Arc 1: Who Plants His Footsteps In The Sea

Grey

Grey

Dialectical Hermeticist
If you fall afoul of anyone, pray that he is an evil man. When an evil man has you in his clutches, he will gloat, and revel in his power over you, and justify his wickedness to himself. A righteous man will kill you without a word. - Wolkure Deadspeaker
 
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Ropeday, 12th of Rainshadow


Feast Day of St. Clemens


Illim Hinterlands


It's a mild day for this late in Spring, the warmth of these southern territories making up for the clouds and meltwaters.  The little town of Schwarzereiter sits on a promontory overlooking the grey-blue sea, a couple of miles ahead on a dirt road.  Smoke rises from chimneys and drifts inland on the ocean breeze, and the spire of the church towers over it all.  They say a great brazier was built into it, to be lit for sailors and fishermen who might stray too near the cliffs. 


All towns are isolated places, the roads between often unsafe and no good cause for visitors, but Schwarzereiter is hardly ever host to travelers.


Their nearest neighbours claim the Schwarzereiter fishermen bring catches to market that cannot be possible without some manner of witchcraft, and it rarely pays to attend to such jealous superstition - but Cameron Thunderleigh knows that Hell's subtle hand cannot be discounted in this, for a most cunning and virulent choir of Demon is apt to prey on fishing villages, and there is no more pressing matter to hand. 


Whether he has suggested this to his motley crew of traveling companions - the Freelancer Anielka, the Alchemist Albus, and the disquieting foreigner that calls himself Bleak - is another matter. 
 
Witchery - a word that easily came over a peasant's tongues when harvest left a lot to be desired or the bay was fished out. Often spoken too soon, due to the very nature of dark magic: Those who know enough to recognize its signs are usually those performing the rituals offending even the simplest rules of humanity. Only a few handle the balancing act between blindness and corruption - Cameron Thunderleigh counts himself as one of them. A watchful eye for those living their normal lifes; a mere servant of the Earth Father, equipped with the knowledge necessary to fight back against those forging out evil plans from the shadows.


Schwarzereiter - a rather secluded place, as most towns along the coast tend to be - is due next for one of his regular visits, as he calls them. People tend to be friendlier when you only intend to stay for a night or two, even if it eventually takes weeks before you leave the purified walls behind. The inquisitor can feel that there is more to be found than just envy and rivalry - he knows what others blessedly do not have to worry about. Including those accompanying him this time: The alchemist might have a read by now, well-earnt due to his reliability; but for the others, this is just another place to rest. Knowledge is a double-edged sword, and there is no need to understand every detail - as long as a wary mind makes sure that the result will please the Earth Father.


Seeing the church towers in the distance, Cameron pauses for a moment, admiring the combination of usefulness and elegance. "A far-sighted cleric once laid the foundation for this town's wealth, I heard. Those are truly blessed who can improve not only their lifes, but also those of their grandchildren."
 
This was a good place.


Very little of this wan corner of the world met Bleak's admittedly unreachable standards, but some spots came closer than others.  Travelling through the heart of the sea had been a pleasure, even if accessed by trade-lanes and surrounded by hectic sailors. Since then all had been in flux.  There was so little here.  Only the deepest woods were abuzz with life. Here, it seemed the sky forgot to reach down fully, blank pockets of mere... space filling in the spots between places of note. It concerned Bleak. He felt at times like he might drift to pieces, if only to help hide the void.


This place was better than some, though.  Quiet, and full. Blue. The earth was a bit strained, due to the tower, but he would not hold it against them - one without ears to hear might think a sobbing baby was laughing, after all, and here he stood in the land of the deaf.  Their masonry would fail eventually. No great matter.


The craggy man's calloused soles searched for purpose in the living ground as he turned away from the chapel, looking instead at the crisp blue of the ocean.  This was a good Spring.  Already two streaks of goldenrod coloration were growing through his hair like the trails of shooting stars. Would there be flowers? Would the bees find him?


