ISLAND RESIDENTS
Dagrun, a sheep farmer and wise woman of the village (Ruled by Cultural Shift)
Geir, her brother, in love with Theoderic (Ruled by Love Inconvenienced)
Connall, a hermit, formerly living in the ruins of the old Benedictine monastery (Ruled by Twist in the guise of Sacrifice)

MONKS
Theoderic, a noble, a historian and Abbot of the monastery, who became Exile (Ruled by Loss, then Cultural Shift)
Septimus, a young monk, freshly out of novitiate, herbalist, infirmarian (Ruled by Love Inconvenienced and Devotion, then Sacrifice takes over to empower him)
Jonas, a young monk, zealous and strict in observance, cellarer (Ruled by Devotion, then Betrayal)
Storm, assistant sacrist, cantor (Shared by Devotion and Found Family)
Helge, an older monk, sacrist (Ruled by Loss)
Asmund, a novice (Shared by Devotion and Found Family)

It is the 12th Century. The Outer Hebrides are under the control of the kings of Norway, which they have been from 1098 - and will be until 1262.

1152. Theoderic, a monk at the Norwegian Court, is exiled to the Island following his growing unpopularity at court for attacking the un-Christian behaviour of local lords. His complaints included the practice of feasting outside of holy days, improper codes of dress, treatment of serfs, and failure to observe key elements of Christian doctrine.

Politically, the exile serves to establish a presence on the Island in the wake of the division of the Inner and Outer Hebrides between the Scots and the Norse in the middle of the 12th Century. It also provides the pretext for removing several ‘undesirables’ from influencing the King.

1153. Theoderic arrives with a handful of his closest allies (and fellow monks) to the Island.

Using their resources, they rebuild and refound old monastery left by Irish monks in the 8th-9th century into a working Benedictine institution.

1154. One of the younger brothers, Septimus, reports seeing a mysterious figure enter the monastery at night. Further investigation reveals this to be an odd Irish hermit, Connall.

1155. Theoderic finishes writing a first draft of a work of revisionist history designed to render the establishment of the Norwegian monarchy in a Christian lens, and renders one of the current ruling group of monarchs (Eyestein II) as goodly and Christian but poisoned by evil counsel.

1156. Jan. One of the local sheep farmers living on the island, Dagrun, asks for help from Theoderic after their homestead is destroyed in a storm and their brother, Geir, is badly hurt. Theoderic as Abbot suggests that the monks should help, but there is deep division among the community about involving themselves with the business of the island's residents. Theoderic overrides them. Rumour spreads amongst the monks about romance between Theoderic and Dagrun and ill sentiment brews. Septimus is deeply conflicted, as he is very loyal to Theoderic, but also hopelessly in love with him.

Feb. Another devastating storm. Given that Theoderic has helped the Island-dwellers before, Dagrun asks the monks if a number of villagers can shelter in the sturdy monastery until it has passed. Theoderic again overrides the popular sentiment of several monks to allow this to happen.

March. The first murder of a monk, Helge, on the steps of the monastery. Helge was the most vocal opponent of Theoderic and led the faction of brothers who stood against him. Again, eyes turn to Theoderic.

The murders continue on a regular basis until all of the monks, save for Theoderic, Septimus, and Jonas, are dead. Theoderic, believing that his sin has brought this calamity upon the monastery, and that he is possessed by an evil spirit, throws himself into the sea, and though Septimus tries to stop him, Jonas stops Septimus, causing Theoderic to fall to his death. Septimus is heartbroken and confronts Jonas, believing he must be responsible for the deaths.

Septimus and Jonas fight to the death. Septimus wins.

Connall sustains the shattered body of Theoderic long enough for Septimus and Theoderic to have a final heart to heart. Theoderic summons up all of his strength, his resentment, and longing to change the world - to make it 'right', and dies, in front of them. Unbeknownst to the others, he becomes Exile.

Septimus attempts to travel back to Norway and ensures that Theoderic’s Historia is promulgated and accepted into the narrative of the new ruling dynasty. His boat is destroyed, but the Historia miraculously makes it off the island, purged of any references to the Island or the events that took place there.

Theoderic is based off a historical figure with (almost) the same name. The Historia is a real document, though it's probably very different in written style or tone to its Tempest counterpart.

