Brynden signed in relief as he rested his forehead against the smooth stone of his cell's floor. The chill helped relieve the headache from healing micro-fractures and the fragrant incense helped centre his mind as he began his private devotions before a small shrine built into the wall. An icon of Celwyn the Anointer looked down on him as he prayed, one hand upon the sinful who burned at her touch the other upon the faithful who were renewed.
His injuries were healing well under the sister hospitallers' care, they'd let him start light calisthenics in the second week. Tending to his spiritual wellbeing had been approached with an even more thorough and intense manner, but this was to be expected. On the day he arrived he'd washed in the small waterfall fed by the Abby's holy spring and had explained to him the regime of prayer, trials and vigils he would undertake.
The routine was good, a solid foundation to work from. The asceticism and devotions stripped life back to the core principles he'd tried to live by, and the faith that had seen him through life in Stannium's urban sumps, tours of duty in the PDF and Guard, and final service to the Inquisition. Resolve and conviction hardened like scar tissue over a wound, what he'd seen he would never forget and nor should he. A soul untested was like a body untrained, weak when finally called to strive and flinching at the hardships set before it. Perhaps in another life he would have followed a religious calling. But then again wasn't all service an act of faith?
In the third week a case was presented to him at the end of morning service. Sister Superior Answer informed him that his war gear had been repaired and consecrated, he would now be adding combat drills to his exercises. The bodyglove was close-fitting and familiar, the damaged sections replaced and honour markings re-stencilled grey on black. The helm was new but a perfect match, the vox grill and air vent on each side a stylised I. They hadn't touched his boots beyond cleaning them, a gesture any veteran guardsmen would appreciate. Before going to the range he field stripped, examined and rebuilt his weapons, checking what had been replaced and how balance, weight and feel might have changed. The hellpistol was mostly rebuilt, but that generally had minimal impact on lasweapons. He was quite relieved neither his autogun or autopistol had needed anything beyond re-casing.
The forth week was the last. He was running through drills as well as he ever had in the past and had a peace of mind that would have surprised him when he arrived. The sisters declared him healed in body and sanctified of soul. He took the traditional Mendicant's Path on foot back to Neuburg, making observances at each of the roadside shines that marked the twenty five miles from the abbey to the manor.
Last edited by HarlequinR; 09-13-17 at 06:39 PM.