| Vigil |
| Summary: | Within the Cathedral |
| Date: | The 21st of Novembre, 1866 |
| Related: | Carnival, and all of it's glory |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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In the Holy Cathedral, many men stand in their armor, all polished and poised, their weapons in hand, standing ever guard and ever vigilant through the halls. Candles are lit as are oil lamps, allowing a more transcendant frame of mine for those in guarded and silent contemplation. Among those here stands one in polished black armor of a Galenthian Lancer, though any such badges or griffions of honor have been scrubbed off his armor. No sigh of his house, no greens or gold does he wear, just his black armor-and the penitent white warcoat of a man on vigil-this will become his robe that he will shed before his cleansing and anointing.
Such a moment he has waited for all his life, though now, in his own head, as his hands tighten around the hilt of his sidhe steel sword a simple prayer is remembered, practiced, and now worded over his lips moving and no real noise leaving.
One Use me.
One Mold Me.
The One take my Blade as his own.
Amen.
And so it would go. No, Kalon Arkanin will not sleep tonight, like the One's companions before his final battle. He will remain awake.
Vigilant