Crashing to the aged, hardwood floor, Amvrosiy wakes up, in a panic-drenched in sweat. Catching his breath, he realizes where he is, Amvrosiy is in his well-furnished room full of childhood memories. Throughout the room permeates the smell of roasting pork and a medley of vegetables. With a deep sigh, Amvrosiy throws off his quilted comforter and pushes his tall, lanky body off the floor, instinctively checking the stability of his legs. The only pain he feels is embarrassment. He grabs the windowsill next to his bed, raising the lightly cracked window. A fresh breeze flows through the room, a much needed respite from the night. Outside the window is vast, hilly plains covered in patchy snow, bordered by impenetrable forests that he has been warned to never enter. Drawing in a deep breath, Amvrosiy looks at his mother’s elaborate garden. The garden is vast with rows of vibrant flowers and with fruit-growing plants blooming, in spite of the snow. Ailiria blesses the lands of Nekroshika allowing nature to thrive though the snow. In the center of the garden stands a weeping willow tree hanging low, with a wrought iron Xs hanging from its branches, a symbol of Ailiria and her protection. He takes in the rare summer day, it will only be a month before the next snowfall.
“Ailiria, please give me a sign to guide me.” Amvrosiy gazes out to the window looking for answers and makes eye contact with a fat squirrel. The squirrel quickly grabs a carrot from the garden and tries to bolt into the woods, falling onto itself multiple times. Sighing defeated, he goes to change his clothes. He changes himself into tailored wool garments accented with leather bracers and boots. Before leaving his room, he grabs a necklace with a silver X, clutching it in both hands. Hesitating, he grabs the handle to his door and walks out into the dining room. In the room is a sturdy and well-made table and chairs aged in their service to the household. Across the walls is shelving with household tools and dining sets equally utilitarian and aged. Standing in front of a silver plate, hung in reverence, Amvrosiy tucks his hair behind his pointed ears. His hazelnut hair and tunic contrasting with his unblemished pale skin.
He hears his mother’s voice call out from the kitchen, “Darling, can you come over and help me peel the potatoes for service?” Amvrosiy immediately calls out “Yes mama, I’ll be right over.” Quickly walking across the dining room and into the kitchen he sees his mother, a young elven woman with platinum hair. She stands wearing a plain apron as she deftly handles a knife cutting carrots and leeks. Amvrosiy grabs a spare knife and starts peeling potatoes and placing them in a large cast iron pot.
Looking back at Amvrosiy, she asks, “Are you ok, little mushroom? I heard you fall earlier?”
With a sigh he responds “I'm alright mama just had one of the nightmares again… they always just take me a second to get my mind right.”
His mom places a hand on his, grabbing his undivided attention. “You should go get some fresh air, nature rights the wrongs of our mind.” Amvrosiy stands there silently, realizing his hands are shaking ever so softly. “You should go pick up that order your father put in, and while you’re out, you can ask the cleric if she can pray for you.”
Quizzically looking down at his mother, he asks, “She? What happened to Hierophant Artem?”
“Oh, the Hierophant died last night, he is soon to be one with our holy mother, in the catacombs of the holy city. Thankfully, there happened to be a cleric in training, and a hunter of undeath in town at the time.” Looking at Amvrosiy with a knowing smile, she animatedly faux whispers “I've heard she is quite ravishing.”
Quickly growing crimson, he forgets all about his shaking, putting down his knife and astonishedly states “Mama! You can't talk about a holy woman like that.”
She responds with a hearty laugh, “Lighten up darling, the oaths don't prevent relationships. Oh when your father was a cleric-” Amvrosiy quickly interrupts rushing to the front door, “On that note, I’m going to go into town. I’ll go to her service if she's having one, just please stop!” Flushed with embarrassment, he slams the door behind him, trying to get away as quickly as possible.
As soon as the door shut, he could hear the sounds of nature in peace. Living so far from the town center had its benefits. Amvrosiy could hear the chirping of birds and the cold breeze from across the hills filled his lungs with new vigor. Outside of the house was his fathers workshop where he would make dyed cloth for the church, leading out of the workshop is a cart path leading into town. He walked parallel to the thick forest that goes hundreds of miles, walking down the path carefully to avoid any puddles of freshly melted snow. His mother would always stare into the forest, praying at night when she thought he had fallen asleep. “She always looked at peace those nights,” he found himself saying to himself. Cresting a hill at the edge of his family's land, the forest was quickly replaced with a sea of golden wheat dotted with old dilapidated homesteads. In the fields, dozens of men, women, and children work harvesting the ever abundant wheat. Immense rusted Xs stood ominously staring down at the working serfs, similar to Aliria herself gazing down at her subjects. The Xs were as tall as two men and had shackles on each spoke to hang a man up if they were to disobey the cleric in charge of the fields. Each one was marked with the stains of blood and fire from setting the serfs alight so the others may work though the night, setting an example to all. Stopping at one near the path, Amvrosiy says a silent prayer to those sacrificed.
