Dear God... (Open Challenge)

[Prophet]

Candles flickered in the darkness, sending rippling shadows dancing along the stone walls. It was quiet, except for the dull crackle of burning incense. The tendrils of smoke seemed to drift along the air, like ghostly serpents weaving their way in and out of existence. The golden candles glimmered, alone on the altar, isolated in their beauty, while the darkness swallowed everything else. The large room, usually lit with brilliant light, was like a tomb; restrained and silent, as if it were afraid of producing anything louder than a whisper. The large stained glass windows were dark, the colors embalmed in ebony, and to any stranger, they looked like simple panes of black ice. It was cold in the Church...

Thud

There was a wooden slam as the doors of the cathedral swung open with a muffled thud. For a moment, the noises of the outside world poured it. Sirens whirred, a few shouts spilled into the darkness. There was a loud gunshot, and the screech of tires on pavement. A single scream and a faded crack of a body hitting cement. The whirr of a helicopter overhead somewhere. However, the door swung shut again, and the noises vanishing, as if snuffed out of existence.

As it creaked shut, there was a set of echoing footsteps, one after the other, mockingly reverberating around the old stone church. The wooden pews seemed to withdraw into the shadows as a single dark figure stepped into the center aisle. He was tall, but slightly hunched over, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on his back. He stepped forward with slow, deliberate footsteps, a faded red carpet muffling his footsteps as he approached the alter. The golden candle-light cast shadows along his dark black robes, and the white glint of a priest's collar was revealed as he slowly approached the great stone altar. He gently knelt, dropping to one knee as the dim candle light managed to throw sharp relief over his dull grey features. His hair was graying, fading into dull white; like a cloud on an overcast day. His face was slightly wrinkled, and it was clear that the once young, vibrantly handsome face, was facing the wear and tear of time. The gray eyes were slightly speckled, and where once, vigor had shone, they now had a worn glaze, the only spark lying in the reflections of the golden candle-light.

"Father..." When Ian Oda spoke, his voice was worn and tired, not unlike a man who was slowing down, in the midst of a long marathon. "Please... your servant has been faithful, and yet, my hand grows weary of the plow... please give me a sign in these apocalyptic times... what does it all mean? Where are you in this darkness?"

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There's my opening post. This is an open challenge to anybody; standard rules, Power Battle (but lets not go overboard). I'll include my template below in a moment; note that his abilities are not stated explicitly. They will become clear as the battle goes on. Do not worry, I have a clear idea of what they are, and will not abuse this fact. I just want to use the battle to develop his character without spoiling anything.

Name
Ian Oda

Gender
Male

Age
48

Race
Human

Personality
Ian is a man who has reached the middle of a long, and tiring life. He is worn, having been fighting the good fight for as long as he can remember. He is a man of great faith and great doubt, loyal to God, but suffering from the weight of the world around him. He is a reserved man, quietly calm for the most part, but occasionally, a spark of youthful vigor will strike him again. He has recently taken up drinking.

Appearance
Slightly shy of 6'3" Ian bears the appearance of one slightly past his prime. He is tall, yet slightly hunched over, as if weighed down by something unseen. He is slightly gray haired, and his speckled gray eyes hold a constantly worn look. His face, while once handsome and youthful, has a slightly wrinkled look, and his lips as often twisted into a sigh. He is still tall, and when inspired, can strike quite the powerful figure. However, that light has faded and comes far less often. He is usually seen in his black priest's robes, with matching white collar.

History

Ian lives in the late 2020's. Global warming and the world financial crisis, as well as various energy crisises have lead to worldwide collapse. Ian was inducted into priesthood shortly before the collapse of the USA. As the great country vainly attempts to hold itself together, Ian has found it harder and harder to keep himself together.

Yet his journey is far from over...

Gift

Vessel...

Ian has noticed that sometimes, in the most dire of situations, strange things happen...

Open....​

There was a crack of a gun, and he felt the world spin as he hit the ground... blood gushed....

Third...​

Tongues of fire leaped at his skin as he raced through the alleyway, coughing, baby clutched in hand as the fire swam around him...

Coming...​

 

[KHFanatic4565]

This will be the third time we attempt to go at it.

 

[Prophet]

Then throw down an opening post, and let it be the first time we finish

 

[KHFanatic4565]

Calm silence was the answer to the prayer, as if in anticipation for an event that would change all of his existence. The air was still and tense as such things went. Pregnant pauses would give way to action as the air in the church softly blew in comfort of the weary priest. While he had yet to realise it, a new being had appeared within the place of worship.

The familiar thud of the Church door signalled the arrival of a guest into the premises. Gentle steps were taken towards the alter where Father Oda knelt in prayer. As this person, which it would be noticed was female, finally reached the alter, she knelt next to the Father making the symbol of the Cross. Eyes shut and in contemplation, she began her prayer silently.

If Father Oda glanced at the woman, he would notice immediately that she was tall for one. At 5'7", she was a tower in comparison to the average. Wavy, bronze hair nestling down to her shoulders seemed as if it were buffeted by a constant breeze. Her facial features showed a smooth face with very few blemishes. Her face was not that special but for the eyes; pale, almost white, azure which spoke of someone with heavy experiences and depth. Her physical body was like an hourglass in proportion with an average bosom.

Her clothing was not all that assuming. A thick, tawny jacket to ward off the bitter chill of winter along with accessory mittens and ear muffs. Jeans which hugged tightly to insulate her legs with precious heat, and wool socks to warm her feet. The shoes were also an unassuming chesnut.

