A/N: A short drabble I wrote a while ago told from Jugram's POV on the night he received his Schrift. I've always been pretty interested in the Quincy's culture and background so I've decided to explore it a bit through writing.
The crowd sat down as the bells rang the begging of the mass. Tonight, as promised, those deemed worthy and deserving would be blessed with a part of His soul for the beginning of a new year and era. The first to have been blessed was His Majesty's personal guard. He was said to be a blind man prior to receiving his Schrift; a simple shepherd of no consequence, but with a fervent devotion and faith in the new prophet, and a silver tongue, who could convert the most reluctant pagans to His teachings.
The tale said God appeared on a warm and dry afternoon, in the arid desert of the Holy land, and blessed Him with a part of His soul in exchange for his devotion and servitude. And upon receiving his blessing and the letter X, he gained vision. They'd call it His first miracle—a story quickly spread amongst the northern lands, but which had left many skeptical, at a time where most thought him a false prophet and a usurper.
Jugram remembered hearing that tale when he was a child and not thinking much of it. He'd never been much of a believer before, convinced that this world was a godless one. Unfair and unjust, where only the strongest survived, and the rest, the weak and the poor, condemned to submit to their will. He remembered contemplating with bitterness and dismay the teachings of His early preachers that suffering is the path to holiness and virtue.
But after all, perhaps there had been some truth to those words. How come a boy, destined to nothing glorious, without any name, title, nor power ascended to one of the highest positions in the whole kingdom, if not by a miracle and some godly justice of sorts?
Jugram pursed his lips, raising from his seat as the sermon finished, taking place in line to receive his blessing and take a sip from the sacramental cup. This would be alright, he told himself, it should not be much from different from when he took his vows and oath as a knight, yet the tension and anticipation that filled him was much different from what he felt back then.
Lille had assured him that it was a painless process and that he would only come a changed man from this communion with God. So long as he remained faithful, he needn't fear, God and His powers would guide him towards betterment and holiness.
Yet Jugram had hunch there was more to this ritual than meet the eye. But he feared to inquiry any further, scared to look ungrateful or cowardly, that his faith in God should be questioned. The rest of the chosen ones had welcomed the honour and the news unwavering, undoubting, so as the newly appointed Captain of his Holy Order it seemed unbecoming and ill-placed to even question this blessing. Especially when all eyes were on him, judging, questioning his legitimacy to earn the position he'd been granted, he, a previously powerless commoner. So, he just did as he was told and kept faith.
Jugram stiffened his shoulders, keeping his gaze steady, as his turn came to receive the Eucharist, as bells rang the midnight dong, as a new year started, walking down to a path from which he knew there be no return, but it mattered little now. As the Romans had, he'd cross the Rubicon, unwavering and accept graciously the power God had decided to so generously granted him.
After all, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.