- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
- TNP Nation
- Prydania
- Discord
- lordgigaice
21 December 2019
9:42 pm
On a Saturday
St. Ro's Cathedral, Beaconsviði, Prydania
Blárjól* services reached their peak as the solemn hyms seamed to compliment the falling snow against the night sky and pale light of the cold moons.
"I wish to thank all of the families who came to worship with us" Bishop Cecilie Steen said as she addressed a crowd of tired but attentive worshippers in the capital's national cathedral.
"Blárjól was always meant as a time of reflection, but each year since the return of peace has brought more than we might otherwise have. It's been my honour to lead you all in prayer tonight. And it is my honour to invite His Majesty, King Tobias III, Defender of the Faith, to provide some words as we conclude tonight's service.
Tobias had an intimate relationship with Ro's Cathedral. It was where he had his coronation. Memories of that day still flooded back to him every time he visited the cathedral for services, even now over two years later. The damage repaired, the old splendour restored, and yet Tobias could still see it in its post-War state. The image crystal clear in his mind.
He, dressed in modest ceremonial dress, rose and approached the podium. He'd been asked to give this speech in 2017. And 2018. He had finally agreed this year. Why? He did not know. Maybe it was to satisfy the request. Maybe...maybe he'd been thinking on things more clearly this year? Whatever reason the feeling that he shouldn't be giving this speech wasn't there this year.
"Thank you Bishop Steen" he said with a soft smile before beginning.
"Blárjól...it's a funny little holiday we have. Perhaps it's fitting. A funny little holiday, tucked away in a small forested corner at the top of the world. Our tradition. One some are fascinated by. One others don't understand. I admit, I didn't. At least I thought I didn't. Blárjól to me is a day that's tied with...inexplicable sadness. I think Blárjól must have been the first day I truly had to come to terms with my family's death...and I think that so much of that hurt must have been shared. I saw it through the years, as a young child. Men, women, children, huddled in prayer on the longest night of the year. Symbolic in our suffering against tyranny. But..."
He sighed and nodded.
"That's what I didn't understand. As I got older. As I thought I could see the world more clearly, I assumed and thought that the ritual was old. Nonsensical. That to spend a night purely dedicated to recounting pain and hurt? It was torture! It had to be. I guess it was one more thing to be arrogant about, or maybe cynical. It was a cruel trick fate played on my generation I suppose. We were surrounded by a world that tempted us to embrace nihilism. And that was why we needed nights like Blárjól more than anything."
He looked around at the full cathedral before continuing.
"I realized that. It was part of a wider spiritual awakening. And I saw what Blárjól gave us. A chance to address our pain. Not to funnel into hatred for the enemy. Not to wallow in it, but to...to reflect."
The young King fought back the urge to choke up, continuing.
"Reflect on all we lost, but to know that in death they will know peace. And isn't that what it's about? That in sadness and loss there is hope. For every loved one we lost, for every painful memory, we know. There is hope. There is always hope. It's the gift we receive through the Messiah, and that we see in each other. We are all recounting a sorrow tonight. Each one of us. Look to each other. You're all recounting pain, and a hope for the future. Let your pain be your neighbour's, and let their hope be yours. That's how we find hope. When we help each other be better because of it. That's why we, in our little forested corner of the top of the world, come together on the longest night of the year to pray."
"May God preserve Prydania" he said softly, before welcoming Bishop Steen back to the pulpit and making his way back to his seat.
21 December 2019
9:41 pm
On a Saturday
The Great Bet Tefila, Beaconsviði, Prydania
Gadol Ari Bohr stood before the assembled Shaddaist community of Prydania's capital on the first night of Yirhet'kel* the Eternal Flame flickering peacefully by his side. The bet tefila*, as keeping with the tradition of the holidays, kept the lights low with the flame providing the central point of illumination.
"We give thanks to you, Shaddai, ruler of the universe and creator of life, for your flames of creation and knowledge."
"You give us guidance, and show us the way in our most uncertain times" the congregation replied, in accordance with the ancient prayer.
"You give us strength when we are suffering" the Gadol continued.
"You give us compassion when all we feel is hatred" the congregation replied.
"You give us courage when we cower in fear" the Gadol continued the prayer.
He looked up and calmly closed the prayer book, smiling as he looked out on the congregation. It was time for the sermon, before the closing prayers.
"I wish to thank Cohen Khenesha Na Balumakh of Astragon for coming to pray with us" he turned and smiled to the Astragonese Shaddaist Cohen who was seated off to the side behind him as he gave his sermon. The two had taken turns leading the prayer during the night. The Astragonese Cohen returned the smile with a polite nod.
"It saddens me that Astragon has experienced some of what Prydania has suffered. My only joy in the matter is that it was thankfully a short conflict and peace appears to be at hand. Still, no one should know such strife in their land. I thank you, Cohen, for coming here tonight to pray with us, as we reflect on our people all over and not just in Prydania. For our struggle, as much as it impacted us, us merely one in a line that shall continue. Of suffering, cruelty, sorrow, and loss. Already events in Astragon prove to be the next link in the chain, and there will be more to follow."
He looked out over at the illuminated faces of the congregation.
