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.]


Date: 2009-12-02 06:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[That cherub's gasp tainted by a viper's tongue. The paladin knew such a tone candid to no other man. No, no other boy, who sounded so wrought with innocence in his question of that heavenly realm.]

Nay, Erico... Paradise is far more pristine than thes world.
Edited Date: 2009-12-02 06:50 am (UTC)


Date: 2009-12-02 07:12 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[Remarkably, Enrico still possessed his sense of piety, but . . . He was lost. In an unforgiving terrain with no allies to speak of, and in stranger company still, he was alone. This strange little device was his only connection to . . . To what? He wasn't sure. Something. Someone. A disembodied voice. A word. Small comforts, really. Consequently, upon the emergence of a familiar tongue he literally convulsed. A tremor ran through him and he clutched at the small handheld product of technology, desperately looking for something to hold onto.]

F-father Anderson?


Date: 2009-12-02 07:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[The boy was torn asunder, naturally so. This place, though pleasing to the eye, was not kind to newcomers. Nary however, would he allow any to raise their arms against this one he called his brother.]

Aye, lad.

[He spoke with that rolling baritone, compassionate to warm, placid to placate and pacify.]

Tell me whaur yer at?

Re: [Voice/Action]

Date: 2009-12-02 07:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[He choked, having to bite back pure emotion lest he appear weaker than he already was. Not that there was anyone to see him, but for some reason he felt compelled to let tears flow. Reality had become something of a surreal nightmare--twisting and whirling around him until he could barely even breathe without getting dizzy.]

. . .

[The sounds of heavy breathing and then a short pause before he mustered a reply.]

I don't know . . . I see trees all around me . . .


Date: 2009-12-02 07:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[To his ear, Enrico sounded ill. Ill at heart however was oftentimes a rare and foreign concept when applied to his ward. Last he had seen. No. Heard, from him, were diligent orders, full of zeal and perhaps even rapture for what was about to unfold by his command. The paladin as been happy for once to hear him so filled with joy to do God's work... yet how it played out for his subordinates and himself, had left the priest slightly ajar.]


[Enrico's seemingly tremulous respite did not alleviate that feeling anymore.]

Alrecht, dinnae move. Ah'll be wit ye shortly, awe rite?

Re: [Voice/Action]

Date: 2009-12-02 08:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[More than anything, Maxwell was confused. Having woken up in a foreign land had left its mark on him, as well as some elements that remained concealed within the inner sanctums of his soul. The maniacal Crusader was gone--if but temporarily--replaced by this lesser man...This lonely, empty shell of a man. And he hated that feeling. That feeling of helplessness. To have to rely on someone--even his guardian--was awkward for one of such strong will. He'd grown so used to having resources abounding at his fingertips that the mere concept of his having to reestablish himself as a presence was dreadful, if not completely terrifying.

But, as God would have it, here he was: Exposed to the elements, in an unfamiliar environment, and without any of Iscariot to command. Yet there was hope...The Priest lurked nearby, or so it would seem with how confident he seemed to be about retrieving this sorry, broken creature from the ruins of the earth.

Yet, somehow it was even worse than the knowledge of his being alone, in a way. He couldn't define his foreboding exactly . . . Only, that it was there. And it tugged at his already softened heart.]

God be with you.

[He crossed himself out of habit, using his right hand to move from forehead to chest and then quickly from shoulder to shoulder.]


Date: 2009-12-03 12:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Aye, an' ye.

[Anderson graced across the receiver before pocketing the device. The director could be anywhere in these dense forests, yet his clever sense of clairvoyance instilled into him through years of Vatican-ordained science offered him a hint with which to follow.

Hurrying through the thick brush and touching the end of his heavy cross, he felt the metal vibrate much like a divining rod as the small piece of silvery relic sought out it's brother. The cross that hung around the necks of every Iscariot. The paladin felt his ward close and ducked under draping branches, his lenses glinting as he stepped into a small clearing to call out.]

Maxwell! Hail tae me!


Date: 2009-12-03 06:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[ He heard the ominous 'click' of disconnection, leaving him tangled in the proverbial den of the lions once again. Left to dwell on intangible inconsistencies of purpose was not exactly his idea of promising beginnings. Yet, it left an opening for something more . . . Something that exerted a careful influence in the form of a meshed mentality--a distortion in imagery inside his head. Tiny flashes, each one smaller than the last...Of crimson and suffocating darkness.

A hand clutched at his chest, disturbing the medallion enough to cause it to become dislodged from the space between his clerical collar and the button-down front of his vest. A low vibration hummed through the air rather abruptly, each step that brought Anderson closer making it sing louder.

He drew himself up into a sitting position, forcing limp legs to brace against dirt and dead leaves until he leaned against the base of a great oak, a shimmer of light breaking through the interlacing canopy above.

Anderson would find him. He had faith. ]


Date: 2009-12-03 05:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[After long moments of hollering out, he realized his voice would not lead him there, but took faith in the holy emblem to lead him. The Director, he knew well, was not built for such treks as these..

Not alone, and not with dark beasts of all sorts roving about in this labyrinth of foliage. His blade cut through the brush and wicked insects scattered at his feet. Anderson had already made quite a mark in this forest in his earlier assail, these things dared not stand against him now.

The ring of silver tickled the hearth of his chest posing him to turn swiftly as the shadows cast across his looming form, leaving him a black silhouette with spectacles glaring to stare out at the curled figure in the cradle of a tree.]

Edited Date: 2009-12-04 04:35 am (UTC)


Date: 2009-12-04 06:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[ 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.]


[He croaked, though barely above a whisper.]


Date: 2009-12-07 02:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[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)


Date: 2009-12-07 06:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[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)


Date: 2009-12-08 07:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

[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

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