silvery_serpent: (Defeat)
[personal profile] silvery_serpent
The cords of death entangled me, the anguish of the grave came upon me; I was overcome by trouble and sorrow. Then I called on the name of the LORD : "O LORD , save me!"
. . .
Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.
. . .
Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.

Psalms 116: 3-4; 7; 15



[The LP screen settled at an angle on its side from an insect's perspective, positioned diagonally to the side to take in the contour of the Archbishop's shoulder and the profile of his face. The screen blinked repeatedly before coming into focus, stopping dead on the Catholic's visage from his position on the leaf-covered ground. His hair was mussed to the point where it was almost ready to slip from its binding, several twigs sticking out at odd angles. The Bishop's vestments were in a similar state of disarray, body spread over the earth as though he'd just collapsed, his eyes turned skyward.]

Is this . . . ? Am I . . .?”

[ A hand drew level to shield oceanic hues from the glare of the hot sun, golden rays tingling pleasantly against his cold skin. The pale wraith of a man spread skeletal fingers across the span of a cheekbone and up along the bridge of his nose, vision fading in and out as the excess stimuli assaulted his fragile psyche. He did his best to take in the sounds and the sights of his foreign surroundings, trembling violently when he attempted to raise his upper torso. Weak. Weak as a newborn. ]

Am I dead?"



[His voice—already stretched thin—echoed across the empty woodland, spanning up and up through the trees until quieting into an insignificant whisper. He craned his head towards the sounds of the wildlife before an uncertain smile spread shakily over his lips, a thought striking him rather abruptly.]

. . . Is this Eden?"



[ A shuddering breath later a bloodstained glove reached towards the LP device unwittingly and hitting it askew, the frequency suddenly blanking out.]


[Action]

Date: 2009-12-04 06:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] silvery-serpent.livejournal.com
[ Even if he wanted to call out to his guardian, it was as though there was a hand on his vocal cords, preventing all forms of verbalization to the point where there wasn't so much as a single sound to escape the good Bishop. His body refused him, paralysis making his limbs heavy and numb.

Exposed, and powerless, he was but one creature in the midst of so many others, surrounded by God only knew what sort of beings. For all the strange communications to pass through the device he'd found, this 'Salkia Island' was proving to be stranger still.

From the neck down he felt like someone had inserted an anesthesia into his body, if nothing else. Woozily, Maxwell managed to lift his head, making out a looming silhouette in the distance.]

A...A..nder...son?

[He croaked, though barely above a whisper.]

[Action]

Date: 2009-12-07 02:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dusty-angelus.livejournal.com
[Little glass angel, fragile wings dashed to pieces, scattered fragments across the ground. Maxwell was but a broken icon before his paladin's feet, and to see him coiled in despair, as if to fruitlessly gather his shards of dignity, lifted that knight's feet to swift to his prince's aid.]

Ah'm here. Ah'm here, Maxwell.

[The light drifting through the canopy cast across his stolid and virile form, lifting away the bleak shadow that caused wicked things to shiver, and revealed the face of the compassionate mentor he had known not long ago. Though his brow had been beaten, and blood dried and moist slicked down the side of his face, he was smiling, glad to see his brother was in one piece. A broad hand offered to his, outstretched and welcoming of his grasp as Anderson's great form bent just slight at the knee to reach his crestfallen friend.]

Can ye stain?
Edited Date: 2009-12-07 06:15 pm (UTC)

[Action]

Date: 2009-12-07 06:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] silvery-serpent.livejournal.com
[At long last, Brethren in Christ were reunited: Resurrected by the virtues of their practice and by the Destiny in which He held for them. Separated at the End yet given a second chance, the two Spirits dwelled together in Everlasting Glory.

Like a roaring storm, like the swell of an ocean, Archbishop Maxwell was but putty in His hands—a tool to be cultivated, a tool to be dashed to pieces on a whim. He could no more control That than Man could capture the wind or tether down the moon.

The Forces of the known world held more dominion over humankind than he could ever care to imagine or conceptualize.

Through the haze of Purgatory he was to be Delivered into the Garden of Eden, Delivered at the Hands of the Saint before him. Now, Reborn, this pitiful creature was all that was left of the former.

Timorous, and shy, he strained against those invisible bonds and with a great effort reached out to take his Teacher's hand in his. He was cold like a body that had been lain in its resting place, tendrils of ice shooting up the larger man's arm like cold daggers.

Wordlessly, the miserable life form braced his back against the tree and pushed upwards with all the energy he could muster, body literally shaking uncontrollably with the effort. He was trying so hard—you could see it in his face, which at that point was turning red from the attempt—but sadly to no avail. To his credit, he got halfway before knees buckled out from beneath him, the blonde crashing headlong into the priest's chest.]
Edited Date: 2009-12-07 10:30 pm (UTC)

[Action]

Date: 2009-12-08 07:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dusty-angelus.livejournal.com
Enrico!

[Stalwart as a knight, his arms caught the prince of his church, bracing him firmly against himself. Unbeknownst that not far from his time a blade would tear them apart, here their flesh would be joined again. Here, in this ad interim someplace between Purgatory and Hell, they reached eachother in a moment of affinity that he hoped to all time would be everlasting. Worry however corrupted the priest over his befallen bishop as he cradled him with firm tenderness, a strong grasp to brace his back, an unwavering sense of fealty to usher back trust.]

Bless ye O' my soul.. Ah have ye, Yer Grace, Ah'm here, my prince.

[The paladin reassured him, yet took it upon himself to lift the frail man up, not just upon his feet, but into his valiant arms.]

Come along, thes is nae place tae lie.
Edited Date: 2009-12-08 07:25 am (UTC)

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Archbishop Maxwell

October 2013

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