"What does this mean for us? Do we wallow as this chain grows? Do we surrender ourselves? No. We do not. It is through Shaddai that we find hope. In ourselves, our friends, our family, our people. I look back, at the Maccabees as they fought Shavian oppression so long ago. Through every hardship and tyranny we endured. Through our own trials as Syndicalist pogroms terrorized our homes. And now, to Astragon attempting to find peace after such a brutal, if short, war. Suffering links us all, yes, but more than that. Hope does."
"The prayer we recite each year....'You give us strength when we are suffering...You give us compassion when all we feel is hatred...You give us courage when we cower in fear,' this is the true meaning of hope. That the Shaddai's love is present even in the most daunting moments. It is a poetry of the soul that weaves through history. We all reflect on the Maccabees' struggles tonight. I ask you all to not think of them in the context of our own struggles as we have in years past. Now is the time to think of the struggles in Astragon. And Ducrijeka, Oclusia, Yalkan, McMasterdonia, Sutherland, and so many other places where there is strife. And how hope, how the hope our ancestors fought for, and which we all now draw from, can be a hope for peace elsewhere too. Thank you all, may the eternal flame of Shaddai's love warm us all."
The Gadol set his speech down, folded in half next to the prayer book and turned to sit. Cohen Khenesha Na Balumakh rose, the two exchanging a quiet word before the Astragonese man took the podium to present the final prayer.
"Blessed are you, Shaddai, Ruler of the Universe, who makes us holy through Your commandments, and commands us to observe the Eternal Flame on Yirhet'kel" he said in Yihuddi, raising his hands to bless the congregation.
"May Shaddai bless you and keep you" he concluded, followed by a solemn "amen" from the crowd.
The congregation stood. Friends and neighbours made small talk, children joked with one and other, finally happy to be able to stand again, all as the crowd made its way out.
"Thank you again, for coming" the Gadol said to the Astragonese Cohen" in Mercanti as the two made their way out.
"It was my pleasure. The events back home made me realize how important it is to reach out."
"I just hope it's not too cold!"
"I survived listening to Murza's speeches daily. A blizzard is a welcome relief after that!"
The two holy men smiled, continuing to talk amongst themselves as the evening wound down.
*Blárjól= Blue Christmas, a holiday celebrated in Prydania on the Winter Solstice to begin the Christmas season and contemplate on both loss and hope
*Yirhet'kel= Festival of the Cold Moons, a Shaddaist holiday that takes place in the winter. It celebrates the Maccabees' victory over the Shavians in defence of the Shaddaist community in Meron in the 150s BC.
*bet tefila= A Shaddaist house of prayer
9:42 pm
On a Saturday
St. Ro's Cathedral, Beaconsviði, Prydania
Blárjól* services reached their peak as the solemn hyms seamed to compliment the falling snow against the night sky and pale light of the cold moons.
"I wish to thank all of the families who came to worship with us" Bishop Cecilie Steen said as she addressed a crowd of tired but attentive worshippers in the capital's national cathedral.
"Blárjól was always meant as a time of reflection, but each year since the return of peace has brought more than we might otherwise have. It's been my honour to lead you all in prayer tonight. And it is my honour to invite His Majesty, King Tobias III, Defender of the Faith, to provide some words as we conclude tonight's service.
Tobias had an intimate relationship with Ro's Cathedral. It was where he had his coronation. Memories of that day still flooded back to him every time he visited the cathedral for services, even now over two years later. The damage repaired, the old splendour restored, and yet Tobias could still see it in its post-War state. The image crystal clear in his mind.
He, dressed in modest ceremonial dress, rose and approached the podium. He'd been asked to give this speech in 2017. And 2018. He had finally agreed this year. Why? He did not know. Maybe it was to satisfy the request. Maybe...maybe he'd been thinking on things more clearly this year? Whatever reason the feeling that he shouldn't be giving this speech wasn't there this year.
"Thank you Bishop Steen" he said with a soft smile before beginning.
"Blárjól...it's a funny little holiday we have. Perhaps it's fitting. A funny little holiday, tucked away in a small forested corner at the top of the world. Our tradition. One some are fascinated by. One others don't understand. I admit, I didn't. At least I thought I didn't. Blárjól to me is a day that's tied with...inexplicable sadness. I think Blárjól must have been the first day I truly had to come to terms with my family's death...and I think that so much of that hurt must have been shared. I saw it through the years, as a young child. Men, women, children, huddled in prayer on the longest night of the year. Symbolic in our suffering against tyranny. But..."
He sighed and nodded.
"That's what I didn't understand. As I got older. As I thought I could see the world more clearly, I assumed and thought that the ritual was old. Nonsensical. That to spend a night purely dedicated to recounting pain and hurt? It was torture! It had to be. I guess it was one more thing to be arrogant about, or maybe cynical. It was a cruel trick fate played on my generation I suppose. We were surrounded by a world that tempted us to embrace nihilism. And that was why we needed nights like Blárjól more than anything."
He looked around at the full cathedral before continuing.
"I realized that. It was part of a wider spiritual awakening. And I saw what Blárjól gave us. A chance to address our pain. Not to funnel into hatred for the enemy. Not to wallow in it, but to...to reflect."
