What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love, and Homesteading?

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Oh, most definitely. I have no idea how different they are from the mainstream version of whatever faith they're supposed to be. I've seen those 't' shapes around so obviously it's a common one, but that's it," he answered quietly, which didn't come naturally.

[Samantha McManus]

"These folks are saying they're Christian, which is an Earth religion that says that God, yes, singular, sent His son to be born as a man, lead a ministry, and then be killed while blameless, as a ritual sacrifice to wash away the collective sin of humanity."

"It's ah... very not this."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Thrax made a face at the idea of ritual sacrifice as a basis for anything good. How can one sin wash away another?

"I mean, from that description I'd hope not," he frowned.

[Samantha McManus]

"It's one of the most prevalent religions on Earth, so you're going to see it around a bit. The 'T shapes' you mentioned are the cross, which was an ancient method of making an example of someone via a public execution."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

"Death may be as natural as life but execution is less so. Seems off to revere a tool of it but I'm sure there's more to it than you can cover quickly whispering in a cult compound. Just give me a quick rundown of what's off about this place from your human perspective. I can only compare it to deity-free background, which isn't very useful here."

[Narrator]

Thrax and Sam make their way out of the communal sleeping room without anybody stopping them or even noticing, as far as they can tell. Outside the compound is quiet, a faint breeze rustling through the crops and making them sway in that same odd swirl that seems to permeate everything. The church is the obvious place to look for any hints as to what is happening here and the door isn't locked. And why would it, everyone here seems perfectly content, no one around who might get up to anything.

The inside of the church looks fairly normal at first. Rows of simple pews, not a lot of adornments, though whether that’s from denomination or a lack of resources is unclear. Towards the back the floor is raised by two steps and on the resulting platform is an altar. So far so normal. But then there’s a short walkway extending from the altar area towards the benches with a clear spot to stand, perhaps for receiving the eucharist? And there’s no baptismal basin, no pulpit, just the altar and the odd protruding 'catwalk'.

The back wall where normally the cross and perhaps an ornamental screen would be affixed is the bare rock of the mesa the church is nestled against. The only thing affixed to it is a curtain held most of the way open by tie-backs. Framed by the heavy fabric are carvings of some kind? Lots of parallel lines, constantly broken up by bare section of stone where the wall is uneven. The lines are noticeably wobbly and uneven - even from a distance - but still give the impression of being part of a coherent whole somehow. Walking down the aisle the perspective on it makes it shift as some parts line up while others don't but mostly bringing it together the more they approach as if it was a design meant to be viewed from one particular angle.

It's almost like one of those magic-eye pictures, but one aspect that is obvious even from the 'wrong' perspective is the central swirl or spiral of it, reminiscent of the patterns repeating throughout the compound. It almost reminds Thrax of some of his orders oldest depictions of the Storm as just a large hurricane maelstrom, abstracted into a similar kind of spiral. Did these people here somehow focus on the eye of the Storm and derive some kind of serene bliss from it, in stark contrast to his peoples' belief? Did they even carve this? The closer the two get the more the moon's illumination brings out details and the grooves look weirdly clean and smooth but without the tell-tale polish of smoothed stone or the marring left by tools. It almost appears to just be a natural part of the rock-face.

And, come to think of it, while the church does have some windows they're not particularly big. Certainly not big enough to let the moon shine in for any appreciable amount of light. And yet there's a dim illumination, especially on the strange mural.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Thrax didn't think much of the symbol on the stone until he was right on top of it, staring the maelstrom in the eye. Was it at all possible that these people discovered the existence of the Storm all on their own? Sure, they focused on an entirely different aspect of it but the similarity to the mural in monastery's grand chapel was eerie. And, stranger still, it glowed with some internal luminance that felt familiar.

"That's not possible..." he muttered, kneeling to press his hand against the glowing stone. He used his powers to sense if there was any electric current was present, no matter how faint.

[Narrator]

Getting closer to it makes the design disappear almost entirely, save for some curved parallel lines, but placing his hand on it lets him feel a kind of lingering warmth in the stone. There's the faintest tingle, not something that really feels electric but a hint of some kind of power. But no longer really seeing the 'eye of the storm' as it were it suddenly feels less important. Coincidental even. Like the perspective breaking the design apart also broke some kind of spell.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

It was possible something about the design led people to see what they wanted to see. But whatever power it held within was undeniable. Out of curiosity as much as anything, he hummed a little of the Hymn of the Storm to see if it reacted to music. These people were in agreement with his own on the importance of music in spiritual matters. There could always be a concrete reason for that aspect of their beliefs.

[Narrator]

Does it feel like there's something resonating with the tune? Yes. How much of that is Thrax's own feelings and the somewhat decent acoustics of the church versus any actual response from the carvings? Hard to tell. And most of the feeling of familiarity has faded with Thrax approaching it and his perspective distorting the overall design further away from it's complete image.

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Thrax went silent and stood. "For a moment there, I thought there was some unlikely connection to my culture. But it was just a trick of perspective. That said, there's definitely more to this carving... if it even is a carving and not the product of some other phenomenon. There's an energy there that I doubt they put there."

As he explained, he stepped back to try and see the whole picture again. There might be something he overlooked when he was thinking about home.