Thunderleigh was speaking.  Bleak let his attentions leave the sunwarm soil, peering up at the man. Sometimes it was difficult to know when to pay attention. When one wanted privacy, a servant was to be deaf - when one wanted attention, one was to have been listening attentively the whole time.  Here he had found several who did not question Bleak's place, who accepted him as hybrid of servant and peer and master of his inner kingdom. It was still hard to remember how best to act around them.


"If you do not leave a place better than you found it, you make it easier for those who remain to do so. All they must do is clean up after you." His voice was surprisingly light for all the roughness in his appearance.  His eyes crinkled (almost audibly) in bemusement, though the smile did not reach his serenely placid lips.
 
A singularly unimpressive figure, Anielka leaned on her old spear and looked ahead at this night's stopping place.


The Inquisitor had said something similar at each of their last four stops in what she judged some benign-yet-misguided attempt to jolly their spirits along. Yet here... there was some truth to what he said. The town looked to be prosperous and pious, judging by the church towers Cameron regarded. She had heard the rumours and gossip in the village the night before, but found nothing unusual in it to concern her. While the people of the land rarely thought her entirely wise to choose the life she had, they knew her for one of their own and often brought her tidbits and concerns they wouldn't admit to her more intimidating companions on the road.


This was her first journey with the Inquisitor, and truthfully it had been very different to her expectations. He had something of a reputation; was this truly how Cameron Thunderleigh went about his investigations? He seemed to spend his time on a grand progress, which may feel reassuring but surely didn't do much to hunt out any enemy of man with the wit to hide. Then again, he did have the reputation and this was his local haunt. Doubtless he knew something she didn't - and if they did find an enemy it would be a good change not to face it alone.


"If these are fisherfolk, I expect the town will be awash with fish when we get there." She may wash up from the road and offer to assist them. It wouldn't be the first time she had handled a fresh catch, and at least that way some good would come from this visit.
 
Albus knew by now the sort of habits Cameron was in. Though filled with his religious obsessions, the inquisitor respected knowledge and learning, a rare blend compared to the more one-sided expanse of the Church. A place like the fishing village would easily be a target for his attentions as much as a way-stop. But though rumors were questionable things, Cameron tended to perform cautious testing, and as much as not his suspicions were proven.


The Severantine was not inclined to argue the matter overmuch.


"Such rather speaks more to his preparation and intellect, rather than his piety, I would think."
 
As you draw closer the clouds break just a little; high noon makes the sea glitter like distant treasures before the sky closes up again.  You can see a modest port with a few shacks or cottages built alongside it near the shore, and the path that winds up up the slope to the village itself.  The salt air is bracing and a few lone stands of trees whisper in the wind.  The waves are a dull roar and the tall grasses of the plain echo them in sound and motion.


You pass by meagre fields of turnips and barley, the farmers pausing to watch you pass with guarded eyes. 
 
Slowly approaching the village, the inquisitor ignores the beauty as best he can. Where other might stop to admire the sun breaking through the clouds, he only takes a short glance at the natural spectacle. Other clerics might have begun to tell how this is a good omen, with the Earth Father's wife watching over them - and so he does the same, reciting words by heart. Underneath the surface, however, he knows that this is mere distraction, and that it is on him and his companion to find the darkness hiding from the sun. If anything, the view makes him even more wary, as true evil tends to hide behind a beautiful exterior more often than not. Instead, he musters the port carefully, eying the single boat bobbing up and down amid the waves. A lonely, old barge, certainly not of use when fishing - not too surprising, since it is still the time where the fishers are on the open sea. Someone will have to inspect the shacks eventually, but under the watchful eyes of the farmers, Cameron won't even hint what he is looking out for.


Instead, he turns his attention to the fields along the way, looking well in the eyes of someone who does not understand a whole lot about growing crops. You cannot be an expert in everything - when the Earth Father created his sons, he made them in such a way that noone might be a master in every subject. In fact, that is why the church keeps guard, so that others can do their good deeds without worrying about the demons lurking in the shadows. As one of the farmers is close enough, he calls out to him, his voice sonorous like thunder. "May the Father bless your work. How has the last harvest been, son - has it been a rich one?" He has asked the same question often enough the last couple of days - but as you move along the coast, some people are more pleased with the same thing than others.
 
