Warrior of the Void Book 1, Chapter 31

“Star uncles?” The man asked with a disbelieving chuckle, “Really?”

The pair had managed to both find the incense, free a path to the censers, and were now carrying one of the ruddy things back to the nave. With three more waiting for them once they were done with this one. Each was a large, empty ball perched atop three feet. They were, of course, all overdesigned with dozens of engravings, flourishes and probably enough gemstones to feed a family of four for three months– well only at a distance for the latter. Those ‘gems’ were really just coloured glass. Sensible.

“Really.” Muur laughed with a soft shake of her head, “But it wasn’t like I spent enough in the steppes to get anything other than the kiddie version. Still, the point about mixing up worship remains. I still haven’t taken the leap with the Twins, want to get more of a feel for the clergy and the scripture, but nothing I’ve seen so far would get the Dusk Mother grouchy I don’t think.”

“Well, you’ll get a decent look at one of the priestess’ sermons. Fair warning though, it’ll be the more destitute of the city that’ll come. The common folks’ mass is at noon on Darksday, mostly because it’s the one day they all have off from work,” Setting down the censer, Harthdin nudged it back and forth with a frown of concentration on his face, “Used to be that we’d only get a few of the poorer merchants during that one, but with the Sacrarium in the state it’s in? We’re pulling in even the richer ones that only came when they started to hear the call of the Twins… aaaand– perfect! Let’s get the other three.” 

“Sacrarium?” The lizard wizard asked curiously even as she started meandering over to go grab the next of the censers. Some of what the guy had said sounded contradictory, but she cared less about who came to what sermon when than figuring out this new term.

“Oh right. You’ve not been here for long,” Licking his lips, he shrugged, “Well, first. Did you notice the men and women wearing white robes in the meal hall?”

“Aye, they’re the clergy of Nald, yes?” Muur asked as she kept the door to the storage area open with her tail for the hyur to get through.

“My thanks, and that’d be them,” The acolyte made his way to the censers and lifted one of them up, “The Milvaneth Sacrarium’s as to them, as the Ossuary is to us. Used to be quite a bit more popular too, what with people preferring not to think of their upcoming demise too much. Unfortunately, the dreadwyrm’s passage blew a good half of the place up.”

Quickly shuffling with the thing of wrought metals awkwardly pressed against his body, he continued his explanation, “Nowadays, only those hand picked by the Prioress are allowed in for private ceremonies. Last I heard, they finally got the funding for the repairs together. But like any lunchtime rumour, I don’t put much stock in it.”

“I’m sure they can swing the exclusivity of it for some extra funding, too.” The lizard woman mused, keeping to herself how it would also facilitate all sorts of under the table dealings. Only so much a newcomer like her could get away with saying.

“That’s the words floating around ever since the Prioress allowed private services.” Letting Muur pick up the feet of the censer, he carefully flipped it horizontally so they could carry it out of the room, “Anyhow, we’d better stop talking as much if we want everything to be ready before the early parishioners start showing up.”
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“My gratitude for helping Harthdin with carrying the censers, dear,” The old priestess thanked Muur as the two watched the pews slowly fill with people, “Normally Watersday masses have to make do with thuribles. I’m sure these men and women will greatly appreciate being able to enjoy the incense’s scent during the mass. Pleasures such as these are a scarce rarity for these poor souls.”

Just as Harthdin had told her, most of the congregation seemed to have come straight from the slums. Making the complete disconnect between the poor wretches and the opulent interior of the Ossuary even starker.

“It’s no trouble, really.” Muur chuckled awkwardly, as dogshit at handling genuine gratitude as always.

“Then I suppose it’ll be no trouble to stay for the sermon and help the other initiates with their duties?” Mamane ‘asked’. The lizard woman could recognise a rhetorical question when she heard one, “It shan’t be too difficult. Merely distributing loaves of bread to those wishing for them at the end of the ceremony, and observing it with a keen eye, of course.”

“None at all. About time I started to familiarize myself with the Twins beyond the broadest strokes.” Muur replied with an easy shrug.

“You’ll be wanting Zozomaya’s treaties then. They are what much of our current rhetoric is based upon,” The aged potato whispered one last thing before moving to take her position at the lectern, “The library stocks numerous copies. Although, perhaps your current roommate would be willing to share hers.”

