The Advances of Grace

[ c. 13th Century ~ ]

Francis had two goals before him: one was to stay alive long enough to please God and prove his life's worth; and the other, was to die piously, that he may be blessed with the providence of his Heavenly Father thereafter eternally.

His reform was entirely personal. Francesco was not ambitious for the souls of other men, as he did not trust in their ability to hold onto them.

Although he considered men’s fate to be of their own deciding, he also recognized that only by the advances of Grace does any man really continue his existence.

His faith embraced the flowers at his feet; it would celebrate the twig-legged sparrows as they pecked the dew from their engorged bulbs.

In a green glade sanctuary Francis committed his soul for the good of all, and with the self-centred confidence of a holy-man, he completely believed that he alone could lift up the hearts of men and save them from themselves.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Pietro/Peter

Masaccio 

Murmur observed that Pietro now was wearing the countenance of an apostle. One could have said, that his features were more in likeness to his soul, rather than to his forebears.

Murmur led the newly formed man back to the Brothers' camp and introduced him as Peter.

Simple as he was, Murmur had learned that the world of men had little capacity to comprehend the workings of heavenly miracles - and that being so, providence was always best un-talked about.

In the meanwhile, a travelling merchant of the Cloth imparted the solemn news to the cloister at Marseilles, telling of Pietro's demise, and of the bronze plaque that had replaced him.

Pica took herself into the heart of the monastery to the halls of silence, where in a solitary cell, she wept quietly to herself for many months to follow.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Pietro's Death

[ c. 13th Century ~ ]

Pietro got stuck by a hunter's arrow.

It was on the third day of his expedition into the countryside when the random missile had caught Pietro in the back, causing him to collapse, fever, and die.

The Society of Weavers awarded him an epitaph on a public plaque.

However it also had happened that Murmur, the saintly monk, had found Pietro laid out in a shallow grave that was covered only by forest refuse.

There had been no one, and no money, available to afford the proper funerary, and thus he had been left there for the sake of posterity, and convenience.

Although without breath, the soul has a constant heartbeat all of its own - and Murmur could hear this subtle life coming from the wasted man.

Murmur held unusual perceptions about the world, and he believed categorically in resurrection: that it could occur in every place and plane of being.

His experience saw resurrection to be a possibility everywhere, rather than belonging only to a distant hope in yet another time and realm to come.

Once again his faith was proved, and from a touch and a prayer Pietro mysteriously sat up awake to the world again.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Adventure into the Countryside

[ c. 13th Century ~ ]

Francesco's father could not bring himself to disown his deranged son for leaving in the manner that he did. Instead he paid soldiers and troubadours handsome commissions to recall him - yet although many stories came back, nought could actually help to locate his youngest child.

Within a year Pietro's anguish had increased. He was a successful man used to winning results - yet none had come. He had invested so many hopes in his boy, and was not prepared to take the loss.

And so, resolute with sadness, he decided on his sixtieth birthday, that he should adventure into the countryside himself, that he might locate Francesco and bring him home.

Men of measure would never usually attempt to penetrate the outlying forest. The countryside was complex with dangers: vagabonds and wildlife - unknown terrors and possible hardships.

Most folk lived in the towns for their entire life without so much as a day trip into the country - they rathered to stay on the roads when travelling, and never departed into the thick of the green skirting their province.

Pica had been disconsolate at the thought of him leaving so. She was bewildered by the sudden madness that had overtaken her son, and now privately wondered if her husband had been infected similarly.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Rufus Redgrave

Rufus Redgrave loved porcupines, bird whistles, and watching ants crawl.

With his belly and beard to the ground, prone flush to the sun-soaked concrete, he would lie outstretched, dozy with the warmth, following their formations as they scuttled over the ground, all around and up past his nose. With olympic precision, and team tasking, their queues shuttled backwards and forth, without any consideration for the curious dog watching these drills.

Rufus looked exceedingly old for his years - all three of them. Weimaraner’s tend to look elderly from birth. He had semi translucent grey eyes, silver fur; and shook when he walked - half his ear was missing, torn on the flap by a snappy bitch with razor teeth … one sniff of her rear, and she had turned on him.

Chickens and cats frightened him terribly, as did small children when they squealed. His flanks would tremble with any high pitched noise, so much so, he would have to sit down.

The pads of his paws were sensitive to grit that would stick, and he often reminisced to himself, that the one thing he missed most about being human, was the shoes.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Murmur

[c. 13th Century ~]

Murmur was a pedestrian monk, who preferred living an uncomplicated life: going about the world saying little, and helping where he could.

Little was known of him, except that he did have a remarkable talent for healing, and at times with miraculous circumstances.

His father and brothers had all been gifted similarly. Within his family this talent was referred to as ‘the touch’ - being an abbreviation of ‘the touch of God’ - however this expression, in humility was shortened, when it was rarely referred to.

This same power that had lived through his father and brothers, had also taken them down a certain road to death.

For although their influence was uncannily restorative to others, it had held no protection for the conditions that they themselves took on. With a mantle of scabs, or the fury of a fever, it appeared that death had clung fast to these healers, during their evacuations of the sickness and ailments then transmitted.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Creatures Congregated

George fully believed his role as an inspector was needed, and that his judgements mattered. And even after his death in '97 George took but a few weeks leave, before returning to his duties once again.

With spirit-eyes he would watch over the cooks as before, often standing beside a hundred or so spirit-chickens, who would watch their little body's final moments being pulled apart, braised or roasted - consecrated in gravies and wine.

Sometimes it was the ghosts of the Quail, the Deer and the Crab - there was practically every creature to be eaten remaining in that cookhouse, still astrally attached to its former body ... that same body that had swum the rivers just a day before; or sailed the sky - felt the breeze on their woolly cheek; or mother's soft lick.

These creatures congregated in the hot and crowded kitchens seeing their bodies burn. And George stood with them, watching on.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances