<HTML> December 24, Year 706, Cristos Reckoning. Dawn. A small, glowing ball of light appeared in the darkness and the wick of the ceremonial candle flared to life. The summoned light faded slowly, the flame of the candle strengthening to take its place, and Merai hin'Dana leaned back on her heels with a small smile. Today was a very special day. Rising to her feet and backing away nine short steps from the altar, Merai turned and walked to the small storeroom where the temple hand-lamps were kept. After she had lit all of the wall-lamps, bathing the room in soft, warm light, she returned the smaller hand-lamp to its resting place and moved quietly to apse at the back of the temple hall. It was a cold winter's day, and a chill wind brushed at Merai's long brown hair as she sat down on the sill of the semicircular window. The window had no glass, and remained open year-round -- but though the icy wind blew against Merai's face where she sat, the temple itself never grew cold. It was, she reflected, just another one of Kyia's special touches, one of the little things the spirit of Metamor did to make the Keep more comfortable for her human tenants. Merai looked out at the snow blanketing the valley, its uniform coat of white mirroring the heavy gray clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon. The snow was still falling heavily -- indeed, it seemed to be getting worse, and it was becoming hard to see more than a few miles in any direction. Somewhere above her the wind howled mournfully, as though warning of a fiercer storm to come. In spite of the weather, though, Merai was in high spirits. The Patildor called this "Christmas Eve", the night before their religion's most holy day. For the Lothanasi of Metamor Keep, it was a time to honor and remember their most high god -- a god whose name they did not even know. They called him the Iluvatar, an old Elvish word meaning "All-Father". It was he, the legends said, who created the universe, including the gods, the dragons, the Elves, and of course the humans. Something had happened since then, though, and the Creator had fallen silent. No one knew why, but it seemed as though the Iluvatar had distanced himself from his creation. Lately, the Lightbringers of Metamor had made it their holy quest to restore contact with him. The month of December had always been associated with the Creator, mostly because none of the other gods would claim it as their own. In truth, that was probably why the Patildor had decided to celebrate their lord's birth in December to begin with. Whatever the motivations, it had turned out that Raven would hold her ceremony for the Iluvatar on the same night that Father Hough held his Christmas Eve service in the cathedral. Since both ceremonies were open to the public, it seemed like half the Keep would be crowding into one holy place or the other this evening. Merai let her mind wander for a while, thinking of gods and faith and religion, but her thoughts kept circling back to that unseen, mysterious, omnipotent figure. _Iluvatar._ Even the word sounded holy and enigmatic to her ears. "Will you speak to us tonight, Iluvatar?" she asked softly, staring out at the whirling snow. "Will this be the year you break your silence?" It was the greatest dream of everyone at Metamor who had anything to do with the Order. Priestess, acolyte and commoner alike longed for the Creator to reveal himself at last. It sometimes seemed a foolish hope, a desperate and impossible dream. Still, Merai thought, it would be far more foolish for them to stop looking. At last she rose from the window, turning back toward the hall and the preparations that still had to be made for the evening service. As she took the body of the sacrificed dove from the altar, its blood having finished draining into the basin, her eyes fell upon the twin cross before her. It was the symbol of the Lightbringers and their mission: Heaven Above, Earth Below, Meet in the Middle. "Come to us, All-Father," Merai whispered. "Your children are listening." ** 12/24 - 11am The main door to the courtyard opened briefly, disgorging a gale of wind-driven show and five bundled forms. Two of them were quick to get it closed again, much to the appreciation of the equine castellean who stood at the room's opposite end. As the group began to shake the snow from their garments, Jack hiked up the collar on his own overcoat and asked, "So how's the weather?" A head wrapped almost completely in a scarf tuned up at the mule's question. All that was visible under the many layers of protective garments was the person's black nose, the lopsided whiskers that protruded from that region, the roundish black ears which sat in exposed in the tangle of scarf upon his head, and the long striped tail descending from under a heavy winter coat. The raccoon puffed some snow from where it sat upon the end of his muzzle, the sparse flakes joining their cousins already heaped and melting on the stone floor. "Fucking cold!" Rickkter pronounced. Jack's braying laugh echoed about the large chamber. "Get used to it, southerner. This has been a mild winter for Metamor so far. You'll be looking at far worse to come in the next few months." "He's right enough about that, Rick," concurred a wolf that stood near the raccoon, brushing the flurries from the fur on his head. Bender then went to work on his tail. "I've seen storms like this last for several days without letting up. Whole houses buried. The way this one's going, we'll probably be up to chest deep or more by morning." "More in spots where the drifting's bad," said Moorly. The equine archer unwrapped the last of the scarf from his own head and shook out his mane. "I'm just thankful that we got in before it really started coming down. I feel sorry for those poor souls who got stuck with sentry duty out on the walls or at the sentry towers tonight." "It's the holidays, Moorly," said a squat, female shrew as she pushed her way past them and over to Jack. She was working on unbuckling her sword belt to entrust to the castellan. "You know that Duke Thomas has standing orders to keep those to a minimum. Though I could never make sense of the people that volunteered for that duty, myself." "Triple pay, that's why," responded their commander. Jione was an impressive woman, living up admirably to the term amazon. She pulled the long braid of brown hair from under her fur hat, allowing it to rest down the front of her right shoulder of her open coat. Grinning half-heartedly