The monks brought with them a relic belonging to Saint Hallvard, which is why they named the monastery after him. This relic was found early in the game by William Campbell, and is a fingerbone sealed in a metal casing. By popular account, Hallvard died defending a pregnant thrall woman who had been given sanctuary on his ship, and they were both then killed by men accusing her of theft. The killers tried to hide Hallvard's body by tying a millstone round his neck and dumping it in a fjord, but it wouldn't sink, and so the crime was discovered.

Here. We should build here. We shall take this abandoned monastery and fortify it, please God, into a bulwark of Christian faith.“

“But, Abbot Theoderic. Do we really think it suitable? It looks in an exceeding state of decay.”

“Your concern is admirable, brother Jonah, but perhaps you forget that the workmanship of the tribes that first came to these islands was most excellent, and they themselves built some of the finest and most fragrant institutions of God outside the demesne of Charlemagne. Father Abbot, I think that this as a goodly choice.”

“Thank you, Helge. Jonah, I respect your counsel. Brother Storm, what do you say?”

“Ifaith it seems as good a grounds as any. I am certain that with hard work, devotion, and what materials we can still recover from our vessel, we will prosper here, away from the poison of the world.”

“Have you given any thought to what we should call the institution, Father Abbot?”

“Well, as we do not know the name of the island…I was thinking 'the monastery of St. Hallvard”.

“An admirable saint of our country, Father Abbot.”

“Yea, and it also seemed to me appropriate for other reasons.”

“Could that be because Hallvard was born the child of farmers, and to farming we shall return?”

“True, but I was thinking of the latter part of his hagiography - though a millstone was bounded around his neck, miraculously, his corse would not sink: and we too, though our vessel was weighed down with stone, have made it safely to this island, steered by the divine gubernator, have we not?”

“Praise God, you have it right.”

“Connall? Are you there, Connall?”

“Yes, Father Abbot. Did you not notice me?”

“Portents and wonders! No, I had not. My eyes do not fail me, either - I did not think anything could escape them in this small place, but I had mistaken you for a bundle of rags on the floor. Forgive my rude trespass.”

“Not at all, Father Abbot.”

“Please, please. Call me Theoderic.”

“Very well, Father Theoderic. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?”

“I am come to apologise for your rough treatment at the hands of my brother monks, and to beg your forgiveness for your eviction from the grounds of the monastery into this wretched sanctum.”

“Please, Father! Please! Up! You should not worry about me so, this is most unbecoming! Most unbecoming! The wretch is me; I carry my wretchedness with me. I was profaning the site of the old monastery to use it thus, and you cannot know how much it consoles me to know that it is become once more a storehouse of virtue, a rock of faith upon which Christendom will surely prosper.”

“The way you suffer life's ills fills me with wonder. Truly, you are an exemplar of faith and humility. I daresay my brothers - and this unworthy Abbot - could learn much from the practice of your faith.”

“Father, Father, you do me too much honour. Too much honour.”

“Come, Connall! There is no need to mortify yourself so!”

“But I am a wretch, a wretch, and to be treated so kindly by one so blessed in the Lord as yourself, ah, please, Father. My hands move, unthinking, to mortify my pride - lest it devour me like a serpent, whole.”

“Oh, oh. I have not the gift of tears but still you make my eyes sting so. If the gifts for which I praise you are bestowed by the Lord, then there is no need to fear pride, is there? I am simply praising that which he has freely given, and surely to praise beautiful workings of the Lord is no sin.”

“Ah, ah. Thank you, thank you Father. If I may speak, though, not to contradict, but -”

“Please.”

“The island. This place. I have lived here for a long time, and. It can. It can bring out the worst in people. That is why I worry. And I worry too, about you and your brother monks, and that I might poison them with my sinfulness - ”

“Hah! Bless you, Connall. As someone that has lived in a great dwelling-place of men, where every kind of vice and sinfulness abounds, I can tell you there is no greater security against the evils of man than to be apart from the world itself. Is that not why you have taken up the hermit's calling?”

“Yes father, yes. You are truly wise. And yet, I worry.”

“Come, come. Please call me Theoderic. And if our small vessel is in danger, let us trust in the divine gubernator to steer us aright.”

To Theoderic, noble Abbot of the monastery of Holy Hallvard,

I don’t know how to say this but I’ll try. You are a man of letters, so I thought you might like a letter from me, though I don’t even know if you will understand this rough vernacular.

Ever since you came to the island, with your men, your grand building plans, and your faith, my life has been in a constant state of upheaval.