[Narrator]

As he backs away he notices that there are more sections than the one that reminded him of home and some slight back and forth soon makes it clear that the full image is visible from the little protrusion of raised floor. Perhaps where folks would stand to be blessed during mass. And it becomes immediately obvious that something is definitely strange when he sees the entire picture. It's very clearly a giant fingerprint pressed into the rock wall.

The other thing that happens is that the feeling of familiarity, warmth and acceptance he'd thought he might have imagined hits him with full force. It's almost too specific to be exactly like the feelings he associates with the monks back on his home planet but the connection is undeniable. Inexplicable, considering the stark difference between the concept of a wild storm and tranquility, but he knows this is of the Storm somehow. Like it wants him to see it. Witness the sheer revelatory weight of it. It makes the idea of staying here seem sensible. He'd be welcome here. They wouldn't even question or doubt if he told them the truth about what he is, he's certain.

There's something else, something that feels like it reminds him of something else. Some similarity that feels like it slips his mind if he tries to focus on it too much.



And as Thrax stands in front of the mural, captivated almost to the point of being entranced, a door to the left of the altar suddenly shows the soft yellow glow of light on it's bottom edge. The light is soon followed by a reedy but firm voice calling out.

"Alleah, dear, is that you?"

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The temptation was overwhelming. Thrax wanted nothing more than to have that feeling of belonging back. He could lay down his responsibility and just be. He could even live with not being in his right body. The Storm was calling and it wanted him.

No. That wasn't right. The Storm didn't have a will; it didn't want anything. Whatever this was, it couldn't be the Storm.

His confused thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the voice from behind the door, presumably that of the mysterious prophet. He glanced at Sam before answering. "Just two pilgrims whose curiosity wouldn't let them sleep. We're sorry if we disturbed you."

[Narrator]

"Oh, new arrivals? We get so few new campers this late into the season." the voice responds among the rustling of movement, followed by the door creaking open.

The man shuffling into the church looks strange to say the least. He looks like he's over 70 but some of that is almost certainly a rougher life spend in the sun. His skin is wrinkled and dark-brown and he's smiles with a kind of gentle, knowing expression. His clothes, however, are very odd. His shirt is some kind of modified civil war uniform, dyed (or bleached) into a kind of dirty beige with two breast pockets sewn on as well as some kind of clearly custom-made emblem in the shape of a shield on his shoulder. Through the collar he's threaded the starched white collar of a priest and he's put on a flathat made of felt with the top scrunched in four places.

Neither of the two are American (Thrax least of all) but Sam might recognize his get-up as an attempt to mimic an US park ranger and even Thrax can probably tell there's something weirdly anachronistic and hodge-podge about the outfit.

"And don't you fret, at my age sleep comes and goes easy." he says as he putters further into the room towards them. "But I'm afraid without Alleah here I don't know how much I can sate your curiosity. She's the one who really understands how to put my words to be understood. The revelations of the Bliss don't seem to often make sense to folks in the words as they come to me. But come, sit, least you can do is keep an old man company after waking him." she says jovially as he makes his way to one of the benches.

"You know, I told them not to make it so much like a church." he says, shaking his head. "But turns out Alleah's right, they like it better hearing the word of god in something they're familiar with. Funny how that works, even with the Bliss right there for them to see and feel, they still prefer someone tell them the rules and the ways."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

The presence of a fingerprint etched into stone had felt like an eerie coincidence but the mention of campers brought it to a degree that felt like something stranger. The alien was indeed unfamiliar with US park rangers or civil war uniforms but the alterations to the old man's outfit seemed to suggest an attempt to make himself at home somewhere unfamiliar, which Thrax definitely knew something about. Perhaps less strange was the fact that Alleah was apparently the one really in charge.

"Actually, I'd love to hear the words of your god without the filter. I've felt the power of your mark of the divine and it very nearly matched what I was raised to believe in. Don't worry that I'll think it strange; my story is quite hard to believe itself."

[Narrator]

"Well then? You do seem a little out of the ordinary but that's the part of the first thing the Bliss imparts. Accept everyone equally, no matter their gender, ethnicity, beliefs or upbringing. Don't bully or ostracize your fellow campers and always take responsibility for your actions." he says with an oddly modern sounding choice of words. "We're here to live among nature so always be mindful of what you bring or leave behind. Always demonstrate care and respect in everything you do, especially towards your fellow campers."

[Thraxion Ord'Rakar]

Thrax didn't agree that a state of bliss was in any way natural but he was also raised to respect the beliefs of others provided those beliefs didn't promote harm. So he wasn't going to attempt to "correct" him. More importantly, even he could tell something about the man didn't fit, such as referring to the believers as campers.

"Of course, one should always accept people for who they truly are," he nodded. "No one chooses what they are born as or into."

"Still, I would like to hear about the Bliss without the trappings of established theology. I personally find rules and ways distracting."

[Narrator]

"Rules aren't about telling you how to live your life, son. They're to remind us how to be our best selves." he says, patting Thrax on the upper arm.

"The Bliss is... guidance and a feeling. In it I see the visions of how to share it, how to welcome others into it. And in turn it ushers the land towards the promise of it's lush forests and lakes. If that's not God showing us the way towards Eden then I don't know what else it could be. It's a promise like that of the sapling planted in fertile soil. To live it's acceptance and harmony you follow it's guidance."

"Don't litter if you want enjoy nature now and in the future. And only you can prevent forest fires." he nods sagely.