Procagius took another proper gulp of ale and turned back to the people sitting around the tavern, laughing their arses off so much that tears were rolling down their cheeks. “But truly, that´s not what Akatosh said. Akatosh is wise and eternal and…” then he waved his hand, “and who am I kidding? How about this one? Two men are talking with each other. One says: ‘I keep seeing spots before my eyes.’ and the other asks: ‘Have you seen a healer?’ and the first one replies: ‘No, just spots.’
The whole tavern erupted in laughter and one of the local patrons, a Nord named Norgun fell from his chair which resulted in an eruption of more laughter. Procagius pointed at him and shouted: “That´s Akatosh´s punishment for your sins!” Which earned even more laughs. Procagius bowed. “Thank you, thank you. Akatosh bless you all, you lot! Just don´t forget to come to the Temple of One tomorrow - once you´ll get rid of that hangover!” A wench with tankards walked past him and he couldn´t help himself but to gently slap her over her arse.
She turned around and laughed. “Brother Procagius! What would Akatosh think?”
“I think he would want to get some of that arse too!” the Imperial said and roared in laughter, his ale belly shaking as if there was an earthquake. Brother Procagius wasn’t a big muscled man, he was just a normal Imperial in his late thirties, of normal height, fading hair of autumn color, small brown eyes, wearing just brown robes, and with a nice ale belly he cultivated over the years of preaching in taverns. Preaching in taverns? Can I even call it preaching? People just like to laugh.
“Brother Procagius!” Thundered a voice from the door leading to tavern and everyone turned around, to see a shadowy figure standing on the doorstop. Lightning then thundered outside, illuminating that figure in ominous light.
“And here comes Akatosh!” Brother Procagius raised his tankard in toast. “Come sit down with us, Prelate Tasitis. Have a drink!”
The prelate - a small Imperial in black robes - walked in and pointed his finger on Procagius. “You are a disgrace to our faith. Throwing yourself with this sinful lot. Thieves, whores, murderers of Waterfront. If only Akatosh saw you…”
“I bet he does, but doesn´t really give a damn,” Brother Procagius smiled. “You´re just jealous Prelate. When I preach, people are at least paying attention and laughing. When you preach they’re usually sleeping.”
The Prelate growled and walked outside, into an upcoming storm that was growing over the Imperial City. The Black Rook tavern was silent, watching Brother Procagius who turned around to face the Orc innkeeper and pointed at his tankard. Then he leaned against the bar and looked over the faces of people watching him. My flock. Thieves, whores and murderers. “Does that mean I won the argument?” he said and they burst out in laughter, knowing that everything is how it should be. Procagius chuckled and took another gulp from the freshly refilled tankard. I think that is enough for today. You can´t push on them too hard, right? Let them breathe a little. Or your flock will die of laughter. “Alright, let´s take a break, shall we? I´m thirsty and I think I ran out of jokes.”
There was a chuckle and then they continued with their own drinking, leaving Procagius alone for a moment to drink as much as he wanted. He eyed the wench, his eyes going to her arse and he licked his lips. You shall not sleep alone today, Brother Procagius.
“Unusual approach for a priest,” said someone to his right and Procagius turned his head to see an Orc taking a seat on a stool next to him. An Orc a wearing black tunic and trousers, with a hood over his face. Procagius could only make out a black tattoo over his face, red eyes and long goatee knotted at the end.
“Not a priest, just a lowly brother of Akatosh´s church,” the Imperial chuckled. “You can probably guess why.” He then narrowed his eyes. “Haven´t seen you around before. What was your name again?”
The Orc shrugged and raised a finger towards the innkeeper. “Ale,” he said and then looked at the Imperial. “I´m new in town. They call me Lock.”
The Imperial chuckled and patted him on his back. “With name like this you´ll fit just right into our small Waterfront community of misfits.” Procagius then frowned and leaned closer to the Orc. “Malacath or Trinimac?”
“If I answer will Akatosh smite me down from this stool like that Nord over there?” the Orc chuckled. “Neither. And both. Who gives a shit?”
“Ah, a doubter. Let´s have a toast to the Daedra then,” the Imperial raised his tankard in toast.
“Yer god is alright with that?”
Procagius shrugged. “Does it matter? I am alright with that. I don´t judge a man, mer, beast or Orc for their beliefs. I do understand the advantages of worshipping Daedra. A god that answers? Oh, yes please.” He took another sip from his tankard and chuckled. “But on the other hand. Is a god that answers a good thing?”
“Ya don´t have to ask me. I definitely could live more happily without those tuskers meddlin´ in everythin´,” the Orc sighed. “But ya seem to be alright with yer god bein´ silent. Isn´t it against yer tenets?” the Orc pointed at the tankard in Procagius hands.
