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Evensong in St. Olivia's temple
The Chapel in the centre of Avendel due to the time of year, and the wish to lift spirits during times so grim for the city, has announced a period of evening choral sermons, donations helping to replenish the coffers and heavily used temple supplies of late.
A small choir has been assembled, mostly a handful of priests and acolytes, and a handful of local children with adequate voices for such, to sing the songs and sermons of praise to the nightly congregations, and though unspectacular, they sing well enough, and along with the organ, please most who listen. The start of the first few modestly attended concerts are greeted with mute murmurs as the sermon's begin.
Yet this doesn't last, soon the congregations fall to such a silence that a pin can be heard to drop, as a small, angelic faced boy hidden in the front row of the choir, begins in solo:
"Once in royal David’s city
stood a lowly cattle shed
where a mother laid her baby
in a manger for his bed
Mary was that Mother mild
Jesus Christ her little child
He came down to earth from heaven
who is God and Lord of all
and his shelter was a stable
and his cradle was a stall
with the poor and mean and lowly
lived on earth our Saviour holy
And our eyes at last shall see him
through his own redeeming love
for that child so dear and gentle
is our Lord in heaven above
and he leads his children on
to the place where he is gone
Not in that poor lowly stable
with the oxen standing by
we shall see him but in heaven,
set at God’s right hand on high
where like stars his children crowned
all in white shall wait around"
Though his voice is not loud, in such a chapel, it is easily heard over the choir even when they join, the highest notes as clear as the finest bell reverberating in the high vaulted roof, the tone as angelic as any that has been heard on the isle in years. After but a few days, from sheer word of mouth the evensong concerts begin to fill up quickly, packing out the temple, even many of the cities nobles attend, amongst the masses of common folk who are largely relegated fill out the middle and rear of the church, such that half way through the series, it might be described as a "sellout".
The talk on the street outside is of that angelic choirboy, "but a waif from the streets" some say, "an urchin from bodkin" say others. The nobles at the front go further to mention the boys parentage and future "ah he is an orphan" hark some,
"he is looked after by a huntress" correct others
"ah what a shame, such a delicate boy as that cannot be suited to a simple life. what is he? not more than ten? surely".
"Nay, the boy's name is Prosper, he must be as much as thirteen now, he's often in the square".
"As old as that? poor child, he will have nothing once his voice changes, even as small as he is, it can't be so very long."
"Indeed, the poor thing shall lose what makes him unique, and with it his chance for the life that he is suited to".
"One hopes then that his carers and sponsors won't allow it".
"perhaps so, either way, I shall see you here tomorrow eve again? such a rare thing in Avendel is it not"
The next days evensong is yet more fully packed as those before, and the donations to the church roll in.
// forgive the Christmas song, but I simply couldn't resist!
Last edited by ProsperS, 12/26/2013, 9:27 pm
12/26/2013, 8:40 pm
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