Funny thing, though. As he walked into the room, the main room probably reserved for worshippers, his eyes focused. Having been in the dark for a good few minutes (ask Gabby, it�s been most of my life, he grumbled inside his head), they got used to the dim atmosphere and the room sharpened. And then, a little something else. As he moved through the chamber, he noticed that� it was fake. Not the room itself, though. The lack of biting night air told him that much. But the cobwebs, the plants, the cracked and disheveled stonework� he reached a hand out to one of the walls and instead of crumbling brick, he found his touch gliding smoothly over cool, unbroken stone.
In fact, once he was a good twenty steps inside, he found a whole other room existing behind the charade. Rich if simple tapestries and some very deadly and obviously well-cared-for weapons hung on the walls - some of the axes and swords looked foreign and he couldn�t help running a finger over the hilt of one, fine-grain leather greeting him in touch and tang. the shoddy, decrepit altar was a complete illusion. In its place, a small, round table with two chairs pushed up to it. A pile of scrolls was perched precariously on the table for two, though they didn�t seem to be in danger of falling. Joxer gave it wide berth just in case. No sense in asking to be blasted to oblivion.
Behind the table, where a blank, moss-encrusted wall had been before was an archway. Gabrielle�s voice scolding him about what curiosity did for cats echoed around inside his head as he stepped past the table with incredible care. It occurred to him that this was someone�s private hideout, sanctuary from whatever it was that plagued them, and him snooping around wouldn�t be much appreciated. But he really was only looking for shelter for tonight - the next village was less than a day�s walk away, but he hadn�t wanted to chance heading there in the dark. And he had been considering straightening the place up a hair, too. Not that it really actually needed it, anyway.
"Hello? Anyone home?" Joxer called through the archway, his greeting bouncing off the walls of the room beyond it. If the other room�s true self had been hidden from outside viewing, the inner room obviously hadn�t needed it. Beyond the cupola lay a simple but roomy bed chamber, with the necessary fixtures. Bed. Armoire. Comfy looking chair. Plush black rug on the floor. Sealing his fate for several centuries, Joxer stepped inside the bedroom to snoop. Had he just retreated, maybe set up camp in the first room, things might have been different. But onward and inward he crept, careful not to disturb anything important.
That this was a godly temple was obvious. Any fear he had about invaders or other pantheons fled as he strolled around. The place had a familiar warmth to it, even without a hearth fire or torchlight, almost as if it was meant to be inviting and comforting. He guessed gods needed a little of that, too, sometimes. And then there were the pictures on the walls. The first room, the main room, had been as close to official-feeling as a room like that would probably ever get. It had the tapestries and weaponry and an air of �business� to it. In here, Joxer swore he smelled cookies. Sugar cookies. And the walls held a never-ending collection of portraits and letters and scribbled drawings. Shyly, Joxer avoided the letters, knowing that knowing too much was a sure way to get smote in these parts. The portraits didn�t involve any prying, though. Plain as day: Ares. Aphrodite. Discord. More than a couple of Cupid. A whole slew of a little winged boy who had to be Bliss, though he looked older than Joxer remembered the little tike. A big portrait of a lot of young men and women who bore similar features, including Cupid and Strife. One of Hades and Hephaestos fishing, of all things. A couple of a goddess he didn�t know for sure, but she had that older, grandmother aura and for some reason, looking at it instantly calmed Joxer down.
"Well," he sighed, almost relieved. "At least it�s one of ours." The fleeting parade of which one of them it could be sent a shiver up his spine. Glossy black stone and sharp-edged weapons didn�t exactly trumpet �House of Intellect.� It spoke of pain and torture and long, rainy marches across the Grecian landscape. These were things he decided he�d like to avoid as much as possible. And so, he did what came natural in the temple of a god you don�t want on your bad side.
The rug was soft under his knees, which he was grateful for immediately. As pretty as the shiny black stone was, it wouldn�t be so forgiving on the penitent. He only hoped the owner would be more rug than stone floor.
"Umm� hi. It�s me, Joxer. I don�t know if you know me or not, since I have no idea whose place this is, but I�m hoping you�re not too mad for me being in here in the middle of the night. It�s just� kinda cold outside and the moon just disappeared and I know if I keep on going, I�m gonna end up in a briar patch with a branch up my butt or something, not that that�sanything new. I�d just rather not sleep in a bush full of thorns all night. I just want you to know that I�m not here to defile the place or anything, I�m trying not to mess anything up� hey, that�s a neat trick, by the way, how the place looks all nasty and messed up at first and then when you walk in, it�s really all cool and neatened up and kinda friendly. Anyway, I�m probably gonna sleep here tonight, if that�s not against the rules or anything. If it is, I�m sure I�ll be seeing you here before morning and you�ll blast me into dust. So�"
Joxer drew himself up straight in his kneeling position, hoping it looked a little more official. "Thank you, oh mighty god of this temple for allowing me shelter on this night. May the morrow come soon that I might repay you for this kindness. Sound be your sleep and free from troubles be all your days. In your service, I remain Joxer." He almost added �the Mighty� to his prayer, but whoever the patron or matron of this temple might be would probably see right through that. Besides, he wasn�t feeling quite so mighty tonight anyway. And it might not have been your regulation-type prayer, but he didn�t want to go blathering through it and ruin the offering�
His eyes snapped wide open. Offering! That nervous nausea was back. He had nothing on him that would be a proper offering to a god. A quick patdown of himself made it worse. He had nothing save the essentials. Ohhhhh, crap. Working quickly, he emptied his pockets and aside from lint and the odd burr that had found its way inside, the only thing he had was the brown-cloth package that held breakfast for tomorrow. As much as he would have liked those big, fluffy biscuits first thing in the morning, he much preferred living instead.
Somehow, he found his feet and quick-stepped it back to the other room. Hoping that fruit and biscuits were enough, he laid the package on the table as gently as he could before mumbling a rote prayer of offering and then darting back into the bedroom.
Since he hadn�t been fried on the spot, he was encouraged. Quickly, he stripped off his jangling, mismatched armor and piled it neatly in an empty corner. The bed called to him, he could almost hear it, but that old friend common sense piped up and convinced him otherwise. That chair didn�t look too bad, though. It was all fluffy looking, cushioned all over and deep seated. A quick prod told him that it would do just fine. As a final politeness, he took off his traveling boots. No sense in dirtying up the place you were going to sleep. And they never really fit him right anyway�
Maybe it was the chair. In a temple, maybe it was one of those god-touched things that had a purpose. Maybe it was the cozy atmosphere or the heady scent in the air or the fact that Joxer was just bone-tired. Whatever it was, it worked. A large yawn rippled through the would-be warrior and before it was finished, his eyes were closed and the last thought on his mind became the dream for the night. Oh, to have a good pair of boots�
Asleep, Joxer never saw the muted blue-black sparkle or the god that emerged from it. And maybe that was all for the best anyway.
"Ahhh, shit." A cool, pale hand ran through the mortal�s already tousled hair, petting him affectionately. Joxer murmured and shifted in his chair-bound sleep. The voice above the sleeping man was sad, resigned to fate. "My ass is grass."
Part 1 - In From The Cold
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