Big in Cretia

[Brother Seven]

The sky was gray and wet, on the edge of what could be a downpour or a long sustained drizzle, but as of yet the clouds had not burst. Large, looming, and threatening, yet somehow serene, it somehow was quite appropriate for the occasion. Just days ago a strange being strode across the borders between Amestris and Creta, bearing letters which marked him as an interested party to the Cretian Military. Passage was smooth between the border as the Border Guards were certain that they would much rather let the man pass through unmolested than attempt to hold him back. Now, the man sat underneath those gray clouds in the middle of London, just as large, looming, and threatening, though just as serene. He wore a tattered black robe of a mendicant monk, with little else among his person but a small sack and the sandals upon his feet.

He had found himself at a loss, for as he knew he was in London, he had seen pictures of it, he hadn’t the foggiest idea as to where he had to go now that he was there. So, without direction and without purpose, the man sat on the pavement outside of one of the city’s churches, his alms bowl set as his feet and his head and hood bent down in thought and prayer.  None who passed by took charity and contributed to his bowl. In fact most actions he heard outside of his hood were gasps of fear, the curious sounds of children, and the sounds of scolding adults.  He had become used to this after a manner; he knew that he was a grotesque, a freak to these others. Sitting he was taller than most of them, the bloated and warped size of his form surely filled them with fear of some great monster underneath that black robe. And yet, he did not act upon their fears, he did not look upon himself in despair; he merely sat and waited and whispered prayers, for he knew that the cosmos had a purpose and he had a purpose within it. He merely had to wait for the cosmos to provide him a path, and he would take it.
 
“In the hands of God I was formed, In the hands of the Cosmos I was refined, In the hands of the Order I find purpose, In my own hands I find God.”

{OOC: Since my signature isn’t updating Drachman Archaic Ishvallan Broken Amestrian Cretian Any other language when he repeats heard words that he does not understand }

[Lily Rosario]

Through the stained glass of the Caelistic cathedral, the lady dressed in white robes could nonetheless perceive a darkening of clouds; not unusual in London, but certainly not a pleasant thing to deal with driving in. Well, as it were, her sermon was coming to a close anyways, and she smiled to the congregation as she spoke. "And let us pray; Lord, our Father in Heaven above, watch over your children as they go throughout their days, and let us do all that we can, within your power, to defeat the evil one and his wicked temptation. In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, and the Prophet Cael, Amen." A resounding "amen" filled the church as the pews emptied, people leaving. Lily took a moment to stand at the altar in reverent silence, before stepped outside.

As she stepped down the steps, she looked up, confirming her suspicions about the upcoming weather. Continuing to walk, it really did seem to be an average day in London; people driving to various destinations, a fistful walking about. In fact, two of those people caught Lily's eye; a woman and her son were by a wall surrounding the cathedral's grounds, though they were at the opening, and could be seen, as could some fraction of a man, sitting against the wall. She came nearer. As she did, she heard the child remarking about the man's face and asking if he was a monster, as his mother pulled him away, proclaiming that the man looked dangerous, and that they should leave. The priestess frowned; such unkindness, on a Sunday, no less.

She stepped closer to the man and saw that the pair were indeed correct. He was a massive man, far taller than Lily, and his body looked damaged and malformed, hideous. He could have been mistaken for a chimera, but for the lack of animalistic characteristics. A science project gone horribly wrong, it seemed, some twisted alchemical or alkahestral tragedy. He could hardly be called a human, by the common sense of the world.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

She dropped three coins into his bowl, all the change she'd had on her; in total, it amounted to a few pounds. Enough for a meal, or cheap lodging. She then sat beside him, careful not to accidentally cut him with her automail finger in the process; it was so difficult and unwieldy to have such an unnatural thing, particularly when it was serrated like a knife's blade, as hers was. She deigned not to address him, so as to avoid interrupting his prayers, as they seemed to be, but watched in curiosity, for a few moments, before bowing her head and speaking her own prayers, albeit in the ancient tongue of Tiberian. A prayer for the man beside her, a prayer for the world, and a prayer for the one thing she sought most; enlightenment.

[Brother Seven]

“Blessed be the Nous given to us by our Lord. Blessed be the Pleroma to which we strive. Blessed be Abraxas, Aeon of Aeons. Blessed be Sophia, Mother of Wisdom. Blessed be Bythos, Monad of Highest Pleroma, from whom all Truth Emanates. May Light and Wisdom guide my way and deliver me from the hands of the Demiurge. So be it.”

It took the giant a moment to process the sounds of clinking in his bowl and a moment more for him to feel the presence of a woman, all in white, praying beside him. Her quiet prayers sparked something in his mind and he turned to her with his head slightly askew. He spoke again, this time his voice moved with a strange fluidity unlike the hard deep grumble of his voice while he spoke his own prayers. “Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae: Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.”

He continued to look at her for a time, somewhere between fascination and confusion. Thus far his presence in this country was barely tolerated at best, with most consigning to avoid him entirely or make disparaging remarks. Since coming to this city his only source of nutrients have been a few eels he had caught from the river with his bare hands and some wild leeks that he had dug up from the parks, much to the annoyance of several officers. However now, a small young woman was kneeling beside him, intoning words that he had heard before but never understood, words that were spoken to him last by brothers of the Order. The woman had not only taken charity upon him but she moved this close to him without revulsion. Perhaps this was a sign, perhaps this was the message he was waiting for from the cosmos. Not entirely sure of what would be the most correct action, the giant bowed until he was nearly prostrate and spoke once again in the deep thunder of his voice, but in the language of Creta. ”Blessed Sister, you speak words I know and I do not know. You speak words that echo in my head, words spoken to me long ago, words I was told to protect. Yet you speak these words that are in my mind. Blessed Sister, I am Brother Seven, servant of the Lord. I have been led to you for a purpose. Blessed Sister, what will you have of me?”

