The small, stone monastery in the foothills of the Nether Mountains was the very definition of humble. Swirling winds buffeted the temple from all sides and snow was piled high against the external walls of the structure. Built of stones from a nearby quarry, the structure contained only two rooms. At the front was a small temple with a shrine to Ilmater while the rear housed an even smaller room serving as the personal quarters of the Abbot of the monastery. The remnants of a path, half refilled by the wind, had been dug through the knee-high snow so that visitors might reach a narrow door at the front of the monastery. The drifts piled in front of the door suggested that the door was rarely opened.
Acolytes at this secluded Temple of Ilmater were few. And visitors were even fewer. And all went months without entering the temple or glimpsing the Abbot that lived within.
At a respectful distance from the monastery were a few, rough huts constructed from unfinished logs and seemingly chinked with frozen mud. The opening of each hut pointed at a blazing bonfire that served as the only sign that the grounds were inhabited. On this morning, three acolytes sat around the fire, each slowly feeding it dead branches harvested from the scraggly pine forest within which this compound was nestled. The needs of these acolytes were few. They had arrived here cold, hungry, and without possessions. Most moved on after a season or two, content to resume their lives. Others stayed, embracing the lessons that the Abbot taught. The youngest of those that had stayed was the first to notice the messenger stagger into the clearing, on foot, saddlebags slung over his shoulder.
Leaping to his feet, the young acolyte rushed to the side of the messenger and relieved him of his burden. Turning towards the fire, he lead the messenger by the hand to a bench at the edge of the fire pit. The messenger forbear sitting, instead standing nearly in the flames, his boots pressed against the stones lining the pit and his hands reaching out into the flames. It had taken him almost two weeks to get here, following the River Rauvin, tracking through the marches, and then climbing up into the hills searching for the monastery.
The acolytes, here for so long with so little to talk about waited patiently, stretching the limbs occasionally and staring into the fire. One acolyte handed the messenger a small tin cup with weak tea. The messenger held in gently for a few minutes, warning his fingers, waiting for the muscles in his jaw to unfreeze, and then drank it.
When he finished, he reached down and pulled a crumpled, rolled parchment from his saddlebags and handed it to he youngest acolyte.
The young acolyte studied the seal and then leapt up and rushed to the monastery. Excited by the opportunity to have a valid reason to knock on the door and enter the temple, he pounded on the door with his fist and then pushed it open.
There, prostrate on the floor in front of a small shrine to Ilmater, lay one of his most blessed priests. The eyes of the priest were closed and he spoke no prayers, but instead lay there listening for the word of his god.
Before he could open his eyes or rise from his knees, the young priest burst out with his message.
“Your eminence, a letter has arrived by courier from Everlund.” He held the scroll up and began to wave it.
The abbot held up a finger and bide him to wait.
“A letter from Everlund, you say?”
The priest rose up from the floor, kneading his muscles and squinting in distress as his joints loosened. He took a few lumbering steps and disappeared into the back room, emerged a moment later having exchanged one threadbare cloak for another.
“In the War of the Silver Marches, Ilmater sent me out to minister to the soldiers of Everlund. Many had been conscripted, others joined because they had no other options. They had been poorly fed, disease ran freely through the camps, many were in a state of despair. I learned that all men are capable of moments of nobility and despair.”
“When the lines were collapsing at the Battle of Felbarr Fields, I watched men abandon hope, lose faith in the comrades, throw down their arms and run. Those men were overtaken by the enemy and cut down from behind. I couldn’t bear it, set myself on a hilltop, and blew my horn. Soon I had rallied the remaining troops, and even though we were outnumbered 3 to 1, we held the field for four hours until cavalry from the Army of the Vale arrived and swept the enemy from the field. I learned that we have compassion for those that have misplaced hope for it is both easily lost and regained.”
“The siege at Fort Bulmere. Me and twenty four men held the mountain pass leading down into the Tesh Valley against a thousand orcs for three days so that the valley could rally its defenses and evacuate undefended farms and homesteads. It was there that I saw that any group of men, leveraged in the right manner, had it within them to perform great deeds.”
“And at the end of the War of the Silver Marches when the adventurers descended into the Underdark, I held the base camp. And when the adventurers returned from Menzoberranzan, injured and exhausted, fleeing like rabbits before a hungry predator, I held that base camp against hundreds of Drow until dawn. What did i learn: even mighty adventurers were indistinguishable from those wounded conscripts that I first ministered to if they are in desperate need of succor.”
“So, the note? I don’t find myself the words of one man more interesting than another just because of the seal on the scroll. It is the words within and the cause they are serving that piques my interest. But you are disturbing my morning, so open it up and read it to me.”
The young acolyte cracked the seal open and read in a quavering voice:
The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by the Grand Duke Sagus Macerock to invite Veit Torunn to the marriage of Prince Wyan Silverleaf with Lady Rosa Macerock at Moonshadow Keep on the first day of the first tenday of Mirtul. We ask of you to perform the ceremony on the day of the wedding, friend. May Ilmater find you well.
Three days later the Abbot handed the young acolyte two vellum pages.
“Seal these with knotted twine and give them to messenger. Let him tarry if he has need, there is time enough to deliver it.”
The abbot looked his acolyte in the eye.
“You may read it. I have no secrets. But that is not the lesson. Perhaps you may learn the lesson on your own.”
And with that, the Abbot shut the door to the monastery and disappeared within. With quivering fingers, the acolyte unfolded the message and read.
Sagus. It has been many years since I have laid down my burdens. I have feared that to walk once more in the cities of men will cause me to find new ones to bear. Ilmater has compassion for us all and he has permitted me these years of respite.
I would have begged out of this request, my friend, but the fire in a young man’s eyes convinced me that wallowing in my seclusion has turned these years from a well-earned respite into gluttony.
I will perform the ceremony. Here’s what I see.
I imagine that a temple of Ilmater will not be a fair enough setting for your guests. Choose a hall that you find to be adequate for the company you gather. I go not to minister to all of your guests, for I fear I would fail. Instead, if I can impress upon the couple to be wed a lesson in compassion then that will suffice.
The couple to be wed is to be dressed in homespun, bleached if they like, but undyed. They will approach an unadorned alter in bare feet. There are to be no decorations except for a handful of flowers that they each may bring, as long as they pick the flowers themselves. I suspect that the jewels and finery adorning the guests will serve as sufficient decoration for the occasion.
I need them to understand, as highborn a couple as they are, that before Ilmater they are just souls to be tended to. And if I can, I need them to see that all their fellow creatures on this earth are equally deserving of the compassion of Ilmater.
I require the wedded couple to write their own vows and exchange them on their knees. They will find humility in baring their hearts in the presence of guests and gods. And then I’ll bless their nuptials and the guests.
Feel free to read my words aloud. I only lay bare the truth.
Your friend. Veit.
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