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"What kinds of fish?" Bleak asks Anielka as Thunderleigh starts his interview with one of the field-servants.


One of the sailors on the ship he's boarded, emboldened by his ration of drink, confided to Bleak that he despised fish - it was a sign of desperation for a sailor to eat fish, for the stores of food were dwindling. Saltpork and hardtack were not always palatable, but they were what one was promised when they first boarded.


As a result Bleak had not yet had the opportunity to try local fish.  He was curious.


He felt the field-servants eyes fixing on him and nervously flitting away, their glances growing bolder each time. It was no matter.
 
Anielka cast a glance up at the sun, then at harbour with its lone barge. This was very strange; unless the pickings were so slim that the fishing fleet had to journey for hours to make a catch, usually she would expect the morning's catch to have been returned in the last few hours and still be being processed. But from their reputation this town was known for reliably vast catches, so... 


The woman shrugged, letting the Inquisitor take the lead in questioning the farmer. She would make her own enquiries later as she prospered in a more informal environment, but for now she retained the safe anonymity of the travelling group. "Rainbow Trout, Maxihead and Grouper if it's akin to the last coastal town I spent much time in. The Grouper is fleshy but not overly pleasant - the Rainbow Trout is delicious when sauteed with a little butter and herbs." The less said about the Maxihead the better.


She cast a curious glance at the slight, dark-skinned man beside her. "I didn't take you for a fisherman, Bleak."
 
"So long as there is a Raindancer, in Lama, all of us are fishermen.  But you do not need to be the one pulling the nets to know how good the eel tastes." Bleak replied, simply.


He had eaten eel once. A feast day. He was too young to remember why, but all of those people gathering and laughing and cooking. He had been allowed to taste the freshly-fried eel.  The Mothers took him away not long after that. Further from the sea - even further than the black jungles he was born in.


"We should find this Rainbow you speak of. It is colorful?"
 
"Aye, your honour," the farmer replies as he struggles to keep his gaze averted while still watching Bleak from the corner of his eye, "the Lord was good to us last Autumn, may he favour us again."


More of the fishing boats are visible from this angle, bobbing on the waves and sometimes occluded by light off the water. 
 
"That is good to hear, son - may the Father bless your hard work not only this autumn once again, but in all those years to come." Sounded like the people here were happy with what they had - another reason to be careful, as those who have much to lose fear any change. And, for the record, tend to take rigorous measures to protect what they have. If a poor man is hungry, he might steal a loaf of bread - if a rich man fears for his properties, he can do way worse than that. It is behind the most impressive frontages where true evil begins. "And do not fear those travelling with me - as Gorian the caregiver once noted: It is not the look of a man that decides whether the hall's doors will open for him, but his deeds. And this man by my side, while appearing to be vastly different, is one who dedicated himself to do the proper thing." The truth of these words has yet to be proven - but there is no room to look uncertain in your own decisions as an inquisitor. Others need to be convinced that he makes the right choices; also, there is no possibility that Cameron won't change the man's habits for the better.


As there was not much more to be said, Cameron turns his attention back to the conversations around him. "Rainbow looks not as impressive as the name suggests. It is, however, quite nutritive, and so it fulfills its purpose in that regard. Where it is numerous, the church tends to claim a twenthieth of each catch to feed the poor - I'm unsure how things are arranged here in Schwarzereiter, though."
 
Anielka threw the Inquisitor a dry glance, but didn't actually argue the point. She'd been surprised by the wisdom coming from the Laman over their journey thus far, causing her to quickly revise her impression of an uncouth barbarian from the wildlands. Though his manner was and remained downcast, it seemed almost philosophical as well and his startling conclusions came often far above her head. 


"Shall we go on and find out then, your honour? The casual glance reveals nowt I know, yet the town appears prosperous enough." If there was something going on here, it would be buried far more deeply than could be seen from without - they must go on to come to the heart of things. 


By the looks of the road ahead it shouldn't take them more than another hour or so; there was plenty of daylight. "Or would you prefer we circle about the place to visit those who may not be able to hear you tonight?"
 
