Miro x Father Zantous

Miro makes his way into the fathers office after speaking with the rude sister. He knocks on the door softly and awaits a reply.

Father Zantus finishes a few beads on his lapis lazuli rosary before looking up, first with calm then with fondness to see Miro there. "My dear Miro, to what do I owe the pleasure? Please come in!" He motions to a straight backed chair across from his desk. The wood is carved in the motif of a forest scene.

Miro walks in his face a visage of complete calm. He climbs up the chair with a little difficulty as soon as Zantus closes the door Miro clears his throat. "Father Zantus I have been meaning to speak with you ever since the goblin raid but I must confess I worry at the difficulty to tell you." Miro wrings his hands absently awareness that it is happening. One can see with close enough observation he has been doing that same nervous tick since his even at the glassworks and his hands unfamiliar with so much attention have already turned a slight pinkish red. " But I must know now Zantus if I call for the right of confession that you will honor it beyond these walls." Miros eyes turn hard for just a moment. His body is tense and has been since his arrival and just now all the nervious twitches are clearly evident. The tensing of his neck, the wringing of his hands. But those eyes they are the most disconcerning. Their usual unnatrual glow and color is exaserbated by his look of anxiety and anger.

The Father, alarmed by this turn in Miro, rises from his seat a little clumsily. "O-of course, young Miro," he says as he moves to the door, closing it and locking it with keys from his pocket. He waves his hand over the door and ring on his finger gleams. Miro feels the spell trigger and might know it protects the room from ears prone to dropping eaves. Zantus calms noticeably in the privacy of the spell and takes the seat next to Miro, never a man to stand on ceremony. He leans forward with a paternal concern and stares at Miro. "What troubles you, child? What would you confess that I may hear it and forgive?"

Miro sits quietly for a moment. "Forgive me father for I have sinned." And then Miro recounts his tail of his escape from Osirian this one just like the one he would tell Amiko the next day. He spares no detail even and recounts more of his desire to cast magic after finding a book that his masters son had cast away. The book taught him the joy of magic, and what joy it brought until he was discovered and then his life had been a pure misery ever since. "You see father Zantus. Do you know why slaves can not under any circumstance learn magic?" Miro asks as that dead look in his eyes had long since shrouded the anxiety in his body language. "Its because its only through magic that we can escape. Surrounded by the great deserts of Osirion there is little option for water. Many try to escape but are always returned." Miro begins to pull off his cloak as he speaks. "It always ends the same. You die or pass out from dehydration, then you are returned to your master and often he has learned of a new form of "Punishment" from some far off land." Miro pulls off his vest aswell and stands there before Zantus. Chest and back bare of any cover to reveil the full extent of Miro's past. He looks half starved his waist many inches short of normal his left and right shoulders hold grevious scars in the shape of a curve and vicious hook. The rest of his body is so scared it is hard to tell where one starts and the other stops. "My master had began to enjoy my attempts at freedom. To the point where he commanded it from me every now and then that he might give chase AND have the added bonus of "punishing me" afterwards. I say all this to lead to a point Father............ I was in a litteral hell. And I did what I had to do." At that Miro pulls the coffer hooked to a chain from the folds of his cloak. (I will be calling it a phylactery from this point cause I think its the right term) Miro opens the phylactery and bares his holy symbol to Zantus. "So now we reach the crux of my reason for being here. In this town I am a false hero, and now I fear that my secret is not only out but will spoil the bonds of those around me. Father I beg you. Help me."

Miro sits in silence in fear that he has finally done it. He has finally killed the Father of worry

The father slowly and as with little threat as he can, like a child approaching a frightened animal, reaches out and puts his hands under Miro's smaller ones that hold his phylactery. For a time the old man has a stern look on his face as he looks at the symbol of Nethys. The muscles around his jaw and mouth twitch with the rivaling emotions in his mind. The older man's hands are rough with wear, telling of a time he worked hard before the life of faith made him a softer man in some ways. They're warm against Miro's hands and, with a gentle squeeze, the man smiles and small tear drops on the phylactery. "Oh, Miro. Is Desna not concerned with the freedom? Is she not the butterfly that must be liberated from all bonds?" He says softly. "Miro, what you have done is bound yourself with guilt, a lie, and, perhaps, shame...My lad, for our sake, will you not free yourself?" He blinks and pulls back a little embarrassed by his passion and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. He sniffs and stands to before a mural of a beautiful elven woman with swallowtail wings standing over a field of sleepers, animal and humanoid. Her palms are up-turned and she smiles peacefully at the sleepers. Father Zantus has his back to Miro and his hands clasped behind him. "Nethys is..." he hesitates,"...a complicated god. He holds great power and little discretion beyond his domaing of magical learning and appreciation. Many followers of Nethys would do good, many ill, and many would serve whatever served them... However, Miro, you...are good!" The father turns and smiles. "You are good," he says more emphatically. "Perhaps Desna sent you here, asking Nethys for one of his kinder followers, to grace us with his magic and save us from whatever...whatever this shadow is that's falling on us." His robes swish as he rushes back towards Miro and kneels so he can be eye to eye with Miro. "Your faith you presented falsely but truly, I believe, Desna chose you to be our hero. Your freedom...will become our salvation."

It is not only Nethys good father but I have dedicated myself to all the gods in the sky who seek to better this world. But now comes the takes of unspinning a lie quickly spouted to save the life of another before it was unjustly cut short. Miro looks about sighing heavyly. He had expected anger, riddicule, maybe even hate from this man in so sucluded a town. in its absence Miro's defenses both physical and mental melted instantly showing him just how tired he had become and how much he had done. "I this was my first true stop after I escaped. Aboard the Kotapesh I learned the common tounge and its symbols, thats when I was able to read the book of Nethys. Origionally my power seemed to be ... innate, but I shurked such a calling to venerate the one who had given me my magic apptitude. On the way here the men on the boat who had come to rely on my clerical skills had spoke of skipping sand point all together but something inside me insisted that I see the world for all its beauty. Maybe you are right father. While I may no venerate Desna, maybe she sought fit to guide me here with the promise of a vision of beauty in your new cathedral." Miro stops wringing his hands and relaxes at this thought. "However the lie was layed at a time where I would be leaving when the Kotapesh left port, I had not planned on staying and like I said somebody , even if it were a goblin that causes me more than one brain pain aday, was in need of help. I said what I said and did what I did to keep him safe. I can not appologize for that as he has been a better hero than us all. ..... by the gods lets pray he never hears these words. You think him difficult now."

At the mention of Bobole the religious gleam in Zantu's eyes fade and a bit of paleness washes over his face. He becomes the one to wring his hands and he nods vigorously. "Y-y-y-y-y-es, n-n-n-no. We don't d-d-don't want that....do we...?" He clears his throat and stands from the kneel, going back to his seat in his desk and absently grabbing his rosary as if to regain the power he lost in his fear of Bobole and Bobole's kind.

Miro smiles alittle. "You know father. If there is one thing my slavery has taught me it is this. We are all the child of that which we are raised. It might make it easier for you if you refer to the first line of that script. We are all children in our gods eyes. Even Bobole who seems to un-nerve you in the fullest is still a creature of thought, wants, dreams. See past his skin... his antics and I know you will see a soul there just like us all." At that Miro stands. "I think I will maintain my secret for now. In time when there is alittle more trust for us the heros of sandpoint I might reveal it in time. Only time will tell."

The older man smiles unconvincingly. "I'm sure you're right..."

Miro quietly moves to the door and then nods to the father. "I will think on your words. Thank you." He grabs and dones his "Cloak" and then out of nowhere dissappears in a cloud of writhing smoke.