Spiritual Speculation (Side Story)

Spiritual Speculation
A collection of conversations scattered across the war that could not be contained within chaptered works.

Sally Whitemane rankled at being called to attend the savages king, for if she let herself fear what he might do with her she may well misstep and damn herself further.

Outside Northport, his massive tent, a yurt they called it, stood like a small fort. With nearly solid walls of soft but sturdy materials with a singular totem pole serving as support for the nearly church high roof. Even the carpets were of fine make, let alone the piles of pillows, shining metal ornaments and intricately carved furnishing, like the 'low' table she now knelt before.

The Barbarian was sitting upon pillows, smoking his hookah and quite at ease. His sole advisor present was the wiry, white haired rogue she knew was called Moorabi who picked at his lieges meal, folding breads around sauces and meats before swallowing.

She had been invited to partake, but already trapped within a den of beasts she would not imbibe what they gave unto her, lest she become sinful and base.

Instead, she simply answered their questions.

Everything from the supplies the Monastery would need, to the mood of the faithful, how she might tend to the flock in order to keep the 'peace' and the composure of his soldiers on holy ground.

Malakk let loose several puffs, creating large, faintly pink circles, "There is still the matter of offerings, Priestess."

Squeezing her hands so tight, Whitemane feared blood would spill she held her head aloft, "If I am to believe your past words, you said you would not take our people as offerings?"

Moorabi starting choking and Malakk furrowed his brow, placing down the Hookah hastily and said, "I did not mean you unto us, I meant for your temple, or ah, Monastery? I would not want you to displease your Holy Light because of our presence."

Resisting the curl of her lips, Whitemane shook her head, "The Light requires no sacrifices. It is divine and perfect, all powerful and pure, limited only by its flawed adherents and need not eat the souls of the dead."

"Well I should hope it does not devour souls," Moorabi muttered, as Malakk continued to look her over.

Whitemane did not bother lying to herself that there was no wanton nature in that gaze.

Finally, Malakk spoke, "I had heard some tell of your faith through trade and our cousins, but was wary to take accepting anything but your own claims as truth, Priestess. So please, in your own words, how is it you worship this Light?"

Lips thinning, Whitemane flexed her fingers and sighed, "The Holt Light is the source of all that is good in creation, joy, hope, unity and more. All that which is evil, is but a shadow of the Light, lesser and made up of base things like lust and wanton cruelty. We worship it through good works and holy prayer which creates unity between the flock and the faithful, drawing us closer to its perfection."

The room was very silent for a time, as Malakk let loose those low clicking sounds Drakkari made when thinking, like a broken clock she thought.

"I can see there is much left to learn, even if we are only here for a time," The invader mused slowly. "If this one is correct in their thinking, then do you garner guidance from the spirits of the fallen when they pass on?"

Whitemane shook her head violently, "No, to summon the dead is a necromantic art, unholy and vile to the core. At times memories or visages of those past have been known to manifest but they are the impressions of great figures left upon the world, not the true soul. When we die, we all become one with the Light."

Moorabi let out a low chuckle, and Whitemane nearly reached for her staff to strike him, "You mock us?"

"Not at all Priestess," Answered the smirking troll, "You Light worshippers must be the bravest of bastards, to run headlong into battle knowing that is what awaits you."

'Eternal peace and perfection is beyond your grasp Troll,' she wanted to snap, but Malakk spoke swiftly.

"Moorabi speaks the truth. When worshippers of the Loa die, we know what awaits us in the next world. We can commune with our ancestors and gods who speak of these things and more. To go into battle, to risk life and limb, knowing you shall not see one's beloved, knowing one's identity shall fade, even into something greater."

The troll shivered a moment, "I am truly awed by the likes of Uther and those he led." Malakk then tapped the low table, "Though, I imagine you believe this is true for your foes as well. that is to say, we trolls?"

She should tread carefully, but it was hardly something she could lie about and not be caught swiftly and whatever punishment that awaited her...

Whitemane nodded, "We do not believe any power is greater than the Light, that which claims to be is a lie or delusion," She said carefully, "Those struck down by the flock and the faithful are to fade into the shadows, or at times, the Light, if they led noble enough lives in ignorance."

Malakk nodded, a grim expression upon his face, "Thus, just as human bravery is to be respected, it makes the crimes committed unto others ever more staggering as well."

Whitemane stiffened but the troll sent her a smile, which was not the least reassuring as she did not desire such affections, before he answered.

"Fret not, Priestess, I shall not punish the blameless or the helpless; only those who commit or defend evil shall kindle my wrath."

"My flock and the faithful are relieved by your sense of restraint, Frost King Malakk," The words like ash on her tongue.

