Nighttime has fallen on over the village of Brising, as many of the people settle themselves in for the night. The Hog's Ride Inn still hosts its patrons, but slowly they bleed out in ones and twos. Most hard for one. One, a gray-robed man, mounts a chocobo tied outside and sets off to Port Rosalia, some days to the South. Other pats of the town are dead quite. Otto's Smithy is quiet, though the forge fire still burns to heat the simple home attached to it. Reinhart General store is closed and locked securely; a dozing hound rests there to make certain any thieves will feel most unwelcome.
The village nestles itself into sleep, but not everyone within it is ready to give in just yet. Some of the villages walk northward, following a road toward the foothills. They pass the homes of herders along the way, small cottages amidst vast fields of fenced-off land. A couple of those herders walk along that road as well. The hills quickly become more pronounced, as the mountains grow closer. A light forest begins to dot the rises, the trees bare in the winter cold.
Perhaps three miles from Brising, a soaring tower peeks over the treetops. Soon, the travellers, coming in their pairs and groups, can see the steeples and buttresses supporting the tower. Then finally, the walls and gates come into view, as the front doors of Orbonne Cathedral stand open.
Unlike the town that was left behind, the Cathedral is hardly ready to retire to bed. Rather, it seems that some of its inhabitants are just beginning to awaken. A walled courtyard stands around the main chapel; an experienced eye could see that the walls and outbuildings predate the cathedral by some centuried. Get the entire structure speaks of age and endurance. The foundations have laid since the early days of Baron, while some of the fieldstones making up the buttresses are traditionally said to outdate the modern calander. Whether or not this was true is sometimes debated by the priests who make their home here.
It is rare that outsiders come to Orbonne Cathedral. Though it rivals a small castle in size, it is rare that the cathedral is ever full to capacity in the present day. Gone are the days when Orbonne was full of scholars and priests; no longer is it known throughout the world word as a place of learning and faith. But to the ones who dwell there now, and to those coming to visit, the cathedral's history means little.
Through the front doors, they come to a old chapel. A kindly old priest in gray robes directs visitors though the back doors to the courtyard. Unlike the cathedral outside, this chapel is a small and humble thing. Few windows peirce its walls, and fewer decorations are to be found. Upon the ceiling, perhaps twelve feet overhead, there is an ancient fresco painting of the night sky, dating back to the earliest days when Orbonne was still a humble monastary. Recently restored, some keen and knowledgible eyes may note a few tiny inaccuracies of position in that map and the clear night sky above them.
As visitors are led to the courtyard by the priest, they see the reason they have come. Nearly three dozen gray-robed priets and white-robed Acolytes mill about, some setting up telescopes, others laying out blankets. They talk and laugh lightly among themselves, mixing freely with the people who have come. Some of the priests have picnic baskets with them, while others carry smaller refreshments. Those with the attentive ears catch bits and pieces of conversation as they go through the crowd.
"I still can't believe it's passing close enough to Gaera to be seen!"
"If Gisham's Comet really is green, I owe you a day's cleaning duty."
"When was the last time it was visible to the naked eye? 1192?"
"Has anyone seen my cheese biscuits? I swear, if you ate them, Chaunce..."
"Haven't seen a good comet in three years from here. The Argovians get all the luck."
Though it is a bit cold out; though overall a warm night for winter; there are no lights or fires to be seen in the courtyard, nor any in the higher regions of the Cathedral. Rather, the waxing moon provides enough to see. Reading is a bit difficult, though a few scattered priests try to squint at the words of their books and star charts. As the visitors come, they are welcomed with some food and drink; typically a sandwich or a muffin, though one priest freely shares from a few bottles of wine he has brought. Overall, it seems that if there is any real religious significance to the event, it is well hidden under a veil of openness and and relaxation.
(Intro characters as necessary, as either residents or visitors.I'll try to get a map of the cathedral up soon. And as always, IM me with questions.)