A few minutes of silence gave way as the woman spoke more loudly:

Forgive those who do not understand, Mother, for they know not what they do. Fear and ignorance keep those of the flock from not realizing the truth that is right in front of them.

Forgive your children their transgressions. The world as it is meant to be blinds those unprepared for its challenges, and rewards those up to the task. Those who finally understand will do as they must for those that need it. All souls learn at their own time.

Mother, you see the world and its bounty. That bounty we must for ourselves and others. Mother, our dreams continue to push forward our improvement and understanding of your designs. No matter the troubles, no matter the suffering, I know you are here for me as long as I continue to never give up.

Amen.

Her speech, while short, held immense power and belief within those sentences. Conviction soared with each uttered syllable, every spoken word stories in their own right. Her attention turned towards Ian, and she smiled delicately like a comforting breeze on a hot summer's day.

You are the serving Father here?

 

[Prophet]

The worn priest fell silent as he listened, eyes shut, body worn and taught even as he tried to relax. He listened, and even as he knelt there, he felt the seed of doubt begin to twist in his gut.

Was anyone even listening?

His mind began to wander as he knelt there, and as the candles burned lower, and the smell of incense filled the air, he felt the nothingness therapeutic. To sit and listen, and clear one's mind... the most basic level of prayer was all he could do sometimes. It was only after a second that he realized actually words were gently echoing around the church. His eyes opened, grey slits turning into orbs as he glanced sideways, his head still bowed, as they registered the figure kneeling beside him. Her prayer was beautiful; simple, elegant, yet to the point. In a way, it mirrored her beauty; not extravagant, but appealing in its smooth simplicity. and apparent sincerity. In fact, he was so taken by the simple act, he did not register her question at first, and he blinked with a start as their eyes locked; azure meeting steel gray.

"Yes my dear," he replied, his seminary training overtaking initial surprise and weariness, and he gave her a weak smile in return, "I am Father Oda, but you may call me Ian. Times are far too tumultuous to waste on pretense; how can I help you?"

 

[KHFanatic4565]

The woman watched him stare dumbly at her for a minute. While this event was taking place, she glanced at him before he hid himself in the traditional seminary training. He had a good height on him, but it was burdened by what was likely the weight of the world and its suffering. His eyes were a rare shade of grey that came to mind battleship camouflage; it was obviously duller than before as his soul was bathed in sorrow. She felt for the man who had to face the world which was presented to him. The priest would have likely lived a quiet existence if it weren't for what had taken place on this planet.

Her smile remained untwitching as the answer finally came from his lips. As he spoke, she closed her eyes as if in deep thought. Her skull tilted to the right slightly listening to not only his voice but something else entirely.

'Thank you very much that I'm not further back...my prayer would have-'

She suddenly cut off that thought with a light shudder. There was no desire to have her mind return to that again. She reopened her eyes causing them to gaze softly and, more importantly, with understanding into his own weary orbs. It was accompanied with a wider smile and her own answer:

I'm a traveller from the West Coast, California to be exact-

Her face adopted an unhappy expression for a moment before continuing...

and I have been looking for a safe place to stay. There is no way that I can survive living in the streets, especially when there are mobs hunting down people without a place to call home. While trying to keep my head low, I found this church. It's been a long time since I've gone to one, and I would like to have a confession.

She bowed her head low in respect and awaited his answer.

 

[Prophet]

There was something enchanting about her smile. It was so pure, so wonderfully sincere. It had been so long since Ian had seen something like that... It was like a genuine piece of humanity; a diamond in the rough, and Ian's heart melted in its glow. He felt warmth spread over him, embracing him like he was sinking into a hot bath, his soreness, his exhaustion all liquifying and melting away into that steamy bliss. He simply stared at her, smiling back, and as she closed her eyes, he smiled gently himself, and lifted his head in silent prayer.

It's been so long...

However, when they locked eyes again, there was a slightly saddened look upon her face. When she spoke, he felt her own weariness wash over him, like jets of cool water being poured into his hot bath. Iciness crept up his spine, and he nodded as she spoke, his steel gray eyes glazing slightly in understanding.

"Yes, of course, my dear," he replied, standing slowly and offering her a worn, wrinkled hand, a sad smile crossing his face, "I'll find you some bedding in the parsonage. As long as this Sanctuary stands, it will be open to you..."

He was not offering solely out of hospitality. As he awaited to help her to her feet and lead her to the Confessional, he felt a longing twist up within his gut. He felt it welling up inside his throat, twisting like a serpent in his body, and he recognized it with a sad sigh. It was not physical lust; such a menial attraction would not cause this deep pain... It was the desire for hope; the need for light in this time of darkness. This woman was the first sign of genuine humanity he had seen in many years... Someone without an agenda... Someone without the desperate desire for religion as a result of a dying fear... someone without the darkness that had plagued this world for too long...

"Come, I will listen..."

He needed to listen...

 

[KHFanatic4565]

All people were affected by the pain caused by idiocy. One could say that the people of this Earth had brought it upon themselves. Hatreds inflamed by an irrational, fearful public ripped away from what they had one known to be true. Those well aware of the real truth were prepared for the descending chaos more than those who did not believe, calling the prepared cooks and other titles of a degrading nature. The consequences of an unwillingness to evolve became inevitable.

-Magdeline, Chronicler
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Muted agony failed to penetrate the walls of the church. This place of worship, despite the chaos that was taking place without, comforted those who chose to stay within. That was what the female thought at least. If it weren't for the fact that there were hypocrites who sat on the benches paying homage to a deity that they had not needed for their lives. Running back to that which they were raised on when it was actually meaningless to them...