59th of Spring 5860

  The Beige Temple, Hallow Duchy of Ancoire

  A grand procession enters the grand grounds of The Beige Temple. A dozen men, the newly-ransomed and freed High Priest Carl in the middle of them followed up by Former-Mayor Gabriel of Bolipoli.

  A procession of doomed men.

  “Do you think sir, that we will receive amnesty?” idly wondered Carl. He paused to greet the pair of griffon statues at the beginning of the road to the Beige Temple.

  “You, are getting demoted. I, most likely exiled, since I have nothing left to be demoted to” replied Carl’s newfound companion in misery, Gabriel. He stopped to greet the griffon statues too, the protectors of this hallow space. Then there was another pair of statues. A pause, to greet. Then another, and another, and another… it took five minutes to arrive at the end of a road which should take a minute at most.

  Then a pair of statues, facing each other from across the road. A man, and a woman, most likely. Truth be told, nobody knew what these were anymore, for they were from the Empire of yore. A man, with a buttoned-up gambeson and a very simple helmet, staring across at a woman who had her face covered with her hand. Was she mourning? Embarrassed? Yawning? Who were they and why? Time immemorial had weathered them, made them indistinguishable, an enigma. Their style was cubic and simple, a hallmark of Ancient Gemeinplatzish art. Carved of travertine rock, perhaps from Gemeinplatz, perhaps imported, perhaps fallen from the Heavens as some believed.

  Pushing forth, the procession found themselves in the main square of the temple complex. Men pushing back and forth, from building to building, tending to the administrative needs of the Temple of the Divine. A man running with a stack of paper there, his assistant running behind him with a pen here, a third clumsy man about to bump into both over yonder, so on and so forth. Pontifical guards stand on their podiums, completely still, not much on guard. It’s the Beige Temple. No fool would start anything here, so, there’s nothing to be on guard for. Their multicolored feathers and gold-encrusted plate armor are there to serve as living statues. From down below they have a view of the city. A city rather than the lame towns common in this remote part of Gemeinplatz, the grand city of Ancoire. Three hundred thousand people, three hundred thousand if one could believe it! For the peasants down in Bolipoli and such, this was simply impossible to imagine.

  For Carl and Gabriel, it was a standard Ninthday. It remained impressive nonetheless. A brief moment of refuge, to stare at the countless buildings and smoking chimneys, to get lost among the ocean of little ants scurrying down there.

  The respite however, was brief. They had business to do, or more accurately, business to be done to them. They turned around, to begin ascending the stairs to the room of the Head Priest. Next to the stairs, reliefs. Walls filled to the brim with them. Men, women, horses, men on horses, horses on men, rushing forward, a sword, then on the other side people sitting, seemingly talking to each other… In the same cubic, abstract style as the statues in the front. One couldn’t really tell whether it depicted the events of several hundred, maybe even thousands, of years ago. It could have happened a few days ago for all they could tell from these abstract, weathered figures. So long ago had the ancients fought as they did, for reasons that now felt as vague as these reliefs did.

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  A few more steps up, and now they were in front of the Beige Temple that gave the whole complex its name. Walls made of beige stone, not colored in any way, looking hallow in its monotone purity. Square columns, a rectangular building several people tall, that looked imposing in how monotone and rigid it looks. On the wall behind the columns, writing, carved from the top to the bottom of the wall. Written in what the otherworlders call “Latin script”, in a language that none in Gemeinplatz can read anymore.

  The procession surrendered their weapons to the guards in front of the door, and made their entry into the Temple. A clank, a wheeze, and the door was open for them. For their entry, to the most hallow office in Gemeinplatz.

  Silence.

  The head priest was there, on his throne, seated. Purple and white robes, a white beard that flowed down even further than the robes… The procession obediently and slowly walked. Dragged their feet even, slow as they can to show the proper reverence. They stopped right in front of the head priest’s throne, still silent, all taking off their hats and helmets to prostrate before him. For another minute the silence remained, then another minute, then a third, all still prostrating in the meanwhile. Not a subtle whine, or wince, dare come from these men.

  “You may get up.”

  They all got up, almost in unison with how expectant all of them had become to just straighten their backs. Perhaps a bit too eagerly but… the head priest seemed to not care too much about that, gracious as he was. Still, he gave them another minute of silence for their offense. All the man uncomfortably shifted around the place, trying not to make it too obvious that they’d really like it if the silence could be broken right about now.

  “Patience. The Divine commandeth patience.”

  Another minute. They’re being taught a lesson in etiquette.

  “You may speak.”

  The procession looked at each other. What were they supposed to say? Did the head priest not know? They awkwardly shifted around, before Carl was silently and wordlessly elected amongst them to speak. He took a tiny step forward.

  “Your Upmost Eminence, we have come to you after the… unfortunate events in Karabush. We humbly surrender ourselves to you, Your Upmost Eminence, and beg for your mercy.” With that, they prostrated again. Another minute.

  “You may get up. I shall consult the texts, to think of a suitable punishment for you. For now, you are dismissed.”

  With that, the procession looked taken aback… before they all bowed down, and even prostrated, begging for mercy, again and again and… “You are dismissed! Guards! You too. I need a moment.”

  Thus, they were dismissed, and so were the guards. The head priest was all of a sudden alone, in his solemn hall. He looked up at the ceiling, the countless tiles and patterns dancing around there… then he heaved a deep sigh. “What are they thinking, ‘have mercy, have mercy’, like dogs… Their families would burn down the whole Temple if I even so much as demoted them.”

  Head Priest Castellan grumbled, and shook his head, again and again. No, it was too much trouble. He had spent countless years lobbying, courting, shaking hands… Being the highest spiritual authority in Gemeinplatz meant noting when the temporal authority wanted your head for touching their precious seventh sons or whatever.

  “Three days… that should be good enough.” Castellan would summon them up in three days, make a speech about Divine mercy, and let them go. Three days to keep a veneer of fairness, as if he had deliberated longer than few minutes.

  Now that judgement was done… “…how do we deal with these fugitives?”

  That was the million libra question on his, and everyone else’s, mind.