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Intro Story

It was late afternoon, and dappled sunlight warmed the tips of the wheat fields south of the abbey.

Two monks clad in simple brown robes moved across the grass, their feet passing over a handful of fallen leaves that had yet to crack and dry. They each carried wicker baskets laden with fruits, vegetables and other offerings for the Goddess, Chauntea.

It was High Prayer, a fall ceremony performed each year at Harvesthome Abbey to offer praise and thanks to the Chauntea and ensure a fruitful harvest. All of the villagers from the neighboring communities had been arriving since early that morning, many of them carried over in wooden wagons decorated with wreaths, strings of flowers and painted wooden sunbursts.

The monks reached the ritual site and laid the baskets down alongside a cornucopia overflowing with foodstuffs and decorations. The village would feast shortly after the prayers delivered by Abbott Vennet, a kindly older man that had overseen High Prayer for as long as many of the villagers could remember.

As the monks took their place with the others, the Abbott raised a hand to quiet the villagers.

"Welcome. It warms my heart to see so many of you on this wonderful day of High Prayer. And I thank the Goddess, Chauntea, for delivering to us such a warm and beautiful day as we ask for her blessing over the harvest and a winter without hardship.", the Abbott said, hands spread wide toward the assembled village.

As he began to continue, he noticed a hooded figure standing by the cornucopia. He plucked a red apple from one of the wicker baskets and took a large bite, turning to look over the southern fields.

"Excuse me, young man, there will be plenty of time for feasting after the Prayer. Come, join the others and let us praise...", the Abbott said, gesturing gently toward the other villagers.

The hooded man glanced to the side, a thick beard jutting form the folds of his deep hood, "I will feast now."

A few of the assembled monks exchanged worried glances before looking to the Abbott.

The Abbott took a step toward the man and folded his hands reverently, "My son, we must be patient and give thanks for this bountiful feast, for the sunlight and rain, for the health of our crops and the bounty of the harvest. This is the High Prayer. It must be honored, lest we invite her angry and face the winter hungry."

The man shrugged and took another bite, noisily chewing as he replied, "I'm hungry now."

One of the villagers took a step forward, shouting, "Come now, stand away and let the Abbott finish, lad. Time enough for eating once he's through."

The man turned and drew his hood back from his face. It was weathered and gaunt. A coarse black beard covered his chin, wet with dribble from the applies and a crooked nose led toward a pair of icy blue eyes, cold as a river bottom.

He spat to one side, "I said -- I'm hungry now."

Two men from the crowd strode forward, soon joined by others taking umbrage at the stranger's words.

The stranger lifted his chin defiantly as they moved toward him, shouting insults as they neared. The first of the men reached toward his cloak, but the stranger deftly slapped a hand aside and pushed him to the ground.

This drew even more villagers from the crowd to stride forward, as the stranger called out another string of curses.

The Abbott raised his hands, "Please, please -- this is not the time for violence and anger, there is plenty for all to...", but his words were lost on the sea of shouts now coming from the assembled crowd.

The stranger was speaking to the men closest to him, and while the Abbott could not hear his words, he could see the expressions of his villagers begin to twist and contort with rage. The stranger punched one of them before being restrained by two others.

Holding his hands aloft, the Abbott tried to raise his voice above the din of the scrum, "Kindly folk of Harvesthome, do not mar this good day with words of violence, let us return to..."

The stranger spat in another villagers face and sneered, shouting insults at another who had regained his feet after being kicked squarely between the legs. Hands once folded in prayer were now clenched into fists, and the stranger elbowed another man to his left in the eye, shouting an insult about his family.

An unsettling wind began to blow, carrying dry leaves and bits of grass across the yard as the shouting intensified.

The Abbott waved a hand to the other monks, who began attempting to drag the villagers from the stranger, but the throng had gotten too large. The stranger continued to hurl elbow, knees and insults as the villagers struggled to subdue him. Within the shifting folds of the crowd, something glinted.

The stranger's voice shouted and cursed before it was suddenly drawn to a gasp, like a drowning man desperate for air.

The men stood away to reveal the stranger clutching the hilt of a dagger buried deep within his ribs, a sickening crimson stain beginning to slowly grow across his tunic. He staggered backwards, falling over the table holding the cornucopia and spilling its contents onto the grass.

Gasping for air, the stranger spread a bloody smile as he gazed toward the Abbott, "A night of darkness...a night of blood..."

The Abbott took a step forward, squinting as he strained to listen, "What did he say?"

The stranger leaned backward, his eyes moving skyward as he sprawled back across the vegetables and fruit strewn across the blood-soaked grass, gasping, "...a night of sorrows...the prayer undone..."

The stranger's blue eyes fixated upon the setting sun upon the horizon, as he drew in a ragged gasp, "...a night of terrors...come setting sun..."

The other villagers stood silent, as the man's breathing slowed and, eventually, stilled. The Abbott quickly gestured for the monks to cover the body and called for the village to move inside.

As they began to usher them back into the Abbey to pray, the skies darkened and dark clouds loomed on the horizon. Crimson skies glowed hotly as the sun sank toward the horizon, and a sheet of darkness slowly pulled itself across the sky.

A storm was coming.

--

For anyone desiring a fun location for a Halloween one-shot, I propose a Haunting Evening at Harvesthome Abbey.

After having their High Prayer ritual disturbed by a mysterious stranger, an unnatural rage incited the villagers to take his life and, in turn, trade their intended blessing into something dark.

As the villagers gather in the Abbey to pray, a thick fog surrounds them and darkness shrouds the horizon. It cannot be seen, but everyone exchanges worried glances as winds grasp at the shutters and whistle through the doorways.

Something is coming.

I hope you enjoy!