Most highborns dislike it when their visitors do not appear on their doorstep first, but peak into the corners of their properties. Another reason to consider that option - after all, the inquisition has to be independent, and it never hurts to show that straight away. In this case, the woman at his side points out a justification for that as well - and it is one noone can truly complain about. Cameron is not quite sure if she thought about all of this, or if she made the right call by accident - whatever the case, it is another occasion she proves herself.


However, he feels that the city itself is more likely to be the source of corruption - also, the honest men will be tending the fields at this time. "I will speak to the local priest first - he might be able to point out where we find those unable to attend despite their willingness to do so. Also, we can secure our accomodations this way, so that we will be able to meet up again if the opportunity to do good deeds in multiple places at once occurs."


The latter certainly will be the case - at least Anielka and Albus will be able to reach places where he is unable to go, and Bleak's rather different approach on life might open doors he isn't aware of thus far. The inquisitor hopes he'll be able to avoid getting them all stuck in hours-long conversations about politics and church-related topics - while he cannot ignore those issues, good deeds can be done in the meantime.
 
Albus was less than surprised by Bleak's words. Knowledge was knowledge, and the Severantine curriculum had drilled the importance of having a wide knowledge base into his head. "I suppose that will do." Certainly he would seek freedom Cameron would grant them from the incestuous and ignorant business of church and stance to study the local flora and fauna... restocking his ingredients would be a good idea.
 
Any disappointment Bleak felt at the Rainbow's misleading moniker left  like so much breath.   Anielka's options were a much more palatable thought to dwell upon.  It was Wisdom to listen to your betters, and naught but trouble when they disagreed. Bleak was very glad there was compromise, though it left a bitter feeling in his throat to have Her suggestion undefended by either of the others.


"There will be crowds again.   Many here to fit in that tower for you, Thunderleigh." Bleak observed, "Do you wish for me to accompany you all to the center immediately? If this priest does not take a first liking to me the people will know - I will make your stay difficult.  I can pace myself."


The others knew well-enough by now that Bleak had few concerns when it came to discomfort, inclemency, or a lack of hospitality. Indeed, he more than took pains to put others at ease by removing himself, when he thought enough to be aware of the situation.


It worked rather well, all in all.  He could enable the others own antisocial tendencies by his example. All of them the Lady, Severantine, and even Thunderleigh had periods where they welcomed solitude, or at least less familiar company.  Bleak rather enjoyed their observations, and was far more open to dialogue when no longer disadvantaged by the social mores that he obeyed in any other situation.
 
Anielka shrugged easily. Truthfully she hadn't cared much where her road had taken her since she left Cranholme. Passing through the Gatewood to the Frontier was more a matter of "from" than "to", and from that point she'd drifted from one town to the next essentially drawn by the passing remarks of strangers. Would anyone in their right mind wander into a new town for the first time, speak to the first person she found who looked ready to open up and based on his casual remarks go out into the wild places of the world in search of some creature who was troubling the town, or at least troubling that first person? Sometimes she wondered if she had left her sense beneath that hill with her son. Or at least the stubborn drive that used to get her trudging out to the fields in the predawn light to work alongside her husband. Show her a wrong that needed righting, a slavering beast or a child in danger and she knew exactly what to do; beyond that she tended to wander on life's currents.


Most recently life's boatman had been one Inquisitor Cameron Thunderleigh, who moved about his pastoral duties with a determination that belied the apparent ease of his task. Still, the journey had afforded her just enough time with her thoughts to find some ease, without enough to begin eating herself up with doubts and regrets. She valued that, and wished Thunderleigh well for it in a vague kind of way. At the Laman's concern, she looked to the Inquisitor for his response; but shook her head slightly if he glanced her way. Let the locals feel uneasy about him if they would; there were more things on earth than were dreamt of in their narrow-minded philosophy, and if they drew away from Bleak it would only be to draw closer to their Faith and the familiar.
 