I remember the first time you came to the village. Your hair, so strange. Your eyes, so bright and wise and kind. The way you looked at me, like you saw everything about me, every little flaw and imperfection, and accepted me anyway. I suppose I felt a little like they must have done in that story of the Garden of Eden: like I was naked for the first time, and ashamed.

I know your vows prevent you from attachment of any kind. But I can’t keep this to myself any longer. Not that anyone else knows – could possibly understand – although I think my sibling suspects that something is wrong with me, that I am sickening somehow.

I feel like such a monster. That I want more of your time, just to spend time with you, to talk to you, even though there is so much to do here, to cultivate what small a life we can here on this island, and you have your sworn brothers you depend upon you to lead them in their ways of faith. And I know there is no way that you would want someone like me, but my heart wants to believe that it could happen anyway.

Please. All I ask is that you meet me, just once. I just want to tell you how I feel, how I really feel. How much it means to me, everything you’ve done for us, for the island. How you’ve made the world so much larger

this is pointless

I write this before nones while the incident is fresh in my mind, pray God my hand may keep steady. Though I am but a novice and unschooled in the ways of the world as the Father Abbot, and though I would follow him to the ends of the Earth, to the very lip of oblivion, which sometimes in the quiet hours an unkindly voice suggests is precisely what I have done, I was concerned when he extended yet again the hospitality of the monastery beyond any known propriety to shelter the peasants from the storm, even expressly against the wishes of some senior monks. And I concur that mother Charity, bringer of peace on earth and heaven also, would exhort us to undertake this action, and yet, I feared for our holy refuge, feared that it portended ill, and - Lord forgive me - I even doubted the motivations of the Abbot himself, thinking his cordiality overfamiliar and motivated by an unrighteous animus.

Now Helge, our sacrist, is dead, found butchered on the steps of the church by Storm on his way to Lauds. Helge, most vocal opponent of Abbot Theoderic.

What will become of us?

I write this sitting in the cold of the chapter house. How strange that though there is no meeting to be had, no offices to be conducted, not in the aftermath of all this brutality, I have come here to muster my thoughts and to beseech the Lord for guidance. Of the monks, only Jonah and Father Theoderic and I, 'The Novice', remain. Oh, piteous Christ! I would run to him but something gives me pause. Could it really be true, what he says, that he has brought calamity upon us all through his sin, that he is possessed by some vile demon? But when I think of his kind eyes, and the character of his office, and his cruel dismissal from court, and his genius, his Historia, which will assuredly usher into Norway a new age of glorious Christian kingship, I cannot -

Connall, if you find this, I have gone to the high cliff

“Though I have prayed for intercession, knelt and grovelled and prayed and fasted until the tears and the blood came, until I fainted, I have heard nothing. I see now that I am forsaken, my soul tainted by demonic influence. Well. So be it. But I will not allow you, demon, who entered in during a moment of weakness, to control me any further! I am the agent of my own actions, and I forbid you to bring harm to my children. Storm, Helge, Asmund…pray God you found swift peace and your place amongst the ministers of Heaven. Jonas, Septimus…I hope you can continue God's work on this island home, safe from the blood-encrusted hands of this monster. One final sin, to compound the other mortal sins, I bring my life here to an abrupt end. Please, Lord, look after them.”

“Father Abbot - wait! Wait”

“Septimus? What are you doing here. You mustn't - you must stay away from me! My soul is cankered over with the black reeking pus of mortal sin. The only way I can keep you safe is to go where you cannot follow!”

“No Father! No! It was not you. I grant there is some dark power here on the island, spirits which may possess a man, even a great one, like you, and drive them to think unspeakable thoughts, but you did not kill our brother monks. You did everything in your power to protect them, and you were right to assist Dagrun and Geir and the other villagers. I was jealous, Theoderic, jealous! Of your proximity to her, thinking that you had strayed from your vows, thinking that you cared more for those that live in the world than for us…than for me…“

“I…Septimus. You are dear, very dear to me. For one of your years to be so wise and such an exemplary monk…I could not let the evil here take you, too! I want you to be safe. There is so much yet you can still do.”

“But, Theoderic. You still have your great work, do you not? Your Historia?”

“Hah! A pathetic tome written by a wretched man. How could one such as I, who have sinned so greatly, make pretence to speak to Christian behaviour and the evils of the world? But let us pause. You said that the my children did not die by my hand?”

“No that was -“

“It was I, father. Goodbye.”

(Loud screams, growing fainter, echo across the cliffside.)

“Father, no! No! Oh God, merciful God. Jonah. Jonah, what have you done?”

