Hasil Angeline perched atop a fence post next to his plump friend, Creed. Creed was a Beaumont, of the Glenwood Beaumonts, or so he claimed. Hasil had never met Creed’s family, nor had Hasil traveled up that high in the mountains.
The two were intently focused on the empty window sill of one Miss Piper Holloway, whose livestock stalls they had spent the morning mucking out. At some point on this mild, early spring afternoon, a tin of apple cobbler would appear on that sill and provide ample payment for a sweaty, messy morning.
Hasil had lived in the small town of Temperance, Tennessee, his whole life. At least the parts he could remember. Hasil’s parents died when he was small, and he lived in the collection of buildings that served as home to the Brothers of the Holiness Redemption and Sanctuary of Divine Majesty. The Brothers, as they were known in town, had been an establishment of Temperance for a couple generations. They made their work to house and educate the orphaned and wayward children of Franklin County.
Hasil wasn’t much to look at: curly brown hair, a scrawny build and a ridged old scar that ran down the side of his left cheek. At the scrappy, robust age of 15, Hasil had a big heart, a bigger imagination and a razor focus on Miss Holloway’s window sill.
Creed Beaumont wasn’t much into food from town. Heck, he wasn’t much into anything. Creed communicated with signs and hand gestures mostly, and he had a peculiar penchant for fading into the background during any social occasion. Creed lived half a day’s walk up in the hills of the nearby plateau, which itself was part of the ancient mountains that surrounded Franklin County like a wall keeping away the rest of the civilized world. In those parts, strange stories of beasts and men trickled down on the tongues of trappers and miners. Most folks never ventured up into the hills, since more often than not, those types of adventurers never came back.
Temperance was home and the only home Hasil had ever known. It had grown up as a center of commerce. Farmers brought their cotton, corn and grain for processing at the water wheel and work huts, or hunters and trappers came down out of the mountains with furs and pelts. Quarry men mined in the deep of the mountains, looking for veins of gold and silver or salt. Temperance was a small town with one main street lined by a few buildings rising up a hollow carved by the Elk River. At the mouth of the hollow was an old hill that some folks thought was a native burial mound, but most knew it as the Hall–the town gathering space where people would buy, sell and trade goods or news. The Hall was where, every spring, the townsfolk held the May Pole Festival and, every fall, the Green Man Festival took its place.
Hasil spent his days working odd jobs around town, digging ditches, repairing fence posts, mucking out livestock and the like. These were simple skills that he picked up from simple jobs in the few years since the Brothers allowed him to mind his own business after his morning chores and studies were complete. Brother Ayden, the closest thing to a father Hasil ever knew, gave him leave and took a portion of his earnings back to the monastery, occasionally passing on a job for Hasil to take as part of his “formation.”
In the evenings, Brother Ayden and the other Brothers of the Holiness Redemption and Sanctuary of Divine Majesty would tell Hasil and the other boys stories of the old days and the people and places that came before. Stories of ghosts and gods, and death and life. Hasil’s favorite stories were about ancient civilizations that had to be more myth than reality anymore. He loved the stories, and when he retold them to Creed, he seemed to love them too. In his own odd way, never saying a word, Creed would expand on the Brother mythology with pantomimes of giants and great beasts and hunting parties of ancient days.
On this early spring day of March 1, one thousand, eight hundred thirty years after the Breaking, Hasil and Creed held down their fence post, waiting on that acclaimed apple cobbler, when a stagecoach rolled into town that was fancier than ever seen before. Pulled by a team of six white horses, the coach was made of black lacquered wood and brass fittings, looking like it should’ve been on a king’s castle rather than a small market town in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee.
“You ain’t getting into no trouble now, are you Hasil?” Came a deep voice over Hasil’s left shoulder. Quickly recovering from his surprise, Hasil looked over to see Alderman Benjin, a giant man with a long white beard covering his potbellied frame. Enormously muscled arms showed his years of work as the town blacksmith before he retired and became the mayor of Temperance. Benjin was a kind man, but stern. He remembered the old ways and the days when folks like him and his daddy and daddy’s daddy carved Temperance out of the hills of Franklin County. Hasil mostly steered clear of Alderman Benjin. He knew that rubbing the old man the wrong way sometimes ended in severe consequences.
“No, sir Alderman, sir,” Hasil replied. “I’m just waiting on Miss Piper’s apple cobbler, which she offered me as payment for hard labor today. That window right there is the key to my salvation this afternoon, and I am eagerly anticipating a quiet day fishing on Cawled Creek, munching on cobbler and doing not much enough. No trouble, sir.”
