Dark Oak

“My master begs your forgiveness for not being in attendance, noble priests. Pressing matters at our monastery has called on the attention of Master Leon or any other master aware of our diplomacy that might be able to meet. ” A young monk, perhaps in his early twenties, clad in the garbs of a learner of Peace and Harmony stood silhouetted by a massive oak. Adrenaline shivered through the young monk as he glanced from side to side at nearly two dozen black hooded figures that appeared as dark specters during the mid-night hour. Tense anger could be felt flowing from these personages, as if they were radiating an invisible heat from off their bodies.

The old oak had been a secret meeting place among the order of madness and the order of harmony since the formation of the two varying cults. Many fantastic overthrows and wars had been planned in this grove clearing. The end of many countries had been concluded at the commencements of these meetings. Having no master in attendance from one or the other side was considered a terrible insult to the host of these meetings. And having a young learner sent as almost an afterthought was unthinkable. One might as well send a baby to debate among prestigious scholars.

An elderly hooded priest stepped into the center of the clearing and walked toward the young monk. “What could be so pressing that a Master of Peace and Harmony would think to miss a gathering with this counsel?”

“My master bade me not to tell of our dilemma.” The monk gulped. The elderly priest drew a jagged sword from under his cloak and grasped the collar of the young man with surprising strength. The monk panicked. “Please, our monastery… a small army, sent from King Bartholomew himself, is headed to destroy it. All the masters were needed to aid in our defense. I pray, do not shed my blood on this sacred place.”

A cackle rose from under the shadow of the old man’s cloak. The priest pulled back his hood with a loose finger on his sword hand. Moonlight illuminated a torn and scarred face. White strings of hair were all that remained on his scalp. His lips drooped low on the right side of his mouth. Broken teeth littered his smile as he continued to cackle. The old priest shook the terrified monk. “Now you can see what happens when things are left up to the protection of little harmonious boys.” The priest held the monk closer to his face, causing dirty spit to fly into the young man’s face. “I have a special assignment for you monk. Take this special cargo to the one called William among you, as a token of our goodwill. Have it noted that the next time your masters miss a meeting we won’t be sending a gift.”

A hooded priest and priestess came into the clearing holding a young woman with a sackcloth bag over her head. They pulled back the bag to reveal a very disgruntled Cordell. They threw her at the feet of the elderly priest. He loosened his grip on the young monk and retired into the group of priests in the woods.
(Lets all just get along)