Reign of Winter: The Snows of Summer

[PotatoGolem]

Majid awoke before the dawn, as was his custom. He stood outside in a simple robe in the pre-dawn, enjoying the cold air on his face. Not for the first time, he thanked Sarenrae for the blood of genies in his veins- what was scorching heat or numbing cold to lesser men was but gentle warmth or a cool breeze to a suli-jann. He cracked the ice that had formed on the water barrel to wash and prepare himself for prayer, neatly trimming his beard and nails. He dons robe of red and gold and headed to the temple. He'd been leading dawn prayers to Sarenrae for the past few days, and the night before had convinced a small crowd of villagers to join in in beseeching the Dawnflower to warm the town and free it from the unseasonal chill.

Majid leads the prayers, his musical Qadiran accent and resonant baritone sounding clearly above the voices of the faithful. He cuts an imposing figure, tall and heavily-muscled, like a statue of a man cast in dark bronze. His dark curls and small beard are perfectly trimmed, though a phantom breeze always seems to blow through his hair. His eyes shine like emeralds hewn from the deepest delves on the earth. He smiles as the sun rises, feeling the warmth of his goddess' power on his face as the prayers come to their conclusion. Sarenrae, we thank you for the day. Dawnflower, we give praise for the ending of the night. Light of Truth, help us to cast out the shadow. Flame of Goodness, burn away evil. Dawn of Hope, bless us in Your abundant love this day. He stays for some time thereafter, blessing the faithful in the name of Sarenrae. As the crowd thins out, he goes to find the priest.

He bows slightly, the gesture encompassing both the priest and the altar of Erastil. Many thanks to you, Father Safander and Lord Erastil both, for opening your doors to the faithful of Sarenrae. I appreciate the accommodation. Where the good stand shoulder to shoulder, evil can find no purchase.