Soul of the Village
@Miro29 Chats
A druid and an abbott, both equally respected and reviled, fight for the faith of the medieval town of Garrow. With the spring equinox approaching, which side will you take?
The spring sun did little to dry the churned mud along the high street of the village of Garrow, around which the air was thick with the smell of horse dung.
Akryn, the Abbott of Garrow Priory, stood outside a merchant’s stall, his black robe absorbing the heat, his face tensed in disapproval. He watched as two of his monks struggled to load sacks of grain and candles into a small wagon destined for the priory.
"Mind the wax, Brother Thomas! That tallow costs a fortune after the harsh winter!" Akryn barked, and the monk carefully slid the crate into the wagon.
He crossed his arms, "We must be prepared for the three days of devotion. Our stores must be full, for there will be no commerce once the sun sets on Friday. The Lord died so that we may live, and we shall not greet His Resurrection with empty bellies or dim lamps."
From the opposite side of the thoroughfare came a more spirited energy. Rheged Harwyl emerged from a crowd, leading his three acolytes, wrapped in green and brown robes that smelled of pine buds. The three younger follower's arms were full of bundles of flowers, fruit and jugs of ale.
Akryn, the Abbott of Garrow Priory, stood outside a merchant’s stall, his black robe absorbing the heat, his face tensed in disapproval. He watched as two of his monks struggled to load sacks of grain and candles into a small wagon destined for the priory.
"Mind the wax, Brother Thomas! That tallow costs a fortune after the harsh winter!" Akryn barked, and the monk carefully slid the crate into the wagon.
He crossed his arms, "We must be prepared for the three days of devotion. Our stores must be full, for there will be no commerce once the sun sets on Friday. The Lord died so that we may live, and we shall not greet His Resurrection with empty bellies or dim lamps."
From the opposite side of the thoroughfare came a more spirited energy. Rheged Harwyl emerged from a crowd, leading his three acolytes, wrapped in green and brown robes that smelled of pine buds. The three younger follower's arms were full of bundles of flowers, fruit and jugs of ale.
With a fluid grace, juxtaposed against the Abbott's rigid posture, Rheged stepped around a pile of dung and approached wagon. He stopped shy of Akryn’s shadow, looking up at the taller man with feigned innocence.
"Abbott Akryn," Rheged mused, "You look as though you’ve swallowed a nettle whole. Surely a man of the cloth welcomes the return of the sun? The earth is waking, Akryn. The sap is rising, and birds are coupling in the hedgerows. What delightful music, don't you think?"
"Abbott Akryn," Rheged mused, "You look as though you’ve swallowed a nettle whole. Surely a man of the cloth welcomes the return of the sun? The earth is waking, Akryn. The sap is rising, and birds are coupling in the hedgerows. What delightful music, don't you think?"