes of dozens alight and billowing smoke upward to the sky. Justinia did not allow Valeria to linger, instead guiding her to the mount she owned, helping the child up onto the saddle, and then joining her soon after to trot away from the village. With the Tessarius’ arms wrapped around her, and the rocking of the beast’s movements, for the first time in days the young girl felt safe enough to finally shut her eyes. And within moments, she was out, lost to the blissful relief that was slumber… ...But that simply set the stage, did it not? Your life started as a unique Hell of its own. And it continued to be such, did it not? Until the very end. And even then, She did not let you find the rest you craved. No, She seems content to let you suffer. But perhaps that is alright. After all...we will be able to see each other again, very soon...