Skip to main content

[FICTION] Naxian Culture & Society | The Synodic Church of Poleon

     The key instigator of the Reclamation, the Synodic Church has grown to reach every major city across the Duchy, and is the only officially recognized religion across the islands. It is led by the Kiryx, who oversees the organization out of the ornate temple-complex that is known as the Tomb of Poleon. Despite being officially a holding of the Basileus, the Church is allowed to house its bureaucracy and main shrine on its hallowed grounds.

    The charter gives them the right to police their district within the City of Naxos, thereby making the Kiryx a baronet in all but name. In return, the Aspida, the militant wing of the church, must be incorporated into the Naxian Guard in times of emergency. For the most part, the Aspida are used to fight marauding pirates or rebel Ta Ktini, and with the aid of the secret police of the Church, the Mati, root out cells of Ansharian faithful.

    In regular life, the Synodic Church is a ubiquitous part of the life of any city, with the local Kiryos giving rousing sermons to inspire and spread the glory of the Line of Poleon, all the while the Aspida and Mati enforce the faith. The degree of invasiveness varies from parish to parish, but they always stand at the ready to defend, and enforce, Naxian traditions.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

[Guest Writer] Gemini by Brian Rydquist

Editor's Note: This is a content warning for those sensitive to certain topics; self-harm, child loss, graphic descriptions of violence.            Sylvia bent over the lifeless bodies of the newborn infants she had just spent six hellish hours delivering. Screams of anguish poured from her diaphragm, blood soaked her nightgown from the waist down. Her husband William knelt beside her, stroking her shoulder in a futile attempt at comfort. The midwife, an elderly Inuit woman, knelt on her otherside. “Please miss,  you must lay down. Your body has suffered incredible stress, the birth was not a good one.” “My babies, my babies, this can’t be!” Sylvia shrieked, deaf to the woman’s words. “Shh, shh,” William was muttering as he rubbed her shoulders. “Maybe it won’t be, I have already sent for the spirit leader of my tribe. He should arrive any moment.” “Don’t be a fool! How dare you give my wife this false hope! You can clearly see the babies are dead, and besides, no one cou

[Guest Writer] Rain, Again by Charlena Kea

  Uncle, it is happening again. The rain has come. I have spent thousands of nights praying that the world would realize something when they pulled your small body from the river. How delicate life is. How precious. How it floats and swells and then vanishes in even the gentlest currents. I prayed you would be more than a forgotten proverb. In a story about big men in faraway places. Their empty fists and uncalloused fingertips meeting tabletops unscathed. And the rain falling faithfully in turn. They say they are here to protect us. That we are safe behind a blinding cloud of rubble and the dust of month-old bones. But I always wonder why they did not protect you; my most precious kin. I wonder what it is that must be offered to deserve their protection. Because your fluttering pulse and brand new eyes for an old and broken world were not enough. A child’s body and a child’s heart is not enough. They didn’t protect you when the squall of fire and metal touched down on the land tha

[FICTION] Tales from Port Astor | Sepulcher

 This is part three, and the finale, of this year's mini series! You can read part two here .                Anton dropped his bag down the shaft. After jimmying the outside doors, evading city employees and security, and going in a general downward direction, he had found it; the Plague Tunnels of Port Astor. He then dropped down himself, kicking up dust that hasn’t seen the light of day in nearly a century. Anton turned on his headlamp, which only stubbornly obliged. It revealed where he was; in the alley way between two buildings. As he stepped out into the forgotten street, he could make out one of the ancient signs; “ARTHUR’S IMPORTS & RARE BOOKS”. He cleared some of the dust from the window, which hung in the heavy air.                 He shined a light into the store, and as he did, an immense clamor was heard from within. Anton jumped back, and would have screamed if he hadn’t stifled it. He was, after all, trespassing. The shop door was still in place, and secured wi