He smiled, "Just as your understanding and indulgence has been most appreciated, High Priestess Whitemane."

Not long after that, she found herself riding a carriage back to the monastery.

_____________________________________________________________________

Alonsus Faol had lived a long, complicated life.

He had spent his youth navigating the intricate intrigues of the church to his position of Archbishop, bringing his Doctrinal faction to prominence over the Orthodox and the Canonical.

Since then he had advised the wisest and most holiest of kings, served on a council for a war unlike any other. All while weaving his way through the den of vipers that were the noble houses of Lordaeron.

'And now, within a few weeks, that all seems very far away,' he mused. A silent sadness not showing on his face as he rested in an aged chair within his study. Looking across the large bejeweled chess set of his predecessor to the troll Priest, enshrined on plush pillows and ruminating his next move.

'Still, I shall do all I can to see this nation through the occupation. I doubt it shall last more than a few weeks,' he thought as the troll finally made his move, pushing the bishop deeper into enemy territory.

"A bold maneuver," Alonsus intoned, as he ran a hand through his beard.

"Fortune favors the bold, or so I have heard," was the sibilant yet cheery response.

Alonsus sprung the trolls trap by sacrificing his rook, adding, "You seem well versed in this game already."

Gal'Darah grinned, fangs flashing, "We have a similar game back home, Bal, it is called. Though in that you capture all enemy pieces and they can be taken back, over a focus on one piece." He followed that by sending his queen to strike low the bishop and was now seemingly primed to take place him in check.

Alonsus nodded, "If you've the time I would enjoy the chance to partake. You may have better luck with that," He added, jumping a pawn and striking down the queen with a knight.

"Ah, defeated," Gal'Darah gasped, "Once again you show your skill in both chess and oration, Arch-Bishop."

"You do yourself too little credit, Grand Prophet, shall there be another match?" Alonsus asked gamely, pouring himself a cup of tea.

The troll sighed, taking up his own, larger tea cup and shook his head. "This one apologizes, but the whims of his master beckon me to the palace in short order. Where," Gal'Darah stressed, "I shall bring unto him word of your request regarding the services and shall argue your case. Frost King Malakk is an honorable liege, so I foresee no troubles."

Alonsus smiled, some genuine gratitude behind the political game ship. Gal'Darah's strange belief that their role as priests meant they shared kinship had unsettled Alonsus after initial reflection. But there was no denying that the Church needed an avenue to the leader of the occupiers. 'And however much our faiths diverge, the roles we play are akin to reflections.'

"You have my gratitude, Grand Prophet. For while I have enjoyed holding sermon in the great gardens, I know many among my flock and the faithful would take great heart in seeing the Church continue its traditional services."

"As well they should, fret not, Archi-Bishop, I will not leave you, your faithful or said flock out in the cold."

Faol nodded, "I shall offer you an extra layer in my evening prayers this night then," an old half joke among priests. 

Gal'Darah perked up and nodded, looking very pleased before stilling, a hand running through his pink hair. 

"That brings to mind a question, if there is the time."

"I believe your schedule is more crowded then my own, please, speak your mind Grand Prophet."

The troll nodded slowly, "Please know, Archbishop that no disrespect is intended by this questions."

"The duty of a priest is to teach, I would be a poor Archbishop if I grew angry at questions," was the well practiced response. 

Gal'Darah clicked his tongue, finger & thumb toying with  he tip of a stubby tusk. "Among my people, those who are not of holy orders must make offerings to see their prayers answered. Be it in their homebound shrines, the public alters or within the temples; while we holy one's offer our lives in the service of our divine patrons and thus can call upon their power at will."

Faol could guess where this was going and said, "You wish to know the nature of our prayers then, I take it?" 

Gal'Darah ducked his head, "Swift of mind and tongue, Archbishop; forgive me, it is just very strange. To us, there must be a divine intelligence to be treated and engaged with. Our faith is a matter of interrogation and reparation to the heart; but yours still leaves me confused. A failure of my imagination I am sure."  

"Fret not, Grand Prophet, you are not the first to find the matter confusing, but it is in essence, simplicility itself," Faol answered, leaning back in his chair. "The Light surrounds us, suffuses and fulfill us. By doing good works we bolster its presence in our lives, while through prayer, song and meditation were can gain insight."

Gal'Darah leaned forward, eyes focused with interest, as Faol continued, "In this regard, one's prayer in which they might beg for absolution from a terrible fate, or a kind day to a love one, sends ripples across the holy skein that connects us all."

"And thus," Gal'Darah said, nodding, "You endow will and intent unto the world through prayer, fascinating!" He offered a polite and flourished bow, "You have the gratitude of the Grand Prophet, Archbishop." 