“You’re a good one, Hasil,” the older man grumbled, “You are a fine example to the other heathens rescued by the Brothers. Keep it up and you’ll have no problem making your way in life.”
Hasil wasn’t sure what to make of the Alderman’s statement. He was both pleased and concerned, not much liking the attention received from someone with so much power. Motioning to the coach just wheeled in, Hasil asked, “Who on earth could own something like that? It looks like it came from the big city over the mountain, but what could they possibly want here in Temperance?”
The Alderman looked over the boys’ heads at the extravagant coach that had just wheeled to a stop at the town center. His eyes were glazed over, and his tone of voice was distant as he spoke.
“Normally, when something like that comes into town it ain’t good for my patience or my peace of mind. We’ll see, though, who this person is and what they have to say. And if, like those other folks who come through, looking for an easy way out or looking to upset the rule of life we have here, that coach turns out to be more trouble than it’s worth? Well then, we’ll just ask it to keep on moving while we get ourselves back to work.”
The coach pulled to a stop right at the center of the Hall, scattering a dozen or so hunters and farmers. The coachman gracefully descended the brass steps and opened the door in one smooth motion. From this opulent thing that did not belong in Temperance stepped a man even more out of place. A perfectly tailored frock coat covered a gray suit and polished leather boots. Well oiled hair and a close-cropped beard finished what had to be a stage performer’s ensemble. The man rested his hands on his hips, taking in the scenery of Temperance and revealing the handle of a long knife that seemed to be gold. Or was it brass? Some kind of metal glinted in the sun.
While the newcomer slowly made eye contact with the people in the Hall, the townsfolk of Temperance, Tennessee, fell under some kind of spell, slowly advancing and encircling this wonder of a creature from a far off land. A hush fell over the crowd, and Hasil found himself following Alderman Benjin up the rise to join the throng. By the time Hasil got within ear shot, the coachman had set up a boxlike structure, and the newcomer had ascended it and held his hands out for silence. And silence is what he got. Hasil was captivated. And then this figment of imagination spoke:
“Good people of Temperance, the day of renewal and reconciliation is upon you. Lo and behold, I bring glad tidings of great joy, for today–today in the town of Temperance a dream is born. Today is the first day of many. The last day of the few, and today will be remembered as the day this town became the center of commerce, education and citizenship in the great state of Tennessee. I bring you the future! I bring you the hope of thousands of souls yearning to breathe free, and I bring you a path to glory.
Today, the first of March in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and thirty, I, Jeremiah Silas Vane, commit to you as one would to a blushing bride: my heart, my soul, my wealth and my future.”
At this, a racket arose behind Hasil, as the sound of broken crates and thumps reached his ears. He turned around to see a large, simple-looking man–easily six foot or more–depositing a portion of bread, a small sack of coins and a rock hammer into Hasil’s outstretched hands. The boy glanced around to see a half dozen other men, all equally and unnaturally tall, gifting similar packets into the hands of the townsfolk assembled that afternoon. Jeremiah Vane spoke again:
“There are places and spaces where the boundaries between this world and the beyond are thinner than most. These are the places where divinity in all its forms dwells and where the secret wisdom of the ancients guides and directs those who know how to ask. I have asked, friends. I have delved into the depths and the singular word given to me as guidance is one you all know well: Temperance. This place is magical. This town you have built sits at the crossroads of then and now and what will be, and I have come to set us all free. In your hands are my three promises to you. I will bring you wealth. I will bring you work. And I will bring you the fullness of life. Join me tomorrow morning, right in this town square, to break ground on the largest building project this side of the Great Mountains. Join me, and tomorrow we will knock on the door of the gods and demand they see us as the gifts we are. Join me, and I will make you the leaders of men.”
The crowd erupted in a cheer that shook Hasil to his core. Looking at the Alderman, Hasil was taken aback to see him cheering alongside the others and, by God, was that Brother Ayden holding a pickaxe and cheering too? Have they lost their minds? Were they bewitched by some spell? Hasil looked to Creed and for the first time in his life, he saw his friend well and truly unhinged. Creed’s mouth was agape, his eyes wide and his frame shaking. Hasil waved an arm in front of him and made eye contact. Creed made the sign to ward against evil, one to communicate his brotherly love to Hasil and a farewell. Creed disappeared into the crowd before Hasil could even reply.
Looking back to the gilded coach, he saw a towering Jeremiah Vane shaking hands and making introductions to the townsfolk. Hasil couldn’t help but wonder at the irony of the gathering dark storm clouds rising up over the Great Mountains.
He shivered in spite of himself and wondered: What had he just witnessed?
Ealdsmyth Tabletop Role Playing System 