Radek Jeppersen (radek_janovsky) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-08-07 03:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | radek jeppersen, ~phanuel |
Two immortals meet
Who: Tomáš Dobrovský (Radek) & Phanuel
What: Retrospective: First meeting
When: Battle of Prague, Third Silesian War, The Seven Years’ War, 1757
Where: Bohemia, battlegrounds near Prague, medical tent
Ratings Battle, wounded, death
The blood flow finally slowed to a trickle and the remaining bandages, now sourced from torn rags of clothing from corpses, were applied. It was an attempt to secure the wound and both protect it from infection while hopefully enabling some healing after surgically refastening the two ends of a tibia. Groans of varying volumes and intensity surrounded him, and he collapsed back, sitting on the wooden chest that also served as his work area. Tired fingers reached for the pouch that lay flat beside him, and with hope beyond hope he peered into it. He held it to better see inside and try and find, by some miracle, that it did still contain some of the mixture that, for the wounded, brought some relief from the pain. The relentless, never-ending pain caused by metal rending flesh and bone. .
But the pouch was empty. The priests had been generous when providing him with the last of their supplies of opium, henbane and mandrake, but the wounded soldiers were too many, a seemingly endless stream that flowed uphill from the battle grounds below. And the mixture was not the same, its supply finite, and now done.
The sounds of battle from below in the valley lessened as the dusk drew night’s blanket over the fields where the dead lay as they fell. Limbs askance, some faces buried in muck, others appearing as if asleep, and then those whose surprise at their passing was frozen in a mask of constant bewilderment. And then there were those whose eyes were staring into an eternity in which they now resided. Some had only seen fewer than fourteen circuits of the sun, others were fathers and grandfathers of the same. But in death, each was identical. A lifeless, laughterless, leaden limbed leftover of battle, regardless of whether it was lost, or won.
Tomáš pushed himself off the chest and stumbled across to where a man’s groans had formed some utterances. He bent, his ear coming closer to the man’s mouth, as his eyes roamed across the stained bandages, blood slowly seeping through despite Tomáš’ attempts to secure it. “Hush now, the pain will pass,” he told the young man gently. With tired fingers he pulled back the edge of the cloth and spied the source of the leakage, and within minutes, and with the last of the remaining thread, he fixed his work to stem the flow of blood. The flow of words from the man on the stretcher had also halted, but his shallow and jerky breathing indicated there was still life. Another stretcher, another slowly raised a hand, and Tomáš made his way across to tend and reassure, as he knew there was little else he could do for these men now.
And there were so many.
Returning slowly to the chest, his own legs now leaden, Tomáš collapsed to his knees, elbows propped on the flat surface the only thing that kept him from falling to the ground. As the groans and whimpers of pain continued to echo through the tent, words started to fall from his lips in the one remaining thing he could do for them. Pray.
“Media vita in morte sumus
quem quaerimus adjutorem
nisi te, Domine,
qui pro peccatis nostris
juste irasceris?
Sancte Deus,
sancte fortis,
sancte et misericors Salvator:
amarae morti ne tradas nos.”
[“In the midst of life we are in death.
To whom may we look for help,
but from you, Lord,
who for our sins
are justly displeased?
Yet, Lord God most holy,
Lord most mighty,
holy and most merciful Savior,
deliver them from the bitter pains of eternal death.”]
Tears were streaming down his face as he continued, the need to reach out for help for those lying around him overcoming his century-old habits of pre-learnt and prescribed prayer.
