Serenity is the Mother of Strange Bedfellows (full)

[Cooper]

Late Fall, Era XI Post Fractum

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“You there!” the guard shouted at the on-coming line of people. “You there! Halt and declare yourselves!” Corporal Hathens always got nervous at large groups of travelers, especially ones that appeared to be associated with each other. These dark times, they were usually some sort of militant group or another, and they just came to wreak havoc on the peace that had long been sustained in Frigid River. Well, not really, but that’s what the propaganda posters on the wall said. And since it was Hathens’ job to follow those posters to the letter, he wasn’t about to give up a regular pay check just because Frigid River hadn’t been the most serene of cities. Every place had its problems, but his city just happened to have less.

As the group approached, the Corporal could see that they were just a group of about a dozen monks – but that didn’t exempt them from the mandatory Visa check for all members and a declaration of their business here in Frigid River. It didn’t exempt anyone, in the Corporal’s opinion. Hathens was one of the good men, one of the ones that didn’t accept bribes. He had often thought about what his price would be – at what point he would have to give in for his family’s benefit and look the other way. It was all hypothetical (“And thank goodness for that,” the Corporal thought. He held his values in high esteem.) because no one had offered him a sum he couldn’t refuse. And he took oh so much pleasure in locking the petty criminals who tried to bribe him with equally petty amounts of money deep in the Frigid River jail, right where they belonged. Fething criminals.

“Halt!” he shouted again at the approaching monks, but they didn’t seem to hear – and if they did, they sure weren’t paying any attention. Motioning to the guard house for reinforcements, just in case this was some sort of trap, Corporal Hathens began a gentle jog in the monks’ direction, his hand on his sword so that he could be ready for action if necessary – but he wasn’t about to draw his sword at a cluster of cloaked monks just because they wouldn’t stop when he asked them to. It was rather loud at the gate, and their heavy hoods could be inhibiting their hearing. Who knows how these things happen, but they do, and Corporal Hathens was experienced enough to know that he should be prepared for anything, but he shouldn’t start anything himself. That was definitely not his job, and nothing he would do if he wanted to continue working as a guard. As he neared the cluster of persons, he realized why they couldn’t hear his shouts – they were praying! The gentle tones of their prayer reached his ears, and suddenly… things seemed a lot less important. What Corporal Hathens really wanted to do was go back into his gate house and take a nap – he hadn’t gotten very much sleep last darkening, after all, and he had been working so hard all brightening. He really deserved a nice, long nap. That’s what he’d do.

So, the hardworking and dedicated guard, instead of watching the gate as was his assignment, went into the small guard house, took a seat and propped his feet up on the low table, and took a nap.

All of the people who came near the group of cloaked monks decided that they had something better to do, elsewhere. It varied from person to person, the townspeople going off to do everything from wash the floors to clean the stables, but they all suddenly did an about face and walked off in the opposite direction when they came within hearing distance of the monks, whose pace was ponderous – they were in no hurry, that was for sure. Wherever they were heading – and they were heading somewhere: even though their pace was slow, they never hesitated in taking a turn or walking at the same unhurried pace through an intersection – it would not get up and walk off. Their long cloaks brushed the ground behind them, their feet invisible beneath the long cloth and their faces shrouded in the shadows cast by their oversized hoods.

Their path brought them right to the doorstep of the Temple of Aetheria, and they turned into the entrance way. Moments after their entrance, dozens of attendants, priests, and other occupants of the Temple came walking out of the building – their footsteps slow but definitely leaving the building. After the very last person had left, the doors slammed shut and no amount of pounding or hacking could open them – when the townspeople and guards tried. For now, a circle formed around the Temple – an invisible line that no man or woman or child would or could cross – a line that would disappear in a few candlemarks. And in a few candlemarks, at the same time, Corporal Hastens woke up from his nap, unable to remember what had driven him to leave his post and take a short – long? – nap in the guard house. His companions were just as clueless as him, having conveniently woken up just as he did.

And when the lights and noises began.

They could be heard throughout the darkening – generally the daytime commotion that not even the strange happenings down by the Temple could quell drowned out the normal, everyday noises – accompanied by the cries of small children. They were screams sometimes, other times they were just screeching noises, like a grinding stone being run against a rough steel edge. Whatever the noise, though, there was a background element that struck fear into the breast of even the hardest Sergeant. And the lights, random assortments of colors that flashed at odd intervals from the high windows of the Temple, did nothing to lighten the mood. After a few futile attempts at entrance, the guards simply posted a contingent of their own to guard the door and keep mischievous kids from the possibly dangerous building as much as to keep whatever was inside just that – inside. And they waited.

In the meantime, the Captain of the Guards put out an article in the Herald. His forces alone couldn’t handle whatever it was that had taken up residence in the Temple of Aetheria – they couldn’t even get past the door, which was barred shut as if by magic. There was little doubt in his mind that whatever inhabited the deep, dark corners of that place of worship was far beyond the skill of even his most well-trained men – but he had consorted with adventurers before, and even though they were generally looked down upon in society as vagabonds they were reliable in a tight spot, with skills that most Allerians never dreamed of possessing. Just what he needed. So he sent the article off with his fastest messenger and waited for the help that he hoped – hoped to Ioannes – would come.