Disciple of Vengeance

I had been called. I had been called to visit our unseen Savior. Not many has had the privilege of meeting him in person, and I was both excited and apprehensive. I have been in this temple since my youth, but never could I put my full trust in the man who ruled over us. He was never cruel or brutal like most leaders, but all the same something didn’t seem quite right. For one thing, he was never seen in person. Not by us, his simple followers. Only those with enough prestige was given free right to speak with him face to face. Therefore, it was understandable that as I walked the gray halls past the doors I had never before crossed and through his chambers, I was quite nervous.

The room was actually quite small, with a monitor station on he other wall, a large circular basin in the center, filled with water that had an odd glow, and window the the left that overlooked the sanctuary where we prayed. That was the only way we ever saw our Savior, through the thick glass that separated him from us. Every once in a while he would grace us with his Word, rather than the many Ministres and Reverends. We would sit and listen to him speak. So fluently and intelligently he spoke. He told us about how we were his children and there was no need to be afraid of him. If that was the case however, why has he never come to us? More importantly, why does he hide his face.

His mask. He wore a mask of stone, carved in the form of an angel’s face. There were black holes in the sockets of the stone mask, but his eyes could never be seen. It was always unnerving to look up at the man, towering over us, looking down through those black sockets. The face behind the face was ever unreadable, ever omniscient.

Now was my chance to finally see him up close, to confront our leader, for I have been chosen.

I had just recently been appointed Paragon, and have been given the chance to leave our comfortable haven for an epic journey. The goal of the quest is to collect supplies for our group. We don’t like to call ourselves a tribe, because thats too devolved. We aren’t marauding cannibals, and should be addressed as a Lord fearing people. Nobody in our flock has been given the title of Paragon; I was the first. It will be my duty to try and seek out the Sacred Waters, so that I can possibly restore the world to its former glory. I saw this as an opportunity to learn more about my past.

It seems that from nowhere the Savior reveals himself, as his silhouette just seemingly fades into my peripheral. I whip around to face him up close for the first time. He wore long white robes that draqed down past his legs as well as his arms. As was as the mask; it wasn’t attached to his face by any sort of string or bandage as far as I could see, then again I had never gotten so close as to inspect it. It seemed as if it almost floated just in front of his face, concealing his true identity from the world. Back in the early days, when they used to ask him why he covered his face he would reply from the window:

“Why, this is the face of God, our maker. He is our creator, and I am a vessel of His word, his prophet. My face, my words, my identity, are him. As are all of us. For we are the Lord.”?

Never to give us a reason beyond this, the discussion would shift to the word of God, and we would listen to him preach the holiness that is Him, and how we are to follow the rights by Jeremiah, Veatrix, Nigel, the first three prophets to speak his name to the people. Those who were said to had met the creator himself. It is in their image we are to try and mold ourselves.

“‘Tis good to finally see you, Savior,” I said. And it was, for I had been waiting for this moment. Without speaking, he waved towards the large circular basin in front of me. In it was water, which was shrouded in an eerie mist. I walked towards it. “Please, remove your robes, brother, so that you may be cleansed of all impurities and protected agains the tribulations of this world.”

I did as told and stripped of my garments, and stepped into the pool. The water was neither hot nor cold, but it gave off a certain aura. It gave me a certain feeling, creeping from my legs eventually to the crown of my head as I stood there naked, awaiting the next part. I looked at my body as I began to notice it too had developed the same glow, my heart began to beat more quickly. He placed a hand on my forehead, and began to lower me into the pool.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.” He began to lower me into the water. “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” After this, I was submerged, even though the water stung my eyes I kept them open for fear of breaking the ritual. After some time I was brought back up. My eyes burned viciously, but I did not dare blink. “May God and the prophets guide you in your rite.” As he said this, he made the motion of a cross reaching from his head to his chest, and then to each shoulder. Then he kissed his fingers and pressed them on my forehead.

It was at this time that I blinked, impulsively. I was immediately nervous that I had broken some unsaid rule. It that was the case, Our Savior was unaffected by it, his mask looking at me soundlessly.

“Thank you, father.” I kneeled, head bowed. A sign of respect, hopefully. Rarely do I need to lower myself for anyone, but as I said before, this was a special case.

“I am not your father, child,” He spoke, looking down at me through those black sockets, his face eerily blank. “I am your Savior.”