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Centuries ago, in the town of Calixium, plans were written to begin the construction of a temple dedicated to countless gods, all venerated beneath and with the sky and heavens. Like many other holy sites like it, it suffered several setbacks in its development throughout the decades, largely due to the loss of funding by nations long past. The clans of holy practitioners stayed in this town and, whether ruled by one king or another, persisted in their entreaties to continue funding for its completion. When donations and legitimate funds failed or were unavailable, these clans took to growing fruits in the foothills and selling them, as well as derivatives thereof. Eventually, Calixium became a place of picturesque natural farmlands and was known for producing the best wines and meads in the realm. When the land around them was consolidated into the kingdom of Ruis, they once again plead to the king for funding, and received it.

Now, the once humble town of Calixium flourishes with trade of produce (such as those berries and grapes aforementioned), meats (veal, venison, beef, chicken, and pork, to name a few), hemp, flax, wool, cheeses, flowers and maple- and cypress-woods. The clans persevered, and the temple stands at the center of the town at a state very near to completion. Sermons are regularly held there, and only some finer work on behalf of the ever-transient masons is required for the building to be finished. Since other laborers had moved on after completing some seasonal work, the shaman-clans overseeing the project once again started to hire new hands to shape multiple statues and architectural pieces yet left undefined.

Spring had come into full bloom by the time the humble mason Amaury stepped foot in the town; seeking coin for his unacceptably light purse, he was eager to sign up and started work almost immediately. The sad state of his purse made staying a long while at even the cheapest of local inns relatively infeasible, but the frequent rains that dampened this flourishing Ruisian territory made camping outside in his tent a similarly unappealing prospect. Instead of constructing something more-- and consequently drawing the ire of the townsfolk-- he opted for a more subtle solution, promising to work long hours in the temple's central hall, and using the very scaffolding allowing him to place stone in the higher places in that hall, hiding atop one of many rows of carefully chipped stonework there to sleep where it was dry. As promised, the mason worked for long hours, and when the townsfolk and spiritualists took to other matters he climbed those scaffolds to find his bedroll, neatly arranged, so that he may rest there each night.

The townsfolk and clansmen were very trusting, so this plan worked perfectly. Although the number of scaffolds and ladders decreased as more was completed, it was all too easy for the mason to find footholds in the stone, working his way about the upper levels in increasingly complex ways to reach his secret bed. Throughout this time, stretching on into the better part of three months, Amaury felt ever more comfortable doing so, and would sometimes even sneak there during the day to take (relatively) small breaks. After a particularly hot day in the main hall (while outside the sun was mild, the stained glass of the chambers intensified the heat the mason had to work in), he felt comfortable enough in his solitude to go to bed early, tearing off a stiflingly sweaty tunic and shirt to cool off. Relieved that the sun had set, and with his hat resting over his eyes, he almost didn't notice two men shuffling in to the hall below until they started to talk.

"...Colm. I understand clan Ciar feels underrepresented by our families' shared labors, but we've already made several concessions in the temple; the other clans are not going to approve another one."

"This isn't a small detail the other clans overlooked, Manach. We're talking about the centerpiece of our family's altar! Every other family's patron spirits have been respected with their own places; why is it that they balk when my family brings up his inclusion when we've been discussing it from the start?"

"You know why. The people of Calixium would riot."

"The actions of our patron took place hundreds of years ago, Manach. And I thought we agreed that the family's legacy would not be reduced to focus on one misbegotten act!"

"Colm, its not a misbegotten act! It was treason. And since then, the relationship between the clans might've improved, but the people still remember the second Highland War. The lords of the realm have been arming themselves for months; if we erected that statue, it would bring the worst part of court on top of us. Trust me, they would hear about it, and they want blood."

"Wasn't it your clan that claims it isn't treason to love?"

"It is. But what happened back then can't be explained by love, friend. Please, for the sake of our home's peace, just let it go."

Amaury tried to ignore the voices, but the tension between them just kept increasing. Despite his better intentions (and judgement), he found himself listening to them. Who were they talking about? Their dialect was familiar enough to understand, but still bore some differences from his, and so the mason found it a bit difficult to keep up. Still, the clansmen kept going.

