Wrymlung the Decayed

Holy

Wrymlung stands at attention, overlooking the pews of the grand cathedral filled to bursting with the nobility of Nautogonia and beyond including Lady Mediti of course, otherwise, he would not be here. Such a grand event as this is not for the likes of him but rather for the most powerful, the most influential, the most holy. His hand flexes at his side as he looks over the other knights in his peripheral and those lined along the opposite wall, his eyes training on one particular figure clad in bronze-lined armor, Ser Garlyx of the Grain. He had never dared hope that he would ever get to be so close to greatness; standing across from her with only the pews dividing them is far closer than he had ever afforded himself even in his greatest fantasies. Ser Garlyx strikes an imposing presence, her hefty frame speaking of the power she wields while making the zweihander resting against her shoulder look more like a toy than a weapon that has been used to cut down hundreds. Her solemn eyes stare off into space, unbothered by the hustle and bustle around her or the strand of golden hair that's escaped her braided bun, rising and falling in time with her breathing. Green meets gray as the knight of Weidleweiss looks to the Nautagonian knight, snapping Wrymlung to attention before he bows his head in respect.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, startling him out of his nervous disposition to glare at Ser Regalis who only grins brightly, a sparkle to their eyes. He glances back to Ser Garlyx, his heart racing as she nods to him in recognition before turning away so she may return to her reverie. Once Ser Garlyx stops paying attention to him, Wrymlung pulls his shoulder out of Regalia's grip with a huff.

"What business do you have with me?" Wrymlung settles back into his post.

Ser Regalia bumps his shoulder with theirs playfully, "My apologies, I was not aware that you were gazing at the moon."

A dark flush blooms on Ser Wrymlung's cheeks made painfully present by his pale skin, "You jest."

"Oh, aye," Ser Regalia takes their place at his side, their hand resting upon the pommel of the legendary sword they carry, Northstar, "Her heart was sown into the fields of Weidleweiss long ago and I know you to be rapturous in the presence of the divine."

"Do not sully her reputation, Ser Regalia," Wrymlung admonishes, his eyes shining bright with sympathy as he fully turns to Regalia, "Her accolades are earnest and her heart true."

Regalia raises their eyebrows at him, "You hardly know much more about her truth... She is likened to a nun by many, so, if she is akin to any nun I have met then I know it to be a thinly-veiled insult."

"Perhaps then I should take to heart the comments made in the lower city taverns that you gleam everywhere and in every way, Ser Regalia," Wrymlung straightens up and flicks his head in the vague direction of said taverns.

Regalia's jaw drops, their grin never faltering, "Oh, ho! Ser Wrymlung! I have struck a nerve after all..."

"It is not so," Wrymlung rolls his shoulders, looking back out over the crowd, "I mean only to advise a friend."

"Indeed," Regalia chuckles.

They both watch the crowd shuffle from the groups they had formed to speak among themselves back to the pews, muttering and cursing as they all find their seats.

"Lo, the priestess is come," Regalia comments idly, stretching out their fingers casually.

"Whatever this may be, it ought to be of great importance. Never have I seen her ladyship wear white..."

Regalia smirks, "It is as you say. Never doubt Lady Mediti, for she knows how to put on a play to increase the prestige of her noble lineage ten-fold. Clever old bat..."

Wrymlung frowns at Ser Regalia who only scoffs.

"Do not look at me so, Ser Wrymlung. Are you not aware of what her ladyship despises the most?"

Wrymlung sighs, "I trust you to mentor me in all things I am ignorant of..."

Regalia pats his shoulder, "She has no tolerance for those who feign her youth so that they might ignore the matriarch before them whether by intention or accident."