"Not all, I am gladdened I was able to share with you the knowledge of our Church and appreciate intern the greater understanding of your own people's ways." 

_____________________________________________________________________

Malakk had not been upon Rohk'aka long before he came to realize he did not understand as much of the world as he had thought.

'In truth, I still know more of Nerubians than I do of Southern Humans. A fact I must correct if I am to rule this land and lead her people,' he mused, striding down the city streets, the recently surrendered Queen Lianne at his side.

'Still,' he thought, at the looming sight of the grand church, with its elegantly crafted turquoise domes, gold steeples and sturdy white stone. 'It seems that faith and factionalism have sway everywhere.'

Not to say Lordaeron was of the same mind on the role of priests as the Drakkari; from all Malakk could yet see, the ideals were quite distinct.

'Back home, a Priest can be a king, a mayor, a soldier or bureaucrat; but here, it seems politics and their faith strain to be separated. Yet somehow this invests the faithful with even greater influence than it would in governance, by whispers rather than words.'

And it was their whispers he needed, to calm the rising tide of dread suffusing the streets and fields of Tirisal.

Thus, he now stood upon the steps leading up to the grand cathedral. Archbishop Faol and his retinue awaiting him, a host of peasants, merchants and more watching even if they could not be seen.

Lianne stepped forward and gently whispered, "It is customary to bow before the king of the lands, Archbishop."

Faol responded with an almost wry smile, "Ah, I would, but you see my vestments are quite heavy and I am very old, so I fear I may not get back up for some time."

Malakk threw his head back in a laugh, "My Grand Prophet said you had your wits about you, Archbishop and a will to match it. Consider me most impressed," Malakk offered a flourished bow, not too low but a show of respect. "If this one may, I would ask that you invite me across the threshold of your church, that I may see its glory with my own eyes."

Alonsus let silence hang for a moment before speaking, "Though we met as enemies, your followers tended to all injured when the battle was done, and have reframed from acts of looting. Now, even the Crown stands with you, and so too shall the church, that you might experience our holy hospitality. Please, follow me."

With that, the gold adorned, blue robed priest turned and marched up the stairway, Malakk keeping a respectful distance that he did not loom over the man and silently thanking his fortune that humans too, loved to make their temples giant.

'I only needed to duck my head,' a part of him mused, as he came to stand within the hallowed halls at the heart of Lordaeron's religion.

Curtains of pristine blue, embroidered with shimmering gold thread hung between windows cast in a rainbow of colors that flooded the column lined chapter with gentle, but otherworldly light. 

Isle after isle in basilica formation, all carved from the finest oak and treated with care that left them shimmering and pristine. 

A gargantuan instrument, he had been told was an organ rested upon a raised dais from before which sat an elegantly smelted table, inlaid with ornamental inscriptions, upon which rested the exegesis of the Light.

Malakk was not a terribly reverent troll, but like with any place of import, one could feel the heart and soul and hours that had bled into every inch of stone. Brought by the generations of people who had staked their love and lives on a single location.

He let himself wander the halls, tracing hand along walls and listening attentively as hymns were sung in the distance, as if entirely enraptured.

But though there was truth to his awe, as it was with all things for a king, politics informed his presentation an manner.

When he left the church, he made sure to place his hands beneath Faol's and bow his head as the man gave unto him a prayer of temperance.

Word of his visit would spread. 

Tell of his awestruck stare and respectful bow to the beloved old Archbishop would be shared and on that very visits  heels would follow his announcements. 

Once again the holy sight would be open to the public and sermons would continue as had always been custom.

Malakk may not be the most spiritual of rulers, and there was still much he had to learn, but the nature of of this dance was one he knew well and it would serve him well in the days, months and he hoped, years to come.
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NOTES:

Well that is that, bit of an odd one this time, but I hope it proved engaging, as always feedback and insights are most welcome! 

It was really fun to get to explore the religions in more detail, though there is more world building than this behind the scenes. Thanks again to Pillowsperky for inspiring the Drakkari reaction to human bravery in the face of death.  Also, I based the description of the church on the Hagia Sophia, and Mehmed the Conquerors exploration there-of.

Malakk here is definitely taking inspiration from some RL world leaders.
For instance, Cyrus the Great argued that the god of Babylon had blessed his conquest of the city because of the evil actions of the reigning monarch. Later, he would do things like return the stolen statues of gods "To the places that made them happy" aid Jewish people who wished to return home in doing so and built them a temple.
Less charitable but still of interest was (I believe) Genghis Khan. Whom would often see religious leaders leaving his presence having been treated so well they were convinced he would soon convert. His motives were solely political and he was less understanding to those who wouldn't be useful but still.
These show how a foreign and even unpopular conqueror can try and utilize religion for political capital.