The young King fought back the urge to choke up, continuing.
"Reflect on all we lost, but to know that in death they will know peace. And isn't that what it's about? That in sadness and loss there is hope. For every loved one we lost, for every painful memory, we know. There is hope. There is always hope. It's the gift we receive through the Messiah, and that we see in each other. We are all recounting a sorrow tonight. Each one of us. Look to each other. You're all recounting pain, and a hope for the future. Let your pain be your neighbour's, and let their hope be yours. That's how we find hope. When we help each other be better because of it. That's why we, in our little forested corner of the top of the world, come together on the longest night of the year to pray."
"May God preserve Prydania" he said softly, before welcoming Bishop Steen back to the pulpit and making his way back to his seat.
21 December 2019
9:41 pm
On a Saturday
The Great Bet Tefila, Beaconsviði, Prydania
Gadol Ari Bohr stood before the assembled Shaddaist community of Prydania's capital on the first night of Yirhet'kel* the Eternal Flame flickering peacefully by his side. The bet tefila*, as keeping with the tradition of the holidays, kept the lights low with the flame providing the central point of illumination.
"We give thanks to you, Shaddai, ruler of the universe and creator of life, for your flames of creation and knowledge."
"You give us guidance, and show us the way in our most uncertain times" the congregation replied, in accordance with the ancient prayer.
"You give us strength when we are suffering" the Gadol continued.
"You give us compassion when all we feel is hatred" the congregation replied.
"You give us courage when we cower in fear" the Gadol continued the prayer.
He looked up and calmly closed the prayer book, smiling as he looked out on the congregation. It was time for the sermon, before the closing prayers.
"I wish to thank Cohen Khenesha Na Balumakh of Astragon for coming to pray with us" he turned and smiled to the Astragonese Shaddaist Cohen who was seated off to the side behind him as he gave his sermon. The two had taken turns leading the prayer during the night. The Astragonese Cohen returned the smile with a polite nod.
"It saddens me that Astragon has experienced some of what Prydania has suffered. My only joy in the matter is that it was thankfully a short conflict and peace appears to be at hand. Still, no one should know such strife in their land. I thank you, Cohen, for coming here tonight to pray with us, as we reflect on our people all over and not just in Prydania. For our struggle, as much as it impacted us, us merely one in a line that shall continue. Of suffering, cruelty, sorrow, and loss. Already events in Astragon prove to be the next link in the chain, and there will be more to follow."
He looked out over at the illuminated faces of the congregation.
"What does this mean for us? Do we wallow as this chain grows? Do we surrender ourselves? No. We do not. It is through Shaddai that we find hope. In ourselves, our friends, our family, our people. I look back, at the Maccabees as they fought Shavian oppression so long ago. Through every hardship and tyranny we endured. Through our own trials as Syndicalist pogroms terrorized our homes. And now, to Astragon attempting to find peace after such a brutal, if short, war. Suffering links us all, yes, but more than that. Hope does."
"The prayer we recite each year....'You give us strength when we are suffering...You give us compassion when all we feel is hatred...You give us courage when we cower in fear,' this is the true meaning of hope. That the Shaddai's love is present even in the most daunting moments. It is a poetry of the soul that weaves through history. We all reflect on the Maccabees' struggles tonight. I ask you all to not think of them in the context of our own struggles as we have in years past. Now is the time to think of the struggles in Astragon. And Ducrijeka, Oclusia, Yalkan, McMasterdonia, Sutherland, and so many other places where there is strife. And how hope, how the hope our ancestors fought for, and which we all now draw from, can be a hope for peace elsewhere too. Thank you all, may the eternal flame of Shaddai's love warm us all."
The Gadol set his speech down, folded in half next to the prayer book and turned to sit. Cohen Khenesha Na Balumakh rose, the two exchanging a quiet word before the Astragonese man took the podium to present the final prayer.
"Blessed are you, Shaddai, Ruler of the Universe, who makes us holy through Your commandments, and commands us to observe the Eternal Flame on Yirhet'kel" he said in Yihuddi, raising his hands to bless the congregation.
"May Shaddai bless you and keep you" he concluded, followed by a solemn "amen" from the crowd.
The congregation stood. Friends and neighbours made small talk, children joked with one and other, finally happy to be able to stand again, all as the crowd made its way out.
"Thank you again, for coming" the Gadol said to the Astragonese Cohen" in Mercanti as the two made their way out.
"It was my pleasure. The events back home made me realize how important it is to reach out."
"I just hope it's not too cold!"
"I survived listening to Murza's speeches daily. A blizzard is a welcome relief after that!"
The two holy men smiled, continuing to talk amongst themselves as the evening wound down.
*Blárjól= Blue Christmas, a holiday celebrated in Prydania on the Winter Solstice to begin the Christmas season and contemplate on both loss and hope
*Yirhet'kel= Festival of the Cold Moons, a Shaddaist holiday that takes place in the winter. It celebrates the Maccabees' victory over the Shavians in defence of the Shaddaist community in Meron in the 150s BC.
*bet tefila= A Shaddaist house of prayer
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