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7/5/2025, 5:01:40 PM
Cast in the lurid glow of sunlight pouring through the stained glass windows, you idly listen to the muffled voices passing by the cathedral. You have a good view out into the street from the atrium, good enough for you to watch the constant flow of pilgrims passing by. The fact that a would-be assassin might be amongst them is not lost on you, but it would be a poor assassin to announce their presence so openly.
After a while, you grow tired of watching the crowds and look back to the colourful windows. Each one depicts a scene taken from the Nicean Prophecies, the figure of a bleeding woman appearing more than anything else. Cato and Elle are absent, locked in some private conversation, but you suddenly realise that you’re not alone. Justine, the churchwoman, has silently approached.
“Do you believe in all this stuff?” you ask nonchalantly, waving a hand up towards the stained glass windows before letting out a low laugh. “Stupid question,” you add, “Of course you do.”
“I do believe,” she answers coolly, taking no obvious offence at your crass question, “I believe that the Godhead will one day give way to a kind and caring God, and that God will lead the way to a new world – a world of gold, where men can live virtuous lives.”
“Very admirable,” you muse, “But sometimes I wonder. Would there be a place for people like me in this golden world?”
“There will be a place for everyone,” Justine offers you a faint hint of a smile, “Even someone like me.”
Just as you’re wondering what THAT was supposed to mean, you hear the sharp click of footsteps as a soldier hurries into the cathedral. He enters a small side room, emerging a moment later with Cato and Elle. With the messenger retreating back where he came from, Cato quickly moves over to join you. “Thank you for waiting, Isambard,” he begins, “I apologise for taking up so much of your companion’s time.”
“That’s fine,” you reply, glancing briefly aside as Justine backs away, “So long as you weren’t talking about me behind my back, that is.”
“No, of course not. I was asking for advice, actually,” Cato pauses for a moment, looking faintly embarrassed, “I was asking how I might comfort the saint, to reassure her. Though we have tried not to worry her unnecessarily, she clearly realises that not everything is well.”
“And she’s received a prophecy,” Elle adds in a low voice, “A beast with three faces approaches. One wears a familiar mask and speaks in a cacophonous voice, one hides like a wolf amongst the flock, and the last will come with the moonlight.”
“The second “face” in the prophecy likely confirms what I’ve suspected, that an assassin will try to hide amongst the pilgrims,” Cato grimaces, “The rest of it, however…”
[1/2]
After a while, you grow tired of watching the crowds and look back to the colourful windows. Each one depicts a scene taken from the Nicean Prophecies, the figure of a bleeding woman appearing more than anything else. Cato and Elle are absent, locked in some private conversation, but you suddenly realise that you’re not alone. Justine, the churchwoman, has silently approached.
“Do you believe in all this stuff?” you ask nonchalantly, waving a hand up towards the stained glass windows before letting out a low laugh. “Stupid question,” you add, “Of course you do.”
“I do believe,” she answers coolly, taking no obvious offence at your crass question, “I believe that the Godhead will one day give way to a kind and caring God, and that God will lead the way to a new world – a world of gold, where men can live virtuous lives.”
“Very admirable,” you muse, “But sometimes I wonder. Would there be a place for people like me in this golden world?”
“There will be a place for everyone,” Justine offers you a faint hint of a smile, “Even someone like me.”
Just as you’re wondering what THAT was supposed to mean, you hear the sharp click of footsteps as a soldier hurries into the cathedral. He enters a small side room, emerging a moment later with Cato and Elle. With the messenger retreating back where he came from, Cato quickly moves over to join you. “Thank you for waiting, Isambard,” he begins, “I apologise for taking up so much of your companion’s time.”
“That’s fine,” you reply, glancing briefly aside as Justine backs away, “So long as you weren’t talking about me behind my back, that is.”
“No, of course not. I was asking for advice, actually,” Cato pauses for a moment, looking faintly embarrassed, “I was asking how I might comfort the saint, to reassure her. Though we have tried not to worry her unnecessarily, she clearly realises that not everything is well.”
“And she’s received a prophecy,” Elle adds in a low voice, “A beast with three faces approaches. One wears a familiar mask and speaks in a cacophonous voice, one hides like a wolf amongst the flock, and the last will come with the moonlight.”
“The second “face” in the prophecy likely confirms what I’ve suspected, that an assassin will try to hide amongst the pilgrims,” Cato grimaces, “The rest of it, however…”
[1/2]
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