The Temple

Its trek through this town was meant to be a swift one: a single night’s stay to duck the worst of the blizzard, and it’d be on the road out by noon. But the longer it stayed in that town, the more voices it overheard, the more whispers passed between snowflakes and the more effigies it witnessed, the more curious it became.

Dominating the central plaza of the town was a statue of a striking woman, with a stern glare and an assured, confident stride, a clawed hand resting on the top of a strange-looking vat. The plaque below designated this woman “Sophia”, the town’s supposed hero. The plinth had become a makeshift shrine, bedight with candles, flowers, and crafts that spoke to a devout town.

From the plaza, snaking up the hillside like a river, was an ancient and overgrown set of stone steps which lead up to a temple… a familiar one, at that. Even past the veil of the snow, and even dulled by time as it has been, that geometric, rosy red and ivory stone scaling the walls struck an imposing silhouette. A plume of smoke billowed from beneath its mask, trailing it as it made its way up those well-trod steps.

What it expected to find was desolation—a forgotten temple for a dead God. But instead… throwing its doors wide, it gazed upon a pristine prayer hall. Unlike the exterior, all signs of Yhiraam’s influence had been meticulously carved away, its cold angularity replaced with the glint of gold and a warm, homely interior. It ducked its head in and pulled the doors shut behind it, peering skeptically around the room. The hall was lined with burning candles and lit by overhead lanterns… it must still be occupied.

It drifted up to the altar, fingers gliding across one of the pews; those remained from its old temple, it remembered them now. Vestiges of its worship were hidden everywhere: the pulpit was the very same one it used, and even the altar, upon which offerings had been heaped, was the same featureless slab of ivory stone… though its helmet was long gone. It wanted to sneer, to smile, to growl, to hum, to rid the world of this vile blasphemy, and to… leave an offering. Surely, any God bold enough to cannibalize its trappings like this must deserve it for the guts alone.

Just as it would turn to make for the exit, resolving to get far away from this reminder of its former ‘glory’, a young Maran woman pushed past those unwieldy stone doors.

“Whew,” she sighed, “Freezing out there! Hey… did you come to worship?” She greeted it with stark nonchalance, not given pause for even a moment by its strange and borderline monstrous appearance. She was dressed in rather unassuming, heavy winter clothing, curls of red hair overflowing from a wool hat, framing a weary face and faintly sunken green eyes. It was a look the Wanderer knew well—it’d read it on the face of just about everyone it came across in the last month.

It hesitated, glancing back at the altar, and so she kept talking. “We’re not havin’ a service tonight, but like… I guess no harm done if you wanna’ hang around and pray or whatever? She just sent me up to get the offerings…”

“Who is ‘she’?” it asked, rather plainly. That seemed to stop the woman in her tracks! Only now did she give it the look it was most used to, like it was some kind of alien. A few blinks passed, and she cleared her throat and issued a bemused response.

“Uh, Sophia? Miss Byrne? Uhh, really fancy lady, lives in that little house outside of town, carries around a big jar? You… really don’t know about her?” She scratched the back of her head, finally taking a moment to really size the Wanderer up. She tended not to bat an eye at the manifold curiosities that passed through Sishai, but even she had to admit, this one was… strange.

“No. She is… your God? And she lives here?” It sounded just as confused as she was—they each sounded crazy to each other, for far different reasons.

“Well, uhh… yeah? It’s kinda’ complicated, um, I don’t know how I feel about calling her a ‘god’ per se… hero, definitely! She saved everyone in our town from a terrible disaster, and she’s selflessly been holding it at bay with magic ever since. We’d be dust without her, for sure, and she says our worship and offerings give her strength, so… we do what we can.” Her answer only brought it more confusion,

Little puffs of smoke slipped from beneath its mask, as it couldn’t help but laugh quietly. It took one more lingering glance around the room. “Well… when is the next service, then? Perhaps I will attend.”

Her eyes lit up, if only a bit. “Uhh, tomorrow! Yeah, tomorrow morning, I think she said.”

How strange, it thought, that this person gathering offerings and tending to the temple didn’t even know for sure when service would be. Another low titter came from it as it began to stride past her, nodding. “Then I will be there. Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, okay! Byeeee! See you then,” she cheerily waved him off. What must these people see so often that its countenance barely gave them pause…?