Unspecified Year, 15th Century
At the North Side of Caslette, within the Church of Adtoris
Beneath the sacred arches, devout maidens and servant men knelt in fervent prayer before the priest, pleading for the heavens to grant them enduring life.
Among them stood a maiden with hair the golden hue of champak blossoms, wrapped in brown attire lightly dusted with flakes of snow. Her countenance possessed a rare beauty—like a lotus in full bloom emerging from the depths of the mire; though appearing soiled to a casual glance, she remained a pure virgin now drawing near her thirtieth year. Rising from her pew, she approached the priest with sorrowful, weary eyes. Observing her plight, the highborn, shoulder-length white-haired clergyman offered a comforting smile to dispel her heavy grief, deploying his eloquent wisdom to revive the spirit of his faithful follower.
"Mary, my child, thy soul is purer than all else. Let no dark shadow cloud thy heart. Tell Father, what sorrow weighs so heavily upon thee?"
"Father… why dost thou expect me to stumble forward thus? The exhaustion I have borne for so long has grown far too heavy to carry."
"Mary Baritha Hennes, the weaving of fate rests solely in the hands of the Almighty. Keep thy faith in Him, and He shall grant thee foresight to witness tomorrow's harvest. He stands ever ready to bestow new paths upon us. Thus, thou must remain strong, enduring the bitter winds and the coming storm. When the final tempest at last arrives, it shall carry us forth unto a new land, where our children's children may run free and their joyful song shall resound in abundance."
"I hold true faith in Him, and pray to remain in His holy service unto eternity," Marilyn replied with devotion, lifting her gaze to meet the priest's eyes.
The upper half of his face was concealed behind a plague doctor's mask, bearing the ominous beak of the avian harbinger of death, leaving exposed only his lips to answer her. The priest offered a soft smile before pressing his thumb gently against her brow.
"In these perilous times, child, thou art akin to my angel. Return home now, and do that which thou canonical best accomplish." With those words, Father Sereza stroked her head with holy water drawn from a pewter pitcher.
"My deepest gratitude, Father Sereza." Marilyn bowed low in reverence before taking her leave from the sanctuary.
As the villagers queued anxiously to seek Father Sereza's counsel for their ailments, a sudden gust of icy wind swept a basket of fruit past her eyes. Soft, wheezing coughs echoed from the surrounding cottages. Marilyn swiftly veered away from the crowded streets, knowing in her heart that remaining in such proximity meant certain infection by the deadly pestilence.
Navigating a shadowed shortcut through a dark alleyway toward a deserted road, she encountered a procession of armored knights, their warhorses charging through the narrow lane, their plate armor stained with dried crimson blood.
"Make way, Lady!"
Marilyn halted to allow the city guard to pass without hindrance. One of the knights glared down at her with a terrifying intensity. Looking deep into those eyes, Mary realized with a sinking heart that the city guard could no longer be relied upon for salvation.
Hastening her pace, she passed plague doctors positioned at various corners, performing their eerie diagnoses and unprincipled methods of trial and error—be it lancing arms to mix blood with raw herbs, or inspecting piss in the open air. Yet most of the folk submitted willingly, so long as it offered the faintest hope of preserving their frail bodies a little longer.
At last, Mary reached the Western Gate, where banners depicting a saber-toothed lion hung high upon the stone walls. She was subjected to a body search by a group of towering knights, whose hands roamed over her frame in a manner that felt far more like indecent molestation than formal inspection. She made no effort to hide her displeasure. The moment the guards dropped their hands to signal her release, a fierce gust of wind blew, scattering fine flurries of snow that guided her steps toward the small village resting just beyond the city walls.
ACT I : The Deer of The End