Lost in the Mists

Hymn to the Morning Lord, Verse 9

A feast most fowl

Merriment could be heard coming towards the centre of Miredus, a caravan of priests in crimson in worship, so they said, of Jejura the Feasting Lord. The points were suspicious but played along, lest they rob the townspeople of much needed joy needlessly.

Their spokesman, Lestin, was giving charity and food, leading the crowd to town hall like the Pied Pipper. The council, warily, gave he and his permission to hold a three-day feast on the green. The points were tasked with supervision of the setup and feast, lest any untowardness be visited upon the people of the town.

The feast was began, men in crimson cajoling under fake smiles, enticing the people to eat and drink past their regular tolerance. Sirius Roch, a horrendous pile of a man, poked and prodded the points with veiled insults while his man-at-arms leered and sized up Zephyram.

Your humble servant along with the seer began to issue the drunk and stuffed to the once-holy places to offer them some protection, sensing something sinister at work. The change followed the man-at-arms into town as he divulged his intent to light the churches aflame whilst the drunk and slovenly rested, and called to the points for aide.

The man-at-arms bared his fangs and promised to feast on the points, but not before tempting the walker between with brotherhood amongst his vile ranks. She, gladly, turned him away and Your humble servant called to You, using Your light to bare the souls of these men. The struggle was desperate for a time, but You saw the points through and in the end evil was extinguished once more.
Give light, Morning Lord, that we may see.



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