The Mysteries of the Flower
"Gaioz of Grisia, Priest of the fourth circle, adherent of the Flower. Rise, and be recognized!" Bellowed the Archpriest, her hands raised high into the air, the symbol of the Flower, a gilt lily upon a blue background, hung heavy from her neck and hardly shifted for it's weight at her broad gesture. Gaioz rose slowly, his dark blue skin sheened in sweat after the hours long trials required to prove his faith and secure his ascension. With bare head lowered and panting he stood, and held his hands forward, together, fingers spread and touching to show allegiance to the Flower.
The attending members of the congregation, nobles and priests and a handful of artisan leaders, raised their voices in exultation and called out to the Flower for favor in attending this moment. Gaioz smiled wanly as his head rose, looking out over his new peers, the Fourth Circle. His family would be proud if they saw him, now.
At the gesture of the Archpriest he stepped forward on wobbling legs, like an antelope child newborn and faltering. She gave him her blessing, and he felt the surge of strength restore what vigor he had lost in the trials, felt the wounds close upon his back and arms. And she took him in her great arms to hug him as one would a child, to pet the sweat from the back of his head, and nod.
And then she was gone, off to attend other business as the Priests and nobles and merchants spoke and feasted in his honor. He had accomplished much in a short time by following the Golden Rule, to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. So simple. So basic. Yet it created great comfort, and endless joy to see it repeated, performed, by countless adherents in their lives.
He had counseled so many to follow that simple guideline, and their adherence helped lead him to his new position of honor. As the evening wore thin, the nobles and the merchants slipped off into darkness to seek their homes and beds. Gaioz made certain to bid goodnight and offer simple blessings to each within the temple's garden. Amid flowers he had tended two short moons before.
And then he followed behind the senior priests of the Fourth Circle as they lead him deeper into the temple than he had ever been. "You were chosen, Gaioz, for your piety and your attention to detail. Did you know this?" asked Alaira, who had once been a Musarran merchant, herself, before donning the cloth and the flower.
"I was told, yes. There is nothing I would not give to the Flower. To the church. My life, should it be needed. My flesh. My blood. My very soul."
"Yes, yes. We know. Follow closely, now, and mark the path in your mind. There are no markers where we go now." Bid Alaira, and Gaioz did as told. Through the catacombs beneath the temple, through the halls of the dead which long preceded the priesthood, here. Built, as it was, in an ancient time, with cyclopean stones. A twisting path to a great vaulted chamber.
Within, the tithings of countless souls. Gaioz was stunned by the sheen of gold and of silver. He looked to Alaira in confusion at the wealth which should have been used to help people.
"You'll be keeping the ledgers, now, Gaioz. Follow the Gold and Rule."