“I have done what was necessary to cleanse the taint from this island, Septimus. To save us all. And now, I will save you, too.”

“You black-hearted murderer. I will not let your evil triumph here.”

“Come closer, Septimus, it will take but a moment.”

“Father Abbot…why…why?” comes the strained and husky voice of Connall, the hermit.

The Abbot coughs and splutters. “I'm a fool. I have been a fool. I doubted myself, thought…thought I…was responsible…” Then, a scream of agony.

“Please, Father. Be still. You mustn't try to move. I will do what I can. You survived a fall that would have killed a stronger man. It must be for a reason.”

“Thank you…Connall.”

For a time, silence. And then, another shadow fades into existence, arriving on a phantom boat, smaller and sleeker than William's own.

A wail of despair. A younger voice speaks, a new voice, heavy with emotion. “Theoderic! Theoderic! Oh, Connall. Oh Saints protect us. Is he dead? Is he dead?”

“Pray, calm yourself, Brother Septimus. I have done what I can with the physic that I know. And yet…I do not think that he is long for this world. And yes, I have done the Penance, the Anointing and the Viaticum. Forgive me, I know I am unworthy of it. But I did not want him to depart without the sacraments.”

At that, Septimus runs up to embrace the hermit. “You have done well, you have done well, brave hermit Connall, to do such a thing. Saints and angels intercede for you, Lord be praised.” Connall was left stock still with surprise at this sudden and unlooked-for praise. Septimus continued. “And yet - and yet. He dies? Theoderic, can you hear me?”

“Septimus”, croaks the Abbot. “Connall. Thank you. Could you forgive this man one last indulgence?”

“Anything, Father”, said Connall. “Anything.”

“Please…let me speak to Septimus alone. I…it won't…I won't…not long, now, I think.”

With that, Connall turns to face Septimus, and nodded, and then vanishes into the darkness and the distance, scrabbling away along the rocks.

“I'm so sorry, Septimus. I should have done so much more…to look after you. To look after us all. And I let myself be blinkered by my own demons, let my heard be snatched up by despair, when I should have been seeking the real culprit, as you had, all this time…”

“Please. Please, Theoderic. You do not need to apologise. It is I who was in error. I thought you had colluded with Dagrun to…oh, the words stick in my throat! Oh, Lord. Colluded with them to kill those monks that spoke out against you, because they did not want to offer shelter. But I was wrong, so wrong. Too late now. Much too late.”

“And Jonah?”

“Jonah is no more.”

The sea roars.

“Then perhaps that is for the best.”

“Father, can you really mean that? I…I killed him…I'm…a murderer…”

“You were defending us all, Septimus. See you confess what you did as soon as possible; Connall may help you there. But, come. I have little time, and I want to tell you what I have learned.”

“What you have learned, Father?” Septimus sounded puzzled.

A hacking cough. “It is God's place to forgive those who have wronged us, and not mine. I will not forgive them. Every horror, every unspeakable blasphemy, that the poor wrteches on this island underwent - oh! Oh, my brother monks, oh! Their faces, Septimus, I still see their faces - ”

At this, Septimus leapt down to Theoderic's side, embracing him. “It's alright, Theoderic, it's because you care for them, because you're such a good Abbot, treated so unworthily - ”

His voice shaking, Theoderic persisted. “This is not the end, Septimus. It cannot end like this. I refuse to let them get away with this. I refuse to let injustice win. Do you understand? There is a power in this place, Septimus, I have felt it, and I will channel it. Not the fickle flame of false devotion, nay, but a dark, black flame, stoked by my heart's bellows. They will not win. And do you know why, Septimus?”

”…why is that, Father?”

“Because we are right, Septimus. We few are right. The world is sinful, and ignorant, and wicked, but we understand. We understand what is wrong, and we will make it right, no matter how hard, and how arduous the journey. We will make it right. No matter how long it takes…”

Silence. Septimus shook the Abbot - gently at first, then frantically.

“Theoderic! Theoderic! Please don't…please don't die. Not like this. I love you. I love you so much and I…I don't think you ever knew…”

Guttural sobbing and retching echo all around.

”….Septimus. You are…very dear to me. You have such a bright future…leave this place…tell them what happened here…”

Septimus gasped. “And your Historia! I'll bring them your Historia!”

”…yes….my Historia…Septimus, we will show them…how to live justly…“

And then, there is nothing more. Septimus, wiping at his face, returns to the boat, and sails into the distance.

The shadows evaporate.