Enlightenment.

Peering around the ruined Farmstead, shattered by previous warfare and destruction, Orthur drew a deep dark sigh as the star filled sky looks down upon him ominously. For too long Orthur kept himself from these lands, filled his hours with study instead of prayer and for too long had Orthur forgone his Family. No longer. Yet as the Elder slowly strode up the bank of his Farm, barely hearing the audible snores of his niece and her husband, he couldn't shrug off the feeling that something wasn't right. He had spent the last hours by the fire of Thoradin's Grave in central Arathi, deep in meditation, a circle of grounded bone surrounding him, evoking Spirits of the Ancestors, whilst the Light of the fire emulated the Ancestor's Light in his wake. This ritual wasn't unknown to Orthur, it was a long time ago that the Seikenid Trollbane Princess Anaei granted him the title 'Voice of the Ancestors', and it was nearly as long ago that the Ancestors themselves reaffirmed her choice by bestowing upon him Visions of Faith. Yet today, nothing came to Orthur, even though just hours before the Spirits themselves had flown to him in to aid his healing ritual. It was as if the Ancestors themselves were withholding something, information, spiritual enlightenment. Orthur knew that if they were unwilling to converse, it was because they had something important to tell him and thus spent more time judging him worthy or not to carry the divine word. It was a feeling that had Orthur in fits of excitement and fear, perhaps he was unworthy, perhaps his time away in the City of Dalaran had severed the once strong spiritual ties the Elder had with the Spirits of the Land he grew up in.

Nevertheless, in traditional fashion, Orthur summoned a flame to light the large candle by his bed so that the Ancestor's Light shone on him always, and settled into his common bed changed from his elaborate garb into simple bedlinen befitting poverty. His eyes closed as his mind sought rest, with a thousand questions keeping him from it. What are they hiding? Am I worthy to have it revealed to me? Have I been forsaken? But eventually, as always, the questions ceased to plague him and faded as sleep took over the aged Elder.

It is said that those blessed with visions often had the greatest enlightenment during sleep. The mind, lucid and metaphysical, free for Spirits to enter and make their mark to those who are open to them. Often sleep brought Orthur's visions and when they did, they often were the strongest for these visions were not evoked by Orthur himself, he did not dabble in Shamanistic ritual to coerce the presences into his mind, they came willingly and forcefully, tonight was such a night. A voice spoke inside of his mind, a whisper at first, growing into a loud comforting yet confident tone. “Orthur Thorgint, Voice of your Ancestors, I come baring great news. I testify to you, that there is nothing Holy but the Holy Light, and no truer teaching than that of...”, before the voice had room to finish, a image appeared in the mind of the sleeping Elder. A white cross on a black background, a large Abbey surrounded by Priests and a hat, on the head of a man baring a flintlock.

“My word is true, Orthur, we affirm this in the Holy Grace of the Light, remember that the Light is everything that is Pure, Good, Just and Righteous in the universe; the Light is greater and more splendorous than we can possibly imagine and the words of our language cannot describe It in all Its glory and magnificence. You are guilty of this, your Ancestors, your Suxen, your Phelgas, pale in the splendour of the truth. You know in yourself that these are just personifications of what is true, what is right, and such descriptions lie to your flock. You imply to them that the Light is a Beast of a Man, teaching with wisdom and a gentle touch. You limit the Holy Light. The Holy Light is simple; do not look for It in theology. Take a look around you and let the whole world inspire you with Light’s Glory. Seek It out instead in beauty of the nature and the arts, the power of a sincere prayer and sweetness of a psalm. Do you understand me, Voice?”

A face to the voice appears, to Orthur, it looks like what is depicted of Suxen the AllFather, the Great Father of the Arathorian, the Light itself but it soon shifts, changes. The expression of a Vykul changes into that of a Quel'dorei with young, human features before uttering a final expression. “Test yourself, oh Elder, your Faith wanes, lies. Look inside yourself and know what we know in Death. The only true Faith is that of Me, my divine simplicity, my divine prophecy. Spread this and know in your death, your wife waits in my arms. Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.”

Awaking with a bead of sweat upon his head, Orthur can't but help recall a psalm from the Anethion Scripture previously studied a week ago.


With a gulp, he closes his eyes to pray for guidance, yet only one answer is granted. An atlas lies on a work bench by his bed, unbeknown to Orthur, open to the page depicting Northshire Abbey in Elwynn.

Heresy.

:3