"Manach."

"Yes?"

"The other clans cannot revoke their promises, not after so many years together. You know our patrons will hear about this. The peace you're hoping to protect isn't guaranteed either way."

"Please, Colm. The conflict the elders may have from this pales in comparison to the ire of the Ruisian lords. You've never been to court, you don't understand just how much like wolves they are. Once they get the scent of blood, they will never leave us alone. At least our elders can talk about this. We need to consider the realm as well as the spirits these days, though I'm loathe to say it. Our sanctuary only stays that way so long as we protect it. This is how we protect it."

Amaury peered surreptitiously over the ledge after setting his hat aside. The two men stood near the central altar of the temple, their figures diminutive before a vibrant fresco of the midday sky overlooking a mighty mountain's peak. One wore a robe of many colors; a deep purple primarily, but subtly decorated by silvery threads arranged into religious symbols the mason had seen throughout the temple. The other, a taller man with straight, black hair, wore robes of emerald green which were similarly adorned. The main difference between the two was the cloak the taller man wore, dark and yet reflective, as if made of velvet. The purple-robed man was probably Manach, the mason supposed, while the other had to be Colm. His suspicions were soon confirmed as they continued speaking.

Manach frowned up at Colm, while the latter shook his head slowly. Colm replied simply, "My duty is to my family, Manach. You leave me no choice but to warn them."

"Do you really want to do that before the masonwork's done? We can amend this, Colm!"

"You're asking me to keep secrets from my closest kin! What did you think I was going to say? I have a duty to tell them, just as you would have if I told you that we were going to leave out your patron's sign! Stop talking to me as if I'm the one who started this!"

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you to hold your tongue on this matter?" The shorter man pleaded.

"No. This isn't a matter of money or politics, Manach. You've spent too long in the capital, but even you should know that. We're not like them. We honor the spirits, including those of our ancestors. Every one of them."

The shorter man bowed his head in apparent resignation. Colm stood his ground, folding his arms and looking down upon his fellow countryman. It seemed that the matter was settled. Perhaps they'd finally go away and let Amaury relax? He hoped so.

Then, Manach lifted his right hand, palm open, as if to signify the end of the debate. His companion's shoulders relaxed; he seemed to think so, too. But then, the shorter man's hand closed into a fist. This bizarre gesture was soon followed by something falling upon Colm from behind with blinding speed. The shorter man barely flinched as blood stained his robes; although the wound's location was not obvious from afar, the taller man's graceless collapse was sign enough that it was fatal. Manach's expression hardened, and he looked up, seemingly towards Amaury.

The mason ducked quickly back into his hiding spot, fearing himself discovered. His mind spun with questions; how did such a mild debate become such a bloody event? Who killed Colm? The Ruis-man, Manach, didn't seem to do it himself; somebody else had to be there. Right? Amaury froze upon his bedroll in utter horror. Whoever had killed the man may have been right around the corner. His eyes darted to and fro, seeking answers in the shadows of the columns. Nothing yet yielded itself, but once again voices sounded in the hall.

"You're getting sloppy." Manach said, looking apathetically at his fallen countryman.

A new voice replied. "I told you to not to take him so close to the fresco."

"Yes, well, I expected you not to get blood on my robes." The robed man quipped.

"Should've mentioned it in the contract." The stranger said, cooly. "Payment."

Manach scoffed, but a familiar jingle let the mason know that he ultimately provided the payment this stranger asked for. Perhaps they hadn't noticed him after all? The stranger grunted upon receiving his coin, and all went quiet. The mason dared not peek for at least another hour; he dared not move at all.

Somewhere else in the temple, a door closed, its sound echoing throughout the chamber. Hours passed before Amaury was certain that they were gone. Even then, he hardly believed that he had witnessed what he did. The scene of the murder played over and over again in the mason's mind, dashing his hopes of sleep. Some time between the attack and then, rain started to pour outside. Like it or not, he would need to stay in the building for the rest of the night.

Amaury was not a warrior in any way, but among other incidents, this one made him wonder whether or not getting some training would be worthwhile. Then again, what sort of self-defense could save someone from an attack they don't even see coming? He felt very vulnerable then, finding no comfort in his bedroll.