Faith had been steadily dwindling in the fortress. It is said that in times of hardship, religion flourishes. Not so much, when the hardship in fact had outlawed and persecuted religion in its entirity, Lemonpie had come to learn in the past few years. When constructing the cathedral, he had dozens of forumites following him blindly, listening to his every command. After its completion, every 7th day of the week the cathedral would be stuffed. The forumites would come to pray and dance, to bond together. Friendships, passions and even marriages had seeped out of the living stone of the underground chapel. Yet now, barely anyone ever came. Lemonpie spent his time alone in the cold, damp chapel, accompanied only by the sting of Armok's presence and his mangled legs. Wherever he looked, he still saw blood everywhere. He could clean it no more in his physical state. None came to aid him. And now, Apiks' abominable inscription stared at him from below. Wherever Lemonpie went, he would get looks. Looks of sorrow, looks of bitterness. Looks that longed to the good old times. Yet Lemonpie remained mostly alone.
Lemonpie did not know the time Monom arrived. It could have been early morning, or late at night. Without natural light and people to tell time, night bled into day, and day back into night. Lemonpie was reading an old book when the lone soldier came, accompanied by his remarkable sword. Once it had belonged to Doren, and others before him, Lemonpie remembered. Its presence stung somewhat, like a tiny speck of dust in his eye. Familiar, yet not prevalent enough to be identified. Monom's presence however, was odd. Never before had he entered the cathedral. Yet it felt as if he belonged there. As if he was sent down, by something greater than his own wit. As if he was meant to come.
"Young Monom, welcome.", Lemonpie said. "I presume you come here for the same reason as the other soldiers? To have your mind and sword blessed by His light before entering battle?". "Yes," the soldier replied, showing little emotion. "It might not benefit me in any way, but I am sure it definitely would not harm me either.". It was not long before Lemonpie had started carrying a heavy, engraved stone bowl towards the central altar. "Lend me a hand, will you? My legs are not what they used to be." Monom hurried to help the crippled priest, and soon the bowl stood deftly upon the altar. "How exactly shall the procedure take place?", Monom asked.
As Lemonpie started explaining the simple procedure, a presence overcame him. It was far from the presence of Armok, one whose glorious presence he was not expecting now. Not since Apiks' desecration of the cathedral, he had felt the presence of Omer this strongly. He felt Omer beckon to him, and eagerly absorbed his commands, spoken in the language without words.
"Baptise them not in the sacred waters of rain. Baptise them not in the oils of sunlight. Baptise them in the most sacred of your liquids. Uncork the holy vial. Bathe them in rainbows pure."
It could not be true. Lemonpie could hardly could hardly believe his ears. Of course, that was natural, considering he hadn't heard it with his ears. Bathe this newly-enlisted, greenhorn soldier, and his unnatural blade, in one of the most sacred artifacts he had? Lemonpie wondered if it was all a sham, a trick of Armok's to arbitrarily destroy one of the most powerful magical items in the fortress. But it could not be. He would have felt it. It truly was Lord Omer that spoke to him.
"Are you okay? you spaced out for a bit." Monom said, concerned.
"It is naught, my disciple. Fret not. Please, if you will, follow me"
Entering the chapel's crypts had always been hard. Lemonpie had made sure of it, for it contained sacred treasures of incredible worth. Entering the chapel's crypts without a pair of working legs was even harder. Still, Lemonpie had not completely sat idle, and the odd, ornate wheelchair he constructed was suited to tread the trapped labyrinth. It's mechanical legs were able to dodge the pressure plates and tripwires that littered the rocky hallways. The journey was long, but eventually, they got there. Poised atop a large chair, an ornate metal crock stood. Before it laid the shining bones of a leather clad human. Lemonpie made a mental note to feed a guardian next time he placed one somewhere.
Eventually, he returned with the essence, and the simple ceremony was initiated.
When they were done, Monom left with an unusual expression on his face. Though, his expression was the least of Lemonpie's worries. Where Lemonpie once suspected a godly aura, he could now see it clearly. Surrounding Rosywander was an odd, rainbow-coloured aura. It was no longer as stinging, as malevolent as it used to be. The whole artifact seemed in discord with itself, confused to what it was. Like a faithful, old patron of an inn whose favorite bar chair had just been nagged by an arrogant young man, unsure of his new position.
Powerful magics were at work here.
Lemonpie just hoped Omer knew what he was doing.
I recently learned there's actually a saint called Omer! Also, the city of Saint-Omer exists apparently. Isn't that coincidental?