A Tubbian Gathering

A Tubbian Gathering

Postby Treadwell » Sun Jan 15, 2017 8:10 am

Morning of Sunday the 15th sees a sunny dawn over the recently renewed Church of Tubbius in Myrkentown. Though snow still layers the grounds and ice makes the stone pathways across the yard slick, the interior of the church sanctuary is at least a little warmer than the exterior, with a sizable fire glowing in a fireplace off to one side and lamps gently lighting the room from where they hang on the side walls. However, it is not time for a sermon praising Tubbius just yet. Instead, the faithful from Myrkentown and those from the other church who were recalled to the Wood are either in the adjoining dining hall or in the kitchen just off that enormous room with its amply cushioned, wide-bottomed seats and its lovingly polished, long table. All are dressed in the robes befitting their stations in the church; most of these portly men sport velvet robes of hunter green or burgundy, being mere newcomers or recently established members of the faith. There are a couple Lord Tubbians wobbling about in their purple, busily puffing along and calling out orders to those under their care and command.

Of them all, only two are seated at the table, not taking part in the preparing or laying out of an enormous spread of food and drink. At the far end, in his purple robe, alb, and miter with the distinctively bright, white sash over his great girth, sits the Tubbius Princeps, James Wilde, a man whose life has spanned centuries at the divine blessing of the god they worship. Seated to his right in brilliant yellow robes, sash, alb, and miter: Aloisius Treadwell, the Tubbius Regalis, the head of the Church who is firmly believed to be the mortal embodiment of said god. A ceremonial staff topped with a sculpture of the Rings of Tubbius that adorn the garments of all in the room leans against his chair, taking the place, for now, of the walking cane left in his first floor office.

"Jim!" comes the merry squeak from the seated leader, "I sent word to Lady Tubbian Davors. She and, I hope, mmph mmph, at least some of her flock ought to be here soon enough."

"Good, good, my lord. It is splendid to be here again. I have missed this home. I wish to see it filled again."

"Home it is, mmph, and home it shall be!" Treadwell finds himself chortling merrily as food keeps being piled atop the table surface, being set out evenly for ease of reach. Giggles leave him flushed and rosy as he leans to his left to give a stage whisper's admission to his second-in-command. "I do think, hm hm, the cooks were quite amazed, mmph mmph, when they opened up the kitchen this morning. Tubbius saw fit to bless everything in there in the night, hee hee. There is more than enough for all of us, mmph, and leftovers for some snacks later!"

The Tubbius Princeps gives a soft smile, although he has known his superior long enough to notice the searching, squinting study of the far doors, those piggish little eyes straining to watch, as if by their straining they can force the missing supplicants to come any faster. He reaches over to pat Treadwell's hand, gently jolting him back to more immediate surroundings.

"Lady Tubbian Davors and her flock will be here soon enough, I should hope. If they do not arrive in time for the meal, my lord, they should be here for the sermon after it. . . although," he offers the sunny-garbed elder a wink, "a sermon is far less fun than a fine feast and a good nap!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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