The Daunting Affray! (Round 1: Temple in the Sky!)

"Nope." Clark crossed his arms firmly across his chest.

"Nuh-uh. Not happening." Clark had one foot planted firmly in grass, and his other foot and cane on a cobblestone path, both facing away from a modest pale grey stone house.

"Ah, excuse me-"

"Shut up. Fuck off. You don't exist. This is just one really fucked-up dream. Tomorrow is Saturday. Tomorrow, I am going to wake up and find a therapist. And I will make an appointment with that therapist to talk about my really fucked-up dream."

"Pardon? S-sir, are you pilgrim?"

"No, I'm not a fucking pilgrim, I'm a clerk! A goddamn fucking office worker!" The goddamn fucking office worker continued cursing for a while.

"Then you're a... h-h-h-heathen?" The poor follower barely even whispered the word. The temple was completely isolated, of course. Nobody could remember the last time a pilgrim had arrived, but they were mentioned in scripture; there was precedent. But non-believers? Total outsiders? Between the scripture and the angels, next to nothing was said of outsiders, but never anything good.

"A what? A hea-" Clark paused, looking at the man for the first time and his pale, frightened face. Cultish nutcases, he concluded. Probably the kind that burn the filthy unbelievers or something. But this was just a dream right? One ridiculously realistic dream? And if he died, he'd probably just wake up. The fastest way to wake up in bed and find a therapist would be to die, because this was just a dream. But...

"No, uh, no. No heathens here! Just a, uh, eager convert. That's me. I'm a hundred and ten percent believer."

Color returned to the devotee's face, as he sighed in relief. "Of course. Forgive me, but if you aren't a pilgrim, then what are you? You said an awe-fish?"

"Well, see, pilgrims have to travel places, right? In long, trying journeys? But I kinda just got... put here. So you wouldn't really call me a pilgrim, would you?" he ended lamely.

The man looked at Clark peculiarly. He would, in fact, call such a person a pilgrim. But asking so many questions is impolite, and no doubt this clearly tired individual would want to rest so he could arrive at the temple as soon as possible. He looked behind Clark to take another look at the left face of the Temple. He felt his soul glow with renewed reverence for the Temple, and with inspiration to live up to its teachings.

"Please, step inside," said the man, opening the door and motioning inside at once. The robes flowed gracefully; they were clearly very light. "Let me feed and, ah, clothe you," briefly struggling to remember exactly what The Hermit did for the wandering pilgrim in that one story he kept forgetting.

Clark wasn't too keen on the robes. Looked a lot like some mage getups he'd seen marching through town between a couple of hulking fighters. But then again, blending in with the locals might help him avoid getting killed right away. And food sounded good, to be perfectly honest. Oh of course, he'd have to eat something when he woke up. He had leftover chives from last night's dinner. He'd make an omelet with those. But for now, dream-food would have to do.

"Alright, then, ah..."

"..."

"..."

"...?"

"Do you have a name?"

"Me? I guess, when the angels want me, they call me He Of Brown and Curly Hair, because my-"

"Cause your hair's brown and curly. Got it. Let's get inside now, Brownie" Clark was starting to feel shifty. No need to dally outside where he'd get spotted by some crazy murderer. Except maybe that French chick. She was kinda hot.

Just as Clark thought he was in the clear, he thought he spotted someone not in a white robe lying on the ground in the distance. Not needing any further encouragement in the first place; he hurried up and pulled himself into the house.