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The mass that followed was nothing that Muur hadn't seen before, oddly enough. For all this world’s fantasy and unnatural elements like magic, alchemy, demons and giant yellow birds, religion – or at least this one – wasn't that different from Christianity in how it went about its mass.

Quiet chatter between people died as Mamane took her place. Giving a small rap of her knuckles on the lectern, a chorus started to sing in what sounded suspiciously like latin. The song went on for a few minutes, until Mamane silenced it by raising both of her arms.

The gesture seemed to have been for more than just getting some quiet, as a pair of acolytes scurried off towards the entrance, “They're closing the main door,” one of the people next to her whispered, “they'll be letting late comers in too.”

Mamane, for her part, stayed quiet for a bit longer and only began speaking when the quiet sound of the massive ebony front doors closing filled the air, “Thank you, one and all, for coming on this Watersday…”

From there the mass was pretty much what Muur had expected. The censers were lit up with a small exertion of magic, and Mamane would talk about a subject that kind of flew above her head thanks to a lack of context, then there would be a prayer or a song.

The Twins seemed to be really, really big on the idea of charity. Mamane spent a fair bit of time extolling the virtues of it, of how acts of charity could be found everywhere and anywhere you could care to look, of how they allowed those less fortunate to rise to the challenges of life, of how it was no more shameful to take the charitable hand, than it was to accept a fellow’s buying of a round in a tavern.

The woman didn’t spend all her time talking about charity though. It was a majority of it, but the rest?

Boy did she have opinions on criminals!

That specific rant was preempted by her saying that to break a law did not make you a criminal. To do so was a natural part of life, that at one point or other, a law would be broken. Maybe a loaf of bread would be stolen from a fat merchant, a lost item would go ‘unreported’ after being found by someone, and sometimes you plainly did not know of a law.

Breaking these, while unfortunate and undeniably wrong and requiring to atone for them did not make one a criminal. ‘To survive is to follow the law, but never should following the law prevent survival’ were her words.

No, what made you a criminal was the absence of guilt. It was relishing in the simple act of breaking the law, of committing terrible things not out of necessity, but because it was the easy path. Because it felt good to do… Considering how many times she ‘innocently’ used the example of a scorpion, it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure who she was talking about.

She’d been pretty kind when talking of the first group of people. Saying that charitable work, donations and simply doing what you could to atone for your misdeed would see you facing the Gods free of that particular burden. 

Now, people that she lumped into the second group? Oooooooh man… Her first resort seemed to be hanging them, quartering them and putting them on the headsman’s chopping block. Not necessarily in that order either.

Most of her rant was aimed at obvious crimes, but dishonest, greedy merchants and charlatans didn’t come out of there unscathed either. Though, in their case she only said that The Twins themselves would see to their punishments, ‘For none that we, on this realm, could devise would suffice for such a personal insult to Nald and Thal.’

Unsurprisingly considering that most of these people came from the slums, her rant made quite a few people look mightily uncomfortable, “Don’t stare at those that look guilty,” Harthdin whispered in her horns, “aim for the few that are scoffing or rolling their eyes.”

Thankfully the rant didn’t last for the rest of the mass and Mamane eventually went back to what was probably more ‘normal’ rhetoric for a mass. But not before comparing criminals to Garleans, and calling Garleans the worst of the worst.

After the last song, she invited the people to have a silent, personal prayer. Which was a sign for the acolytes and helpers to disperse and head back to the entrance. As Muur followed along, a basket of bread was more or less forced in her hands, along with instructions to give it out to the people as they left the Ossuary.

She ended up giving two thirds of it away. The majority of the flock happily taking the offered loaves with quiet words of thanks and “Twins bless you”s. But plenty refused the loaves, some because they were clearly well off and asked her to offer it to someone needier than them after thanking her for the offer. Others grumpily refused the ‘free handouts’, which would have been particularly funny considering Mamane’s sermon, if not for how weak and malnourished some of them looked. The last group to refuse her was unfortunately the saddest, but thankfully the least common: Individuals that had more in common with weather-torn rags than a living being. 

They thanked her for the offer, each and everyone one them, but declined it. Most often mentioning that they simply couldn’t eat day old bread, not without soaking it in water that they simply didn’t have. A few of these poor men and women still took the loaves, giving whispered thanks to Muur for helping their children have food for another day.

It was not a fun affair.