The Imperial shrugged. “Might be against Akatosh´s tenets. Akatosh´s chantry tenets. Not mine. If the Dragon God comes down from his mighty throne and tells me to stop drinking I will.” He then winked at the Orc. “But we both know that isn´t going to happen any time soon.”
Lock snorted. “I´d be very surprised if that happened. My...uncle used to say that there are no gods and if they are, they are old and senile, and don´t give a horse´s shit about us.”
“Wise man your uncle,” Procagius nodded. “Don´t get me wrong, I am a man of faith. I believe the gods are real. But they just don´t give a horse´s shit about us, as you say. As I said, I am a man of faith, not man of gods. If god answers your prayers is it still a faith? Or just kneeling in front of higher force? It is in our nature to call for some higher force, to ask questions, but do we want to really know the answer?”
“That´s deep,” the Orc snorted. “Ya live in Imperial City. Ya most likely been through the Great War when ya were a kid. Ya see Thalmor Justiciars roaming the streets and pulling Talos worshippers out of their beds and houses on the white marble streets of Plaza District. So tell me, is it better if the gods are dead and don´t see all this nasty shit happening or if they are real and just do nothin´?”
“What if they can´t?”
“What if they don´t want to?” retorted the Orc and Procagius raised his hands.
“Alright, fair enough. How about this: Oblivion Crisis. Akatosh came to stop Mehrunes Dagon. And what about Dragonfires that protected our world from Oblivion?”
“Amulet of Kings,” the Lock murmured. “Can ya say for sure that all that wasn´t just that red diamond shit?”
“But who gave Alessia the Amulet, right?” Procagius smiled, feeling he´s winning. “The Sacred Covenant. Akatosh gave it to Alessia.”
“Now ya contradict yerself,” the Orc smirked. “Ya said gods don´t give a shit.”
“Maybe they do when the need is great,” Procagius smiled.
“Or maybe Alessia made the Amulet all by herself and some crazy people called it a miracle,” the snorted and then raised his hands above his hands. “Oh, mighty Akatosh. He reached down and took us lowly worms squirming in mud into his hands and showed us the way.” He put the hands down and drank from his tankard. “My arse.”
“Have you visited any of the Chapels in Cyrodiil? Or Wayshrines in the wilderness? Those praying at those shrines receive a blessing, his wounds are cured. Only those worthy. I´ve seen good people being blessed and bad people being turned away. Who else than gods can judge us like that? Bless us?”
“And on what foundation they judge good or bad people? Those who worship them are good and those who don´t are bad? Bullshit,” the Orc looked straight into Procagius´s eyes. “I´m goin´ to tell ya somethin´. Have ya seen the Ayleid Wells around Cyrodiil? Pourin´ magicka into anyone who uses them? They are built on ancient laylines of magicka - crossroads if ya want. Places of power. And then there are the Doomstones, built on places of power too.”
“What´s your angle?” Procagius asked, slightly confused. Truth was he heard about this Doomstones and Ayleid Wells, but he never really travelled around Cyrodiil that much to actually see them. But the Orc definitely sounded like if he did.
“What if Wayshrines and Chapels are built on the same places of power? The shrines being pools of magicka sitting right on the crossroads of magickal streams? Because it wasn´t the gods who built those places, right? It was their followers, mere mortals. Mortals with magickal talent no doubt. And did gods reach down to consecrate that shrines, the buildings? Anyone can pray anywhere, so why get blessing only in the chapels and temples?”
Procagius blinked and then smiled. “Now you raise few good points. And I have no answers. I guess that´s where the faith kicks in, right? I do believe that it´s the god who bless us, because that´s all can they do.”
“Faith my arse,” the Orc snorted. “What if the shrines are just enchanted to do that?”
“And does that change the fact that I believe it´s the gods who answer in the only way they can?”
“Ya can believe what ya want,” the Orc murmured and took another sip from his tankard.
“I tell you what, Lock. Let´s have a drink. First one passing out loses. If you lose, you´ll go to Temple of One and see for yourself. If I lose...I´ll pay for all the drinks.”
Orc chuckled and then shrugged. “Sounds fair. Cheers.”
Procagius smiled, because he didn´t expect himself to lose. He had a lot of practice in drinking. And the Orc didn´t have enough weight to handle that much ale. Another bet, another converter. You´re the best Procagius.
And yet, he awoke the other day under the bar, with bells ringing in his head, and the innkeeper demanding money for the drinks. Damn. I should have take the arse..
Comments
You've tackled a hard question here Karver and gave plenty to think about. No doubt the conversation will rise up again in another Inn somewhere in the realm of Tamriel.
Reading this makes me think....
Reading this makes me think.... ... more