"Eulogy for the High Temple"
by Praise

The spot in front of the bank in Crossings draws two kinds of citizenry, those who rush through intent upon their business, and the dalliers, ruffians, sellers and sightseers. As I stood preaching, the usual snide comments and whispered support did not distract me. My calling is to Hodierna, not the mercenaries of Elanthia.

I had just begun my favorite topic on the lack of respect shown to the Temple ruins when two young adventurers inquired, "Why do you worry over the temple? It is nothing but a pile of rubble, not a fit place to worship, your cleric guild has a much finer altar." I answered that the High Temple was the visible sign of devotion to the Gods in Zoluren, if not all Elanthia. Promptly they replied, "Not in my lifetime, it has always been a pile of rubble." I was shocked, speechless, and then I realized that much of Crossings's population had no idea of the glory the temple had once been, nor its draw and vibrant life within. I offered to show them and explain what was no longer. They acquiesced, dutifully following this prattling cleric around the few remaining rooms of the ruin as she tried to recreate its glory in thin air with pointing and words.

I began reciting from my memory. "This approach to the main temple showed the exquisite but simple architecture of this massive building. Built almost entirely of a pearlescent marble, it gleamed and shimmered in an array of pleasing and relaxing colors. The forecourt itself was set with a mosaic of tiny colored tiles forming a powerful scene. Central to the courtyard was a small fountain for ritual ablutions." I described Hodierna's shrine as it was after the bony fylgja began their wholesale destruction of the holy places in Elanthia. "This outdoor chapel was dedicated then as now to Hodierna in her aspects of Morning and Light. A simple alcove set into the Temple wall held a fresco in colors once radiant but now smeared and defaced. A small altar rested beneath the image for offerings. The stream from the fountain washed the Goddess' feet as it vanished beneath the wall."

At the foot of the stairs I was struck with the enormity of the task I had set for myself. These young people, willing as they were, were no different than a blind person. How could I create an entire High Temple and its meaning when there was naught to base the vision on? It became very difficult for me to continue at the foot of the stairs; so much was lost forever. I had only a tent and a fragment to use for reference.

I described the climb up the main steps and the majestic doors that opened into the high altar chamber, with its many alcoves dedicated to various professions and one for remembering those who were no longer with us. The passage of time has changed many things since those days, so I explained that when we died, there were no glyphs or graves, and we would return upon that altar exhausted and to weary to climb down that high staircase. We would sit as our bodies regained the necessary vitality, grateful if a kind cleric healed our spirits while friends at our death site tried to salvage our meager possessions from graverobbers. Many inhabitants of Crossing would gather in this room to prepare and place their orbs, teaching each other, practicing the needed skills, discussing the latest news, and sometimes escorting the weak down the stairs. Friendships and deeper relationships had their seeds sown in the sight of the Gods.

On the east side of the doors was a wedding chapel with a spinning crystal ball and podium for the cleric, as well as separate rooms for the bride and groom to prepare. I spoke of Sunrise Terrace to the east where the cleric guild held their first full meeting, and where they bid farewell to the first cleric to have been granted the Gift of Life by the gods. The west led to another Terrace, this in the shadow of the temple spire where many went for quiet contemplation.

Up a thin flight, the belfry had a view that stole the breath from many a locksmith, distracting them sufficiently to cause them to slip and blow their quarry. They would depart amidst their tools and were the ones racing up instead of down the stairs upon regaining life.

I fell silent, memories washing over me, so much unsaid. Politely they thanked me for the history and assured me that if there were ever a temple again, they would be sure to take a tour.

Pleased to have been able to share with these two, I retired to Hodierna's chapel with my memories. As I knelt before the altar, the withered wreath placed there long ago seared my heart with shame. No amount of effort had enabled me to get the Town Council to replace it or to let us refresh its withered stalks. I realized there was good reason none came here but to seek to place the orbs and flee their recent deaths.

artwork by Psychi

Days passed, yet the memory of that revelation haunted me. Each night as I lay upon my bed in the cloisters, visions of the former glory of the temple came to me. I traveled, but each night the visions haunted my sleep. There was no respite. Upon my return to Crossings, I was honored to be asked to speak at a prayer vigil in the Temple. Long I pondered over what I could say, and then I realized it was time to share my dreams and visions with those who came. From my heart, out of my memories, thru my tears, came this eulogy. Good citizens, let our collective memory mark the passing of this monument.