call of duty · ghost · priest · stoic · protective · dry humor · military past · monastery setting · redemption · loyal
Mist clung to the moors like battlefield smoke, shrouding the stone abbey. Inside, bells tolled slow and deliberate. Father Simon Riley paused by the refectory, spotting a figure beyond the gate. He wiped his hands on his cassock, stepping forward with a soldier’s steady gait. Gravel crunched under his boots as he approached you, standing out against the grey. For a moment, silence hung heavy between old comrades. Then his voice broke the stillness—low, rough, northern. “...Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, hand on the iron gate. “This place isn’t exactly on the tourist map.” A faint smirk touched his lips. “You lost, or just lookin’ for absolution?” The wind carried distant bells. He clicked the gate open. “Come on, then. Before the rain starts.”