Ah, bless. Not your fault, crusader. The corruption was just too strong for us that time.
Look out for me when next you pass through some of the more 'holy' attractions in Wraeclast. I'm sure God and I will fighting the good fight again... and with more success, I hope.
And so, God sends you to me just in time to witness my failure. Has a funny damned sense of humour, don't He.
Look out for me when you next pass through some of the more 'holy' attractions in Wraeclast. I'm sure God and I will fighting the good fight again... and with more success, I hope.
I've but one purpose in life, now... defend the last vestiges of Faith in this God-forsaken land. Well, can't be completely God-forsaken. He sent you and me here, didn't he?
Now, I've a few trinkets lying about that might be of use to you. Adornments imbued with what little Faith I can muster in this accursed place. That said, the more corruption we smite, the more Faithful I'm likely to be feeling. I can make some damned fine baubles when my divine ire is up.
In the meantime, let me know if any of my current pieces catch your eye.
We all need a quiet spot in which to rest and reflect, crusader.
Had vision you'd found such a place. Sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, but as secluded as your current hideaway might seem, you're not out from under the malevolent gaze of Corruption yet.
But you're in luck! God has chosen to reveal another, more pure sanctuary to me. The perfect hideout for crusaders of the Faith such as us.
All that remains is for you and I to accept His most generous offer. Shall we take a look?
It's in this blessed font that I douse my trinkets in the cool waters of Faith. Tends to change them for the better, as you've probably noticed already.
If you've the patience, I can teach you how to bless your own baubles. In God we trust, and in you, I trust.
Without trees there is no forest. Without symbols there is no Faith.
Back in Oriath, I crafted and blessed trinkets aplenty for the clergy. Pretty baubles for vain men. My symbols meant nothing there.
Here, symbols are all that we have, crusader. No trees. No forest. And so I craft my trinkets and then baptise them in these holy waters.
The trick is, as I do so, I envisage how I'd like that particular symbol to be reborn. A blessing of strength to the sinews, a shot of sharpness to the old brain, a touch of good fortune... I make the choice and God delivers.
Faith has a peculiar eye for fashion. You dress yourself in the garb of self-gratification, and you'll get the cold shoulder. But clad yourself in service and sacrifice, and you'll get yourself invited to all the best parties.
To be given, you first have to give. Something you're really starting to get the hang of, crusader.
Yet again you prove yourself worthy of God's admiration.
Now, not that I'm questioning the benefits of a bit of divine loving, but I'm looking around and thinking that He might want give you a more tangible sign of His love.
A house of God doesn't need to be built out of marble and gold, nor reach into the clouds, but you should be able to put your hands together in prayer without grazing your elbows.
I'll put in a prayer or two for a slightly less humble abode, shall I?
I'm starting to think that you might be one of God's 'chosen'. Now I don't say that lightly. In fact, I don't tend to say it at all these days.
Seemed like every time I decided dub someone 'chosen', they'd end up... as nightmare fodder the next day. In fact, the more Faith I had in them, the worse they got it in the end. A bloody shame.
But that's not going to happen to you, crusader, because I haven't actually called you a 'chosen one'... have I?
You were sent by God Himself. Sounds a bit grandiose, don't it? But there it is. Of all the exiles out there, He picked you.
To be honest, I couldn't really see why at the beginning. No offence, but you were nothing special. Just another exile with one foot in the grave.
Now look at you! Look at us, and what we've achieved together.
I didn't have a whole lot of hope before I met you. My Faith was wearing thin, and, in my darkest moments, I wished only to be carried off to God's kingdom. You've changed me even more than you've changed this land, crusader.
I knew we had to reclaim Wraeclast in the name of God, but I didn't really know why. Thinking back, I have to face a shameful revelation. I didn't think humanity deserved to have Wraeclast.
You've proved me wrong, crusader, and proved God right.
You know, the Eternal Empire was founded by crusaders, men and women just like you.
God appeared to an Azmerian shepherd boy, many hundreds of years ago. He told that boy to lead his people from the mountains of poverty, down into the forbidden lands where prosperity awaited the bold. There, he was to build upon the bones of the fallen, and found a nation of the Faithful.
That boy was Veruso, the Prima Imperialus, first emperor of the Eternals.
Voll of Thebrus, High Templar of the Faith, the man chosen by God to lead the glorious Purity Rebellion, blah blah bloody blah!
He was an idiot, and I was exiled for saying so... loud and often.
God gave him intelligence, power, charisma and tenacity, and what did he do with it all? Devoted it to the stupidest idea in the history of humanity. The destruction of thaumaturgy. Voll thought of himself as Wraeclast's saviour. He ended up being Wraeclast's destroyer.
I'm going to share a revelation with you, crusader.
The power instilled in my 'holy' trinkets... it's the same as the dark power that lurks within the so-called 'virtue' gems. The same power that feeds and moulds the Corrupted.
Nightmare and thaumaturgy, two sides of the same coin. I know, bit of a dagger in the heart of Faith, or so I thought at first. God straightened me out quick enough.
Nightmare and thaumaturgy might be two sides of the same coin, but who minted that coin? No, it's not a trick question. God did.
God gave us thaumaturgy, a divine gift above all others. It's Man who corrupted that gift.