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Avatar: The Last Airbender RP Site :: Tribes, Kingdoms, Nations, and Temples :: Air Temples :: Whispers of the Western Temple
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Mjolnir
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Our Lady of Pain



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 Whispers of the Western Temple
« Thread Started on Nov 19, 2008, 12:11am »

The halls of the western air temple had long since quieted since the genocide of Fire Lord Shozin. A lifetime ago, the airbenders once called this place home. Now, it lie abandoned and empty save for the birds and bats who had taken nest in the many crannies of the temple.

There was one human life though, that walked these halls, and while he was not an airbender, in some ways he understood those times long ago when the airbenders still walked the earth. It was that understanding that drew him here, in penitence for whom he once was.

He wore nothing but his priestly robes, as he continued to carry the charred bones that had long since been plucked clean by the ravens and vultures to the funeral pyre on one of the many outcroppings of the temple.

Thus the ritual for each individual slain here, forgotten by the rest of the world. He would take the bones and rest them one by one before the pyre, till the skeleton was made. It was then went to the two small lantern like incense burners which he filled and then lit. He then keeled before the bones to the deceased and put his head to the ground.

He then stood up, and cast the bones into the fire, one by one. All the while, chanting in prayer, holding his prayer beads, repeating his chant for all beings, including those just past one, to find the path of enlightenment, exactly 27 times as he counted upon his beads.

He would then take his Shakujo staff and slam it three times upon the ground, symbolizing the breaking of ignorance. He called upon the host of spirts to guide the higher soul to the spirit world and the lower soul to rebirth.

He called upon the teaching of the Buddas and Bodhisattvas to aid all beings, in their own search for true enlightenment, so that the suffering inherent to the illusion of self and life is parted.

Lastly, he called upon himself and humanity, to do it's utmost, regardless of nation, to never again allow a horror of this magnitude to be ever again loosed upon the world.

He then sat by the fire and prayed once more, returning the ashes of this airbender, to the element they held so dear as they danced across breezes of the cliff side, in hopes others would one day discover the art the sky bison taught them, so long ago.
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She hath wasted with fire thine high places, she hath hidden and marred and made sad. The fair limbs of the Loves, the fair faces, of gods that were goodly and glad. She slays, and her hands are not bloody; She moves as a moon in the wane, White-robed, and thy raiment is ruddy, Our Lady of Pain. - Dolores, Algernon Charles Swinburne
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