at the looks her team gave her, she explained. "I did it a few years myself. It helped dealing with having no one to really share yule with." The rest of the morphs all muttered their understanding, heading around to where they could stow their implements. "So what are all of you doing this year?" asked Rickkter. "Family," replied Bender. "Had cousins and aunts and uncles and the whole deal coming in from further north in the valley. We're all staying at my parent's house in the town." He gave his comrades a wolfish grin. "It's insane for a few days, but what the hey? It's tradition." "Almost like myself," said Moorly. The horse had secured his bow and was in the process of returning his arrows. "I'm catching the last caravan out of here for the southern lip of the valley. Damn, I'd better get moving if I'm going to make it, actually." With a final wave at his comrades, he departed Metamor's central armoury at a brisk trot. "Well, that's one down," said Rick. "What about you, Kwanzaa?" The shrew brushed at her snout some, delicately plucking at her whiskers to remove some of the irritating flakes. "Oh, I don't have a lot planned. Probably just meet up with the usual group of friends, make merry and see what comes the dawn." Rickkter laughed along with the others, his deep brown eye shining. "What about you?" Kwanzaa wanted to know. "Well, I don't know about the next few days, but today I have a personal invitation to Misha's Yule party. It should be a good one, and from what I've been told there'll be plenty of room and plenty of people. He's having it in the Long House itself, Long Hall to be exact." Bender smirked. "Descriptive name." "Isn't it, though?" "Be sure to enjoy that party," said Jione. "Oh, I will. I've learned never to pass up free food and drink." "Well, that's not all that's in store for you. I've heard of those parties of Misha's. No matter who's in attendance, those parties are always renowned for their antics. That fox knows how to throw one hell of a bash! If you want an interesting story, ask him what happened, oh, three years ago with him and Laura Calamar and the bean dip." Raccoon's had the oddest chuckle, reflected Kwanzaa. "How about you, Jack?" she called out. The question took the mule by some surprise. "Me? Well, I have nothing special in mind. Probably go to the Mule, have an entire bowl of Jack's famous egg nog to myself." "Sounds like a good evening," commented Jione. All the animal morphs turned to look at the amazon. "It also sounds like a lot for one man, even one of your stature. Would you mind if I accompanied you?" Jack's tail swished back and forth as he pondered, his eyes roving over the fellow soldier. "'Tis the season of giving and joy. If you've no one else to spend it with, than I welcome your company." Jione just smiled and nodded in return. With the equipment stowed away, the small team bid each other farewell, departing with handshakes for their respective destinations. Unlike the others, Rickkter took his time and enjoyed the scenery as he walked along. The halls all over the keep were decked with the usual festive decorations; there were many wreaths and pine bough arrangements, which lent a wonderful scent to the air. Stepping nimbly around a ladder where a pair of servants were hanging some holly decorations, Rickkter did a quick pirouette, his hands clasped behind his back. Of course the most notable sensation as he swung around was his heavy tail. It wasn't an unpleasant effect, the tail lagging behind him like that, so when he noticed the little girl in the dress smiling up at him from the other side of the hall, he gave it a few more whirls. For the next several steps he took he and the girl spun in a quick, pseudo dance, the raccoon on one side of the hall, her mirroring his movements on the other. He was all striped tail and long coat, she was pigtails and sky blue dress. Rickkter gave the child a simple smile before continuing on his way, his stride unbroken. The thought of what other people might have thought, a warrior-mage of Rickkter's reputation acting like a child, briefly passed though his head but was just as quickly dismissed. He had enjoyed the simple sensation of doing it, and the gap-tooth smile of the young child was an additional reward. Besides, it was the festive season! It was a time for good cheer and happiness and all that. And for the first time in a god awful long time, he had reason to be really, truly, happy about this time of year. So what if it was colder than the ninth hell out there? He was in here. And he had absolutely no intention of leaving the nice warm interior of the Keep for the next several days. That was in fact why he and his team had done that last short patrol; they wanted there to be no reason for being called out last minute. Rickkter's hearing caught the howling and roar of the wind as he passed a nearby window, but that was almost immediately drowned out by a small, impromptu choir that had set up along one wall of the foyer, a half dozen keepers of various ages and manifestations of the curse lending an oddly rich depth to their mingled voices. Hither, page, and stand by me. If thou know it telling: yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling? Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain, right against the forest fence by Saint Agnes fountain. Bring me flesh, and bring me wine. Bring me pine logs hither. Thou and I will see him dine when we bear the thither. Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together through the rude wind's wild lament and the bitter weather Rickkter stopped to listen to the singing. The smile on his face slowly became larger, eventually resembling something of a snarl. On an animal morph with a muzzle such as his, a reaction like that could not be helped. Nor could the swaying of the tip of his tail in time to the music. Great maker, it was good to see some things were the same almost the world over. Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger. Fails my heart, I know not how. I can go no longer. Ark my footsteps my good page, tread thou in them boldly: Thou shalt find the winter's rage freeze thy blood less coldly. In his master's step he trod, where the snow lay dented. Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed. Therefore, true Followers, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, ye who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing. (Song: Good King Wenceslas) ** End part 3a </XMP> </HTML>