Because when was the last time i wasted my life doing this?
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Because when was the last time i wasted my life doing this?
In-line with Nova English intentions to explore the old Britannic Home Islands (top right corner of the map) the Holy Anglican Church of St George has launched a mercy mission to help the islands' inhabitants. As i was once infamous for posting stupidly long backstories I didn't want to disappoint, and so here's part one:
Chapter One: Our Brethren Shield in Danger's Hour
Archbishop Alfred Dunholm sat at his desk with a look of mingled grief and comprehension as he scanned the document which had been handed to him moments before by a ragged-looking Monk who now shifted uneasily on his feat as the Archbishop continued to read. It was a plain room, little more than a monk’s cell in reality; the unadorned oak desk stood isolated in the centre of a stone-flagged floor and was surrounded on all sides by whitewashed walls which reached up to the vaulted ceiling. A solemn-looking bed stood in the far corner of the room, flanked on one side by a small wooden table sporting a wooden cross, and nothing else notable could be discerned about the Archbishop’s quarters but for the small window which was shuttered against the unseasonal cold.
The document Alfred was reading painted a disturbing picture for the young Clergyman; it gave an account (in gut-wrenching detail) of the suffering being endured by the people of a small chain of islands not far from Nova England and concluded by asking for any aid that the church could provide. Having finished reading the Archbishop pondered the mammoth task he was now facing: thousands of people going hungry due to the unseasonal chill and leaderless masses fighting amongst themselves for what little provisions were available. Alfred contemplated the life he’d made for himself here at the Nova English Trinity Abbey, it was a hugely comfortable and peaceful life devoted to prayer and contemplation of the divine mysteries and he was loathe to give it all up. “Truly I say to you, Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these my brothers, you have done it to me” Alfred muttered quietly to himself. “Your pardon, Holiness?” the nervous monk responded, the Archbishop started slightly as the other man spoke; having almost forgotten that he had company other than He who was even now directing what Alfred knew he must do.
Dawn three days later found the Archbishop swathed in a thick cloak stood on the deck of the Archangel watching the last supplies being brought aboard. The wind swirled around the superstructure of the small cargo ship and out beyond the harbour wall Alfred could see the white-peaked tempest of the ocean rolling violently and throwing spray high into the air against the narrow barrier which protected the small port, not ideal conditions for a sea voyage Alfred concluded. However, the weather showed no sign of improving and the longer the Archangel lingered in port the longer the people of the distant islands would suffer, and as such Alfred had resolved to set out that very morning and so, when the last aid and supplies were fastened securely in the hold, the ropes were thrown off and the ship’s engine roared into life.
As the ship cast off a crewman approached Alfred and (after the customary courtesies) began, “You should get below deck, Holiness, once we get beyond the harbour wall the waves will wash over the deck and it’ll be no place for an Archbishop, no disrespect to you of course, Holiness.” Alfred thought about it for a few moments before responding, “I suffer terribly with sea-sickness and would much rather be out here in the fresh air. After all, did not our Lord and Saviour sleep calm amid a storm just such as this?” The crewman shrugged, bowed and excused himself as the Archbishop removed the rope belt from his cloak and used it to fasten his wrist to the iron railing which skirted the deck. The water became more and more choppy as the small vessel approach the open sea and the Archangel began to rise and fall with the waves; soon Alfred found himself being struck with the spray from the ever-worsening tempest and turned his face away from the salt water which was being whipped-up by the howling wind. The sky above him was a sheet of unyielding grey iron and rain soon began to fall to join the spray which was rapidly soaking the Archbishop to his skin, but there amongst the gloom of the sky the bright flag of the Holy Trinity sailed high on the ship’s flagstaff; Alfred took heart from the sight and held on tight to the railing as the Archangel cleared the harbour wall and nature’s full fury was unleashed upon her small crew.