Once again, Bleak shows a kind of foresight the inquisitor had not expected when first meeting the man. Sometimes, it feels as if the semblance is only there to distract from a quick-witted mind underneath. While the Laman's beliefs are unfortunately quite far off of the Earth Father's teachings, there is good hope that his philosophical thoughts will lead him in the right direction at one point. All needed is guidance by someone who knows how to direct his first steps, and he'll probably find his own way to the Earth Father's halls - maybe this is the right moment to set not only him, but all those townspeople an example of what believing in the Father's largesse means.
Then again, it poses a risk, one that can easily cause trouble - especially since this time, there truly are souls at stake if Cameron is not completely off with his assumptions and intuition.


In thought, he glances over to the others, asking himself what kind of impression they would make. The alchemist is a rather common sight at an inquisitor's side - but if Thunderleigh truly wants to avoid any difficulties, he needs to leave the weapon-wielding woman behind as well. And at this point, he might as well be a usual frater, avoiding to send any message at all. As if reading his thoughts, Anielka shakes her head - and earns an approving nod in return.


"There is no need to stay behind, Bleak. Those who are disturbed by the thought that every being wandering through His world can earn His approval by doing good deeds have truly left His path. Those turning around or speaking up against your presence are the ones I need to address most urgently, and I prefer them showing their lost faith to me rather than quietly enduring my presence and continue to live their wicked lives once I move on."
 
The path is steep, with steps cut into the earth to make the climb easier.  The little village almost shines with the sun at your back and the bell over the gate glints in the light.  


The village sits on the promontory such that it needs only one wall, and once that wall stood high, hewn from stone drawn from distant quarries and shaped by Magic.  Or so it is said.  The path is flanked by short, dark grass dotted with the ill-tempered goats common to this coast. 


Now the walls are crumbled and fallen, a palisade built atop their ruins; but they are unmanned and the gates open.  A single elderly man sits on a stool by the open gate, a huge hound asleep at his side. His features are hidden by a broad-brimmed hat, but a long white beard and hair hang down.  He touches the brim as Cameron draws close, but says nothing.  


The streets are clear and clean - you'd imagine around two-hundred souls dwell here, in the shadow of the church.  A single inn is the first thing to hove into view, the sign a crude depiction of a weeping woman.  The townsfolk are all at work, either on the sea or the in the fields, and so only the priest and the womenfolk are likely to be around. 
 
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"As you say," Bleak agreed without any particilarly emphatic note of appreciation.  He was gladdened by the solidarity to be sure, but that was subsumed by the easy habit of obedience. In truth the spiritseer was neither upset that his concerns were dismissed nor cheered by the Inquisitor's open-minded theology: as interesting as it was to learn about Thunderleigh's Earth Father, it seemed peculiar to Bleak that faith in these lands was so separate from its realities.  In this place the people did not speak to the gods, nor sacrifice to the spirits - they milled about and interacted in periphery, at best, numb to each other as people busied themselves more with the concerns of humanity and the vagueries of an unseen reward, tied tightly to status and counter-intuitive behavior.


Yet somehow Thunderleigh made great progress, and drew great strength from it.  So Bleak did not judge him nor his Father so harshly, but instead continued to listen when given the opportunity. What made a deed good in his Earth Father's eye, but did not directly benefit the Earth Father?


Bleak pondered this to himself as they climbed. The goats pleased him, and made no more of a startle towards his half-brother self than towards any of his companions.  When they come upon the man by the gate, Bleak's eyebrows arch up and knit together in respectful concern, but a man outside of Lama will not know he has put himself, however briefly, at his service by doing so.


"The tower first?" Bleak supposes, having spent the climb numbing himself to the tortured whimpers of the contorted stone.
 
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A few goats, a wooden palisade, and a lonely man, too old to work in the fields, guarding the entry. Seemingly, Schwarzereiter is not different from those villages they have passed through during the last couple of days, just another place that has seen better times. Sometimes, the inquisitor wonders why that description seems to fit on every single settlement he has seen since leaving the Holy City - but then Thunderleigh Manor comes into mind, and he knows the reason: It takes dozens of years filled with hard and honest work to make a place great, but only a single, misguided soul to ruin everything. And when the dragon's children are involved, things happen even faster. That is why he travels all around the country, searching for even the smallest sign of corruption - a shield of mankind