A bell tolls somewhere overhead, vibrating through the stone walls of the grand cathedral to announce the arrival of the priestess. The towering doors are spread wide for the procession, allowing sunlight to break into the dimly lit space. Nuns in swaths of gold-lined cloth with their faces veiled lead the train of devout, tossing white rose petals out in front of them. Following closely behind are chanting monks who bellow out in sublime agony to the heavens, their voices trembling in the very eaves of the cathedral. The air becomes clouded with pale smoke like soft breaths in winter as teardrop-shaped incense burners are carried in atop pikes. Finally, the priestess enters to the sound of the rumble of shifting bodies as everyone stands so they can bear witness to the goddess's chosen only to be met by the stretched-out white tarp used to protect her from sun and sight.

At the altar, the procession disperses, leaving only the priestess and her attendants standing before the silent onlookers. Her attendants are quick to unveil her to the gasping crowd. In a gilded crown shaped like willow branches, with eyes painted with gold, and garbed in white stands a young girl who can't be more than thirteen springs of age.

The young priestess stretches her arms out as if trying to embrace all those gathered, "Beloved faithful..."

"My word..." Ser Regalia murmurs to Wrymlung, all levity drained from them, "She is... far younger than I expected."

"Indeed..."

The priestess continues despite the hushed whispers, "I come bearing the blessings of Ianthe! One has risen above all others and has claimed the right of Holy Knight!"

All at once, the nobles fall silent, waiting with bated breath to learn which one of those gathered here will soon be able to boast about housing such an honor.

"Ser Regalia of the Treasury! Come forth and claim your right!"

All eyes snap to the gold-clad knight including Wrymlung who gapes at his friend. Regalia's hand grips their sword tightly with their jaw set firmly before they begin to march forward with their head held high to the center aisle of the cathedral where they make a sharp, clean left turn to continue forward, stopping just a few steps from the priestess, their expression unreadable. Ser Regalia kneels before her and hangs their head.

"I am here, Your Holiness," Regalia's voice trembles with reverence that almost fools even Wrymlung.

The priestess steps forward and places her hands on Regalia's shoulders and a ring of light appears around them that has the whole cathedral gasping.

"I name thee, Ser Regalia of the Treasury, in the light of Ianthe before the eyes of the land, Holy Knight of Nautagonia, may you spread Her divine light," once the priestess stops speaking, the light shrinks in, forming a halo over Regalia before fading into them, "Arise, Blessed of Ianthe."

Regalia stands to a roar of cheers and bows to the priestess before turning to face those in attendance, bowing to them. With the mystery solved and the priestess's work done, the crowd spreads through the cathedral, many of the nobles forming a particularly large group around Lady Mediti to congratulate her on being bestowed a Holy Knight. Wrymlung takes this moment to slip to Regalia, helping them through the crowd to avoid the numerous knights and nobles who wish to applaud them until the two of them find an abandoned alcove with a statue of the goddess lit only by candles.

Regalia looks up with a steely gaze at the softly smiling face of the goddess who peers down at the two of them.

Wrymlung looks back at the crowd and closes the curtain on the hideaway. He turns back to Regalia, suddenly at a loss as to what he should say. So, he picks up an unlit candle and lights it with the flame from one of the many gathered at the feet of the goddess, nestling it in alongside the others.

"I do not whisper the words of the goddess as you do, Wrymlung..."

"I know this," Wrymlung smiles at them, "but as I have learned from you, it matters very little from where one's faith is derived, so long as it favors tipping the scale towards good, it is faith well placed."

Regalia gives him a sardonic grin, "Never have I felt such betrayal as you feed me my own words."

"I do listen even if you doubt it," Wrymlung shrugs.

With a heavy sigh, Regalia nods, "Then I suppose, goddess or will, I am a hero of the people."

"Exactly so," Wrymlung looks to the statue of the goddess, "I hope you know my words spill forth from my heart of heart when I say you have done well..." He closes his eyes, basking in the candlelight, "I wish, selfishly, that I was worthy of such recognition."

Ser Regalia cups his cheek, making him look into their piercing gaze, "You are more than worthy, my friend."

Wrymlung covers their hand with his and kneels before them, pressing his lips to their palm as he shuts his eyes, "Thank you..."