Least Festival of the Anointed Tasan
Garden of the Prophet > Libraria Chroniclis

The snow falls deep this second winter after the departure of my Lord and his guards at the call of the Ordained. The great war-cog of his grandsire, mighty Dasu, stands burnished still after all those years, but empty as an Unhallowed tower and without Voidmaster or beating heart-vault. This just as the echoing artisan's vaults and the long-sealed war-shrine in our towered fortress Witan. A single war-barque of the Hateless Order, pennoned with treasured litanies and the scars of long-past Void-battle, carried my Lord and his close-guard away to the lush heart of charred Afrik.

The Rur realm lies now in deep chill beneath white, yet more so on the Least Festival of the Anointed Tasan. The peasants grow accustomed to the emptiness of the upper vaults; they creep like serpents from the frozen lowest levels, and no loyal guard chastens them to their rightful nests. Lowing tachen in their winter coats hide from the valley winds behind garden deck portals and gave poor winter milk. The red-breast corven roost in the lee spires still, just as when the Hateless Preacher Tuth came to Witan for the Least Festival.

Preacher Tuth ran a hundred leagues from the high mountain Cathedral, carried faster than a rider by armor of the Order - and such uproar from the peasantry, for two years it has been since such a Holy of the Faith has come into the valley. The Preacher is faded as the fortunes of the Rur realm; the Prophet's seed has all but left him; his hair is white as that of my Lady's mother, his face is thin as thin. Yet still he exhorted the armor Megane to hold peasant children high in the air as though a giant of a father, and to kneel before my Lady, Magister Albret and patient Wagen of the Prophet's shrine whilst he proffered much-needed blessings upon my Lord's realm of Rur.

Upon the night of his arrival, Preacher Tuth joined my Lady to dine by torchlight in the upper vaults, for all that little worthy fare remains in Witan on the Festival days. This would be the last winter he would bring the words of the Prophet to our Least Festival, the Preacher explained, for his time draws near. The Hateless Brethren called it rightful for Megane, that once carried Preacher Tuth to battle, to be before those faithful of Rur - for he was the Prophet's hand for all, even the least peasant of shaft and low vaultway. My Lady was much affected by his speech, and she would give what Witan does not have to further the holy works of the Order.

[ Posted by Reason on May 26, 2006 ]