Chapter Three: A Holy Life

Leogun takes up a monk's robe twenty years on, swearing his life to the service of the High One.

Leogun shivered, even in his new blue robe. Not yet a priest, at least not officially, the robe did him little good. It was thin and not warm at all, not even sufficient to break the wind. The tall man stumbled towards the looming wooden doors that stood just out of his reach. It had taken him nearly a week to get here, and his stamina and strength was at its end. Finally, his long fingers caught the freezing-cold door and pulled it open. Before he stepped in, he shed the pack that hung from his shoulders. Only two things were to enter the High One’s Sanctum- the brother-to-be, and the brother-to-be’s clothing. He stepped through the entryway into the enormous stone chamber. The stones were warm, somehow, and the area was well lit, though not from any natural light. Torches burned on posts that bordered the Sanctum’s pool, but they were not the source of the light. Small specks of golden flame floated through the chamber like fireflies, things that he recognized as the High One’s light. He stumbled through the room, feeling his limbs warm up. He kicked off his shoes towards the door and came up to the lip of the pool. Peering into the clear water, he saw that it was about a meter and a half deep, coming up to about his chest. He dipped one foot in, and then the other. Soon, he was as deep in the water as possible. Asmund had told him what he had to do. He waded up to the far end of the pool, where a tall stone tablet stood. There were words inscribed on it.
“The Creed of the Follower,” he whispered, stroking the centuries-old writing. The letters were faded. No-one was allowed into the Sanctum save to take the Creed, and thus it was ill-maintained. Leogun breathed slowly. The stone’s carvings slowly made sense to the tall priest-to-be. At the head, there was a figure wrapped in the coils of a mighty serpent and the wings of a dragon. Adnval, the High One himself. Below him, there were men, praying. They all wore robes, the same ones that Leogun guessed he was wearing now. He followed the tale down. The carving to the far left depicted the Holy War, as it was called. It had come not long after Brym and Deharl’s founding. The first of the High One’s followers, the holy Ivar Torin. He had had a vision of the High One, where the High One demanded that he gathered his people, the Northerners of Deharl, together. Ivar had not gone unnoticed; when the king of Deharl had realized what was happening, Ivar’s followers had already begun to take land away from the selae, the slender, point-eared swordsmasters of Deharl that had ruled the North for nearly two hundred years. That had sparked a war that soon spread to Brym. Ivar started the Iron Arms to fight the Paladins and the Deharlean military, carving a swath of land through the North.
Next to the Holy War carving showed Ivar and his acolytes building the Great Monastery into Mount Ahgi. It had taken until the end of Ivar’s life, the story went, but it was a great and magnificent home for the High One’s followers.
Finally, he turned to the last carving. This one did not depict the history of the High One’s Order, but rather its future. It showed one man shining brighter than the sun, and leading the Order to an idyllic future. Not only that, it showed his armies slaying the so-called ‘enemies’ of the church. Leogun frowned at the image. On it, Paladins and selae alike were slaughtered and destroyed. He gritted his teeth. The prophesied future of the church, known as the Cleansing, had nearly destroyed the church’s reputation, not to mention the church itself. Most of the High One’s modern followers hoped for a more peaceful future, though one no less idyllic than the one on the stone.
He returned to the Creed. He took in the words, verse by verse. His brown eyes went from word to word, and he murmured the oath slowly. It didn’t count, of course, not until he held one of the tall staves of the priests or the blade of an Iron Arms that were kept in the back of the Sanctum, just behind the tablet. He pushed through the small opening on the side of the tablet and into the back. There was a long closet of sorts, with staves hanging on the left and the bronze swords hanging on the right. He looked from left to right. Even at the end, Asmund had urged the young man to take up an Iron Arm’s sword, but Leogun had chosen the more quiet life of the priest years ago. He pulled down one of the tall oak staves, one that was only slightly taller than he. The monk-to-be had no idea how the staves and blades were replenished. No-one did. It certainly helped that the Order was becoming smaller and smaller of late, after word of the Cleansing had spread to the people of the High One’s church.
Leogun walked back to the pool and dropped back in, coming up to the tablet again. He tightened his fingers around the well-carved wood of the staff as he said the binding words.

“By the light of the stars and the moon I swear,” he began. “to serve Adnval with every breath I take. To spread word of the Golden Flame to the People. To save Gammesia from a dark future. To uphold morality and justice.” Leogun felt a warmth blossom in his chest, the first traces of the Golden Flame filling him. Two more verses.

“By the light of the stars and the moon I swear to guide Gammesia to peace and life well lived. By the light of the stars and the moon I swear to be a beacon of light in oncoming darkness. By the light of the stars and the moon I swear to live a life of Ivarord.” He closed his eyes. He had just sworn to live his life for Adnval, and for nothing else. He began the final words of the Creed.
“By the light of the stars and the moon I swear my life to the service of Adnval, the High One. To the High One I give my soul.” He fell silent as the chamber itself. The traces of golden light swirled around the figure in the pool, warming him. One by one, they drew closer, finally covering him in light. He felt himself fall slowly into the pool.

When he woke, night had fallen. The Sanctum was nearly dark, save for the torches that still burned. The lights in the air had not rekindled. He felt warm, though his whole body was covered in water. How, exactly, he hadn’t drowned was a mystery. A miracle of the High One, it seemed. He drew himself up, out of the pool, and towards the door. One did not stay in the High One’s holy Sanctum any longer than they were bidden, and Leogun’s time was over. He tied the laces on his hide boots and tied the strings of his robe, tightening it around his well-muscled chest. Asmund, through nigh-endless exercise, had given him the physique of an Iron Arm, even if he didn’t need it.

He turned back to the tranquil chamber one last time, taking in the calm and beauty. A moment later he pushed through the doors and out onto the snowy stone of Mount Aghi. Wind blew at him harshly and strongly, but it no longer bother the man. He smiled. Truly a priest at last. He supposed he’d be sent somewhere as a missionary in a few month’s time. Not quite what he’d like, but he would be given the time to study Ivar’s words in a few year’s time. Until then, High Monk Torvald would tell him what to do. He wandered down the path slowly, gazing out at the moon high in the sky. It was beautiful in the untouched North, particularly at night. Many complained that it was too cold, too far from society at the Great Monastery, but it was perfect, the way Leogun saw it.

Life as a servant of the High One had begun.