“Oh Lord, blessed be thy name, I am but your humble servant, please hear my prayers. I know not why I have been blessed with the lives I have, but if it pleases you I beg that for each of these men you take one of mine and gift it to them. So many have already entered your kingdom and I know they are now receiving the blessings you bestow upon them, and that it is your will to decide each of their destinies. I have failed to bring comfort, failed to mend the damage caused by man upon man, and I beseech you to consider that they be given more time to bear witness to you, even if it means I no longer can serve you in this world…”
And the human knew Eve his woman and she conceived and bore Cain, and she said, "I have got me a man with the Lord." And she bore as well his brother Abel, and Abel became a herder of sheep while Cain was a tiller of the soil. And it happened in the course of time that Cain brought from the fruit of the soil an offering to the Lord. And Abel too had brought from the choice firstlings of his flock, and the Lord regarded Abel and his offering but did not regard Cain and his offering. And Cain was very incensed, and his face fell. And the Lord said to Cain,
"Why are you incensed,
and why is your face fallen?
For whether you offer well,
or whether you do not,
at the tent flap sin crouches
and for you is its longing,
but you will rule over it."
And Cain said to Abel his brother, "Let us go out to the field," and when they were in the field Cain rose against Abel his brother and killed him. And the Lord said to Cain, "Where is Abel your brother? And he said, "I do not know: am I my brother's keeper?" And He said, "What have you done? Listen! your brother's blood cries out to me from the soil. And so, cursed shall you be by the soil that gaped with its mouth to take your brother's blood from your hand. If you till the soil, it will no longer give you strength. A restless wanderer shall you be on the earth." And Cain said to the Lord, "My punishment is too great to bear. Now that You have driven me this day from the soil I must hide from Your presence, I shall be a restless wanderer on the earth and whoever finds me will kill me." And the Lord said to him, "Therefore whoever kills Cain shall suffer sevenfold vengeance." And the Lord set a mark upon Cain so that whoever found him would not slay him.
Gingerly she stepped, barefoot, between the dead and the dying. Another example of man’s capability for destruction and disregard for life. They always found a reason to war. Whether it be for the “glory” of her Father, or simply to lay claim to land. Free will. All it brings is murder and war.
…
...
And prayer?
It came first as a whisper on the wind; soft, delicate. Plaintive. Given her estrangement from Heaven, it was the last thing Phanuel expected to hear. But it was there.
One man. Offering his life for others.
The breeze turned into a mighty wind which in turn churned and became a tornado. The words coursed through her being, like a bolt of lightning striking consecrated ground.
“I have failed to bring comfort, failed to mend the damage caused by man upon man, and I beseech you to consider that they be given more time to bear witness to you, even if it means I no longer can serve you in this world.
Why this prayer? Why this person? Try as she might, the pull couldn’t be ignored. She stepped with speed through the heart of darkness, this landscape littered with the fallen and the dead, and approached the source.
How did she do this again?
Right.
Phanuel spread her wings. “Your prayers have not gone unnoticed.”
Tomáš spun around, which resulted in his landing unceremoniously on the ground, back against the chest and arms splayed out. He stared up, squinting and blinking, and for a brief moment gaping. Which was all instantly followed by a scramble to his feet. Being an immortal had opened his mind to all types of beings and possibilities, and he had come across some types he would rather not meet again. But he’d never come across an entity such as this. And he slowly took a single step forward, his face filled with wonder and a little disbelief. Had he in fact fallen asleep and was now dreaming?
“Are you come to help them?” he asked softly, wanting beyond all wants of the past to have his prayers answered, so his own extended life will have at least meant something.
“I’m sorry. They are beyond help. Their souls reside with my Father now, in eternal rest.” Even now, despite her estrangement, it was difficult not to tow the party line. Plus, it seemed the man before her needed Phanuel’s reassurance. “This was your doing?” she queried. “Giving aid and comfort to the dead and dying?”
Tomáš staggered a little, shocked, his steps faltering as he looked at the men closest. “Not even… one?” His voice was breaking, as was his spirit. For centuries he had studied philosophy, theology, languages. mathematics, and astronomy, but it was when he had started to translate the ancient Arabic and Greek medical texts to Latin some 100 years ago that his interest in anatomy, and medicine had started. For nearly fifty years he’d studied under, and worked alongside physicians in Italy and France, learning the pulmonary system and observing the network that connected the brain to the body, gave life to limbs. And had studied how the skeleton gave structure. He had copied by hand the 150 year old text of the English physician William Harvey, describing the vascular system in exquisite and accurate detail. But none of it was enough to save any of these men.