[Lily Rosario]

As Lily joined the rather large man in his praying, people passing by gave them odd looks, curious as to what they were doing, but still clearly disgusted by the man's appearance. She didn't pay them any mind, even as she heard their voices. Still softly muttering in the language of the ancient Tiberians, she listened to the man's rumbling thunder in a tongue yet unheard. It sounded similar to Ishvallan, though it seemed... Different. Perhaps to Ishvallan, it was what Tiberian was to the more modern Cerisian tongue. Nonetheless, it was clearly an intriguing thing. She would have to ask him about it at some point later on in the flow of the river that we call time.

As she carried on her praying, she almost missed the words he spoke in Cretan, but for their magnitude, which caught her attention. She glanced up, looking at him, eye-to-eye, unafraid. She'd seen much in her young life, she knew well that outward appearances meant little. She had no reason to fear or be repulsed. Rather, she was interested in him; what was his story? he appeared to be a religious man, of what religion, she couldn't tell, and perhaps also a pauper of sorts, based on the bowl for change. A monk, perhaps? Regardless, the words he now spoke interested her further.

"I am Sister Lily Rosario, of the Caelistic Church; it is a pleasure to meet you, Brother Seven." A purpose, hm? Perhaps there was a purpose, beyond mere chance and coincidence for this very conversation. Not only that, but he seemed to recognize the old Tiberian language, one oft unheard of, a dead tongue known by very few. Well, as a man of God, as he proclaimed, it seemed likely he may have heard it. "A purpose, you think? Perhaps; I'm of fairly certain belief that everything happens with some divine intention in mind."

The only question, however, was as to what the purpose was for this very meeting; in which direction would the two meeting at the crossroads in their walks of faith be led...?

[Brother Seven]

The huge monk turns his head again, processing what the blessed sister said on divine intention and belief. Seven was not one of belief, but of purpose. It wasn’t so much as he had faith or believed that the cosmos had a plan or intentions, more so that he simply intrinsically accepted this to be so. By now the passersby where entirely ignored by Seven, who already was one who had a difficult time focusing on more than one thing anyways. This…Lily who sat beside him was now the sole focus of all of his attentions as he carefully tried to pick apart her every action and word. It was simply how his mind worked as he categorized and stored every frame of every moment inside of his head, perfect frozen pictures of time, space, and data as though he lived and though via an infinite series of projector slides.

He then nodded and spoke once more, “I have been lead to this place for a purpose for I seek a master. I come from the far North, I have known many masters and I have left many masters. I seek to fulfill the Ideal and Purpose with which the Lord have granted me. I am Seven, Protector-Son of the Order. I have been given form to protect, I have been given mind to protect. For many years, I have not protected. I have been given path to protect Creta, told by this paper to seek a woman who will give me purpose. You are first to perceive me, you are to give me my path to purpose.” He bows his head once more and repeats, “Blesses Sister, what will you have of me?”

Here he fishes a crumpled paper from his sack, showing an enlistment poster for the Cretan army. It depicts Queen Rachael in a top hat and a fake beard stating “I want YOU in the Cretan Army.” Seven obviously does not really know what it means, however he has been apparently driven by this from wherever he had come all the way to London, searching for that strange purpose to fulfill.

[Lily Rosario]

A master? Certainly a noble purpose for one to travel so far as from Drachma, which Lily assumed he had referred to in saying he was from the far North. A life of subservience was never an empty one, by any means, and it was quite a respectable aspiration. Though, as he continued to speak, what he spoke well... Surprised Lily, honestly. It seems that someone had prophecised to him that some woman would lead him to his purpose, towards enlightenment, towards a master, towards whatever his purpose was, and as it so happened, she was that woman.

A moment later, as she pondered such thoughts, he revealed one of Queen Rachel's rather corny, but amusing, recruitment fliers, and Lily nodded, somewhat better understanding what he was referring to when he spoke of protecting Creta. "Ahh, Queen Rachel, you mean. She's the leader of the nation of Creta, so if you wanted to protect Creta, perhaps you could join the army. My brother's a member of Creta's military, in fact." Hmm... So he wanted to join the military? He certainly had the strength for it, Lily could tell from his muscular form. Perhaps she could help him, somehow...

"If you'd like, I could lead you to the palace, where Queen Rachel lives, Brother. Perhaps, as we walk there, my own path to purpose could be revealed..."

[Brother Seven]

The giant nodded to the Cretan bishop, understanding and accepting of her offer. It was, after all, the will of the cosmos that he should follow and continue upon this path. “I shall follow the path you give to me, Blessed Sister, to the Queen.” With a slow and cautious movement, Seven picks up his small bowl with fingers the size of Amestrian sausages and places it in his cloth sack. However with a movement significantly more fluid, Seven stands fully, the sheer strain of his bulk looking as though it might rip through the black sackcloth of his robe. Looking to the priestess in white, the giant offers a hand down to help her off her knees.

An almost inhuman sound rumbled from Seven, a sound that gave him a look of surprise and mild confusion, before the sound repeated itself from his midriff. He looked almost ashamed as a large hand clutched his stomach. “I apologize for the need of my body. Please do not let this one’s hunger deter or disgust you, I seek forgiveness, Blessed Sister, so that you will not leave me again without purpose.” Though his voice grumbled in the deepest of bass, there seemed to be at the bottom of it a child-like fear, as though he feared loss or punishment for such a simple thing.

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