Post by Thrym on Nov 25, 2013 13:44:43 GMT -5
It’s morning, and a new tenday breaks over the city of Suzail. As the sun slowly rises over the city, the bells of the Temple of the Defender call the faithful to mass, and for the first time in many moons, an angelic voice is once more heard emanating from its tower, celestial words carried across the city’s core with the uncanny clarity only a bard’s magic can bring.
Those visiting the mass would come upon a sight they may find familiar. In a corner, perched upon a small stool, rests the diminutive, slender, almost fragile appearing figure of Unproven Tasha, garbed in her usual surreally white garb, her pale face framed by equally unnaturally white hair, accompanying the proceedings with harp and voice, an unearthly, heavenly music echoing through the temple’s halls.
Hardly surprising to those familiar with the hin-priestess, she approaches the faithful after the mass comes to a close, a warm, if somewhat reserved seeming smile gracing her pleasant features.
“Hail Cormytes. Travellers. Fellow faithful. Friends.
Many of you may know me. More may not. To those who I had not yet the pleasure of meeting, I am Unproven Tasha of Torm. I hope you enjoyed my musical accompaniment of the service, and while I know the industrious folk of the forest kingdom’s fair capital is eager to begin their day, allow me to ask for but a moment of your time.”
A grin plays around her lips.
“I know full well I can be wordy, but I shall keep it brief this once.”
The joyful expression on the tiny woman’s face fades, and she hugs her harp to her chest.
“I owe those of you who supported me in word, action or even just hope, an apology. Many of you had put your trust into me and my campaign to abolish the abominable loopholes in our fair cormyte law that allow the servants of the Black Hand and Lady Loss to do their dirty work here, in broad daylight, through the Church of the Maiden of Pain. Had placed your trust in me to stop them from reaching for further public positions of authority in the Western Reaches.
And I failed you. I vanished.”
Her beautiful features briefly distort into a frown.
“I vanished, and I am sure many of you asked yourself: Why? What happened?
Maybe some of you thought I had abandoned you, had given up.
Maybe some of you even thought I had ill intent, had come to raise your hopes then crush them.
Maybe some of you believed my enemies had gotten to me, for I had made many enemies. Dark Priests. Necromancers. The corrupt who hide behind a mask of goodness but play into the hands of the dark ones evermore.
Some of you may even have seen me once or twice since my disappearance.
I did not abandon you. I had no ill intent for you.
I had made enemies, and in the end, one of them caught up with me, and it is only through the grace of our Lord Ilmater and his most honoured clergy that I walk among you once more. I had moments of clarity, but for many moons, my mind was in disarray, and when I thought I was well again, I was quickly overwhelmed once more. Maybe you believe this is an excuse. I am certain my enemies will paint it as such, and maybe they do not have to even. Either way, I owe you an apology.”
She lowers her gaze, the harp still clutched against her thin form, her voice dropping to a much more somber and much less passionate level than anyone who had witnessed her speak before is used to.
“I should have been stronger than them.
I should have recovered from returning through the veil more quickly.
These are my faults, and I can offer you nothing to make up for them. But know this.”
Her head rises, and her gaze turns as steel. Strength returns to the Bardpriestess’ words, her voice growing firm and determined once more.
“To those who stood by my side, to those who shall in the future, and especially to those who thought they had gotten rid of me:
By the grace of the Triad,
I have returned. And my work is far from done.”
Those visiting the mass would come upon a sight they may find familiar. In a corner, perched upon a small stool, rests the diminutive, slender, almost fragile appearing figure of Unproven Tasha, garbed in her usual surreally white garb, her pale face framed by equally unnaturally white hair, accompanying the proceedings with harp and voice, an unearthly, heavenly music echoing through the temple’s halls.
Hardly surprising to those familiar with the hin-priestess, she approaches the faithful after the mass comes to a close, a warm, if somewhat reserved seeming smile gracing her pleasant features.
“Hail Cormytes. Travellers. Fellow faithful. Friends.
Many of you may know me. More may not. To those who I had not yet the pleasure of meeting, I am Unproven Tasha of Torm. I hope you enjoyed my musical accompaniment of the service, and while I know the industrious folk of the forest kingdom’s fair capital is eager to begin their day, allow me to ask for but a moment of your time.”
A grin plays around her lips.
“I know full well I can be wordy, but I shall keep it brief this once.”
The joyful expression on the tiny woman’s face fades, and she hugs her harp to her chest.
“I owe those of you who supported me in word, action or even just hope, an apology. Many of you had put your trust into me and my campaign to abolish the abominable loopholes in our fair cormyte law that allow the servants of the Black Hand and Lady Loss to do their dirty work here, in broad daylight, through the Church of the Maiden of Pain. Had placed your trust in me to stop them from reaching for further public positions of authority in the Western Reaches.
And I failed you. I vanished.”
Her beautiful features briefly distort into a frown.
“I vanished, and I am sure many of you asked yourself: Why? What happened?
Maybe some of you thought I had abandoned you, had given up.
Maybe some of you even thought I had ill intent, had come to raise your hopes then crush them.
Maybe some of you believed my enemies had gotten to me, for I had made many enemies. Dark Priests. Necromancers. The corrupt who hide behind a mask of goodness but play into the hands of the dark ones evermore.
Some of you may even have seen me once or twice since my disappearance.
I did not abandon you. I had no ill intent for you.
I had made enemies, and in the end, one of them caught up with me, and it is only through the grace of our Lord Ilmater and his most honoured clergy that I walk among you once more. I had moments of clarity, but for many moons, my mind was in disarray, and when I thought I was well again, I was quickly overwhelmed once more. Maybe you believe this is an excuse. I am certain my enemies will paint it as such, and maybe they do not have to even. Either way, I owe you an apology.”
She lowers her gaze, the harp still clutched against her thin form, her voice dropping to a much more somber and much less passionate level than anyone who had witnessed her speak before is used to.
“I should have been stronger than them.
I should have recovered from returning through the veil more quickly.
These are my faults, and I can offer you nothing to make up for them. But know this.”
Her head rises, and her gaze turns as steel. Strength returns to the Bardpriestess’ words, her voice growing firm and determined once more.
“To those who stood by my side, to those who shall in the future, and especially to those who thought they had gotten rid of me:
By the grace of the Triad,
I have returned. And my work is far from done.”