A gibbous moon peered in the window of Warden Fraybee’s second floor study. A candle guttered on the edge of the priest’s desk, and she couldn’t help but chuckle at this sign that she was again up too late. Fraybee held a fresh candle to the dying flame of the old, briefly touched her amulet of Yeyviel and murmured a prayer, then went back to her writing, an academic piece on the changing paths of astronomical bodies. She was deep in concentration, and started at a soft knocking on the open door to her study.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man. He wore a brown priest’s robe, though he had no amulet showing to which god he prayed. His mouth open in a sly smile, the man said “Warden, I do hope I’m not disturbing you.” Without waiting for an invitation he stepped into the study and sat on a spare stool. “I have a grave matter to discuss with you. Most important.”
“This is highly unusual,” Fraybee said. She was annoyed by the late night intrusion, but she always made herself available day or night to her fellow worshippers so her innate hospitality softened her response. “I assume you have an urgent matter of faith?”
“Oh yes, urgent indeed. Time is running out. And it is most assuredly a matter of faith. May I smoke, Warden?”
“Of course,” Fraybee said as she packed fresh godsbeard into her own pipe and lit it from the candle. The stranger leaned forward with his pipe and did the same.
“Many thanks,” the stranger said as smoke filled the room. “Now, brace yourself Warden, for I bear grim tidings. This world is doomed, unless we are willing to save it. Ancient forces are awakening and the old gods, who have been silent for a thousand years, will avail us not.”
Fraybee breathed deeply. Though relieved to find that this odd visitor was merely a deluded fanatic, there was something troubling about him.
“How came you by that robe, my friend?” she asked.
Again the stranger’s smile made Fraybee uneasy. He breathed out a cloud of blue smoke, then said “You do not take me seriously, or you would not ask about my manner of dress. No matter, I do not expect a leap of faith, even from a priest. Perhaps, especially from a priest.” The stranger reached into his robe and brought out his holy symbol, which was unlike any Fraybee had seen before. Certainly it was not for a god of the Paridian pantheon. The symbol was that of a great tower. It made her think of the ancient Titan Towers, whose purpose was lost and long forgotten.
The sight of the unknown symbol numbed Fraybee with a low terror. “And to which god do you pray?” she asked.
“When I first donned these robes I prayed to Kammareth, and continued to do so for many years. Not once did he deign to answer me, though my faith was resolute.”
“And now?” Fraybee asked.
“Now my devotions are for Mariglio Vexor, the savior of Fahrul, who will wield the Ether Scythe.” The stranger leaned forward on the stool, almost leering as he went on. “The Titans are stirring, Warden Fraybee. Chaos is squirming free of its ancient prisons and is already erupting across this land. Only Vexor can wield the Scythe and put them to eternal rest.”
“How is it that you pray to Vexor? He is a hero for certain, but a mortal hero.”
“Mortal, yes. But do gods beget prayers? Or do prayers create gods?”
Fraybee did not see the point of answering his rhetoric. “You speak of the long silence of the gods, but what of the Titans? If the gods have been silent for centuries, then the Titans have been no more than legend for millennia.”
“Indeed, indeed. But while the gods fled Fahrul altogether, the Titans have remained, merely asleep. Something has awakened them, and to put them once more to rest we must put our faith in something more effective than departed deities.”
Fraybee set down her pipe as she felt her growing dread transform suddenly to a righteous fury. “How dare you? You come to my study, unannounced in the dead of night, with mad ramblings of Titans and chaos, and then you speak to me of departed deities?” The Warden was now on her feet, leaning over her desk. “If you are truly in contact with Mariglio Vexor, which I sincerely doubt, then go back to him and tell him to keep his blasphemous cultists out of Oarton. The faith of these people is under my protection and I will not permit a silver-tongued heretic to confuse them with preposterous lies. In the morning I shall be asking around, and if I find you have not left town you will see what the wrath of a departed deity is worth.”
The stranger stood seething from his stool. “This has been a much less civil discussion than I had hoped for. You are making an error, Warden Fraybee. The consequences will be felt not only by you and your flock, but all of Fahrul shall suffer for your willful ignorance.”
“Begone!” shouted Fraybee. With a final poisonous glare, the stranger turned and left. Fraybee went to the window and watched as he exited her home and walked toward the inn at the town center. The ember of his pipe bobbed in the night, until it too disappeared.
Sitting back down, she breathed deeply to calm herself. She held her holy amulet and turned it over, feeling its contours and finding comfort in the familiar design. She squinted at it, noticing an odd glint on the polished metal. She cupped her hand over it, shielding it from the candlelight, and held it close to her eye. Where was that gleam coming from?
Fraybee closed the shutter to keep out the moonlight and blew out the candle on her desk. Darkness settled over the study, save for a glimmer of light coming from the amulet of Yeyviel.