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After walking through the clerical farms, he sees the small town of Baile. Its old wooden buildings with thatch roofs encircle a paved cobblestone town center, and an onyx stone cathedral, a bulwark of Ailiria so far from the capital. From the outskirts of town, he can see a small crowd in the town center formed around a makeshift stage. In front of the stage standing guard is a Hunter of Undeath dwarfing the crowd, donning a crimson featureless mask. He is wearing a cloak matching his mask with flashes of his silver plate armor shine as the wind billows his cloak. However, Amvrosiy’s attention is quickly transfixed by a figure standing in the middle of the stage. On the stage stands a woman with icy blue skin, ram horns accented by her braided raven black hair and fiery eyes. She is a “Bearer,” one who is said to bear the image of gods, they are rare in Nekroshkia and even rarer this far north. It is said that they are given their unique appearance when a god is a direct witness to their birth, making them destined for great deeds. The Bearer stands draped in robes black as the night with an embroidered scarlet two headed snake coiled around her arm.
Almost as if he were entranced, he starts to walk towards the town center hearing her voice as she gives a sermon. Her voice feels elegant in its precision as she gives her blessed words, “Our holy lady of undeath embraces all into her welcoming arms, it is not a tragedy but a celebration to have died in service to Ailiria. Hierophant Artem lived a life full of grand service from the slaying of undeath to teaching and guiding worship here in Baile. I open my arms to you all just like our lady so that you may live a wonderful life and an even greater death”.
The woman gestures with a welcoming hand, down to a young child at the front of the crowd who stands using a wooden crutch due to an amputated leg below the knee. She begins to quote the scriptures, "Upon the lands to the north she said, ‘To all who worship and follow, be able to walk into the arms of death.’” As if the words were physical, a two headed snake of black ichor bulged up her throat pouring out of her mouth, and coiling down her arm tracing the scarlet snake on her robes. The snake looked like a jittery moving shadow, it seemed to almost struggle to stay solid, flickering in and out of existence. The snake reached down from the woman's gesturing hand as it launched itself at the young boy. When the snake made contact with the boy, it launched itself around his missing leg enveloping the shape in the same impenetrable inky darkness. The boy screamed in pain falling onto the floor as the sounds of wet cracking bone and the plucking of tendons being strung echoes throughout the town square. The shadow retreats as the child's leg is fully replaced with not even a scar to prove the miracle seen today. The child shed tears of joy as he is pulled onto his feet by people in the crowd as they cheer in reverence.
The cleric looked as if they had just sprinted a mile as their perfect face was strained and covered in sweat. After catching her breath and gazing at the crowd, she announced “My name is Ofeliya Nathair. I am a cleric in training from the Academy of Acheron. It is a pleasure to be of service to you until a replacement hierophant is brought in tonight.” She bows to the crowd as it starts to disperse with a few people offering small prayers and thanks to Ofeliya. Taking a knee at the feet of this holy woman, Amvrosiy looking down in prayer states “I hope you would allow me this favor. Please pray for me, allow me your divine favor and your holy word.” Shuttering, he continues, “I have been having dreams of wearing the blood-soaked robes of a cleric as I am guided by the goddess.”
Amvrosiy feels a gentle hand grab his chin, pushing his gaze upwards to meet hers. Opening his eyes, he sees hers smoldering with swirls of gold and crimson, a divine inferno staring into him. Looking down at Amvrosiy with an intensity he has never experienced, she states “Your worship would look better in a cathedral lined in the red of martyrs. Those guided by Aliria belong at my side so that we may better worship the purity of the divine.” Running her finger up his chin, she traces his face slowly, lifting her hand back up to her own lips with a sly smile she states, “You should join me at the funeral. I will teach you how to call out to the goddess.” Amvrosiy, unable to speak, just nods in confirmation, in response she grins, stating “I can't wait to see you there.” She turns away from him, her robes fluttering behind her like Amvrosiy’s heart. The Hunter of Undeath follows her closely behind his hand placed vigilantly on his silver thurible flail attached to his belt.
Amvrosiy had to remind himself to breathe as his heart struggled to keep up with itself, only coming to his senses after hearing a familiar voice. “Damn Am, cleric got your tongue?” a haughty voice lets out. Looking up, Amvrosiy sees Ivan’s face plastered with a mischievous grin. He has known Ivan for as long as he can remember and always gets in trouble if left unsupervised for too long. His stocky frame stands at 5’6, wearing old work clothes passed down from his brother. Ivan puts his calloused hand on Amvrosiy’s chin, with a faux high pitched voice, he belts out “My dear Amvrosiy, you are so beautiful.” Amvrosiy collapses from his knees onto the ground out laughing out “fuck off!” Reaching down, Ivan helps him on to his feet, “Pa told me to go grab you. I figured your religious ass would be here, so it was the first place I checked. The dyes for your dad came in, let's go grab them.”