Staring across the wounded bodies, the flickering light cast dancing shadows across them all, as if they were already all dead and their souls departing. His shoulders drooped, tiredness sweeping through him, clawing at the last of his strength. At that moment if a sword had been swung for his neck he would have welcomed the relief from the pain.
“Not enough though, to save any. What purpose is there for me, if I cannot carry enough wisdom and skill to help these men,” he muttered, turning back to the winged figure.
“The hardest lesson to learn is that not all can be saved,” the Angel replied. “But look at the comfort you have brought already. The wounds you have dressed. Some of these wounded shall live beyond today, because of you. Unfortunately, it is beyond my power to bring back the dead. They have served their purpose in the grand scheme of things.”
Phanuel regarded the penitent man before her. She cupped a hand on his chin, bringing his gaze to hers. In that moment, she was brought vision of his long life, his search for the meaning of it. “Oh, but yours is full of potential yet to be explored, Tomáš Dobrovský,” she continued. “I see the yearning for purpose, your need to justify the gift bestowed upon you.”
How did she know his name? Because a creation of his imagination would. But he was in no fit state to give himself any encouragement…
He focused on the face before him, his head now tilted and the light that seemed to emanate from her giving his tired eyes clarity of vision. “Yes, to waste such a life would be a sin indeed,” he admitted. He had long sought something that would hold his attention, and give him some direction to follow, a goal to achieve. “And I can help them?” he asked, starting to realise that this was no figment, that his imagination was broad, but not capable of such at this time. “Is it in this where I can be of most use?” he asked, his eyes now clearing of the clouds that had been closing in earlier.
“You’ve begun amassing the tools needed.” Not since Shakespeare had she found someone with such raw potential, to provide good in a world that didn’t always deserve it. “The good you do in this world, carries forward. You have the hands of a healer. And more importantly, the soul of a good man.”
A tear formed in the corner of her eye. Phanuel marvelled at the sensation welling in her bosom. In small doses, humanity could be redeemed.
“You are your brother’s keeper, Tomáš. Heal them, as you can, and you will begin to improve yourself.”
“You are your brother’s keeper, Tomáš. Heal them, as you can, and you will begin to improve yourself.” The words echoed in his mind, and became embedded in his memory. He continued to look at her, drawing a breath before asking, “and may I know who it is who bestows this knowledge? Who graces me with divine presence?”
Divine. It had been ages since she’d been clearly associated with the Divine. “Behold. For I am Phanuel, referred in scripture as the Face of God, and one of the four Angels of Presence. As I spoke with Moses the history of Israel, I now speak with you of your future.”
Now his jaw did fall open. It had been theology he’d studied first, before his first death, and he knew only too well the scriptures and her story. At least as much as had been recorded, and translated, and retranslated through the past millennium and more. He bowed his head, showing respect and humility for having been heard by her.
“And I will hold your words in my heart for all my days to come,” he replied, his gratitude, and the touch of awe clear in his voice. He knew that tomorrow he would have a myriad of questions, but his weariness, and sense of awe, sent all these from his mind. “Thank you,” he added, his tone full of heartfelt gratitude.
“It is I who should thank you. You restore my faith in humanity.”
And with a flutter of wings, Phanuel vanished. She wouldn’t travel far, as her powers had diminished considerably since her separation, but far enough out of sight as to appear ethereal.
And again Tomáš’ mouth dropped open, his eyes following the disappearing figure until he could see her no more. Once she was lost to his vision he closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly, to recall the vision, her face, the luminescence of her presence, the sound of her voice and in particular her words.
”You restore my faith in humanity.”
In that moment his destiny was decided, and with renewed belief he opened his eyes and turned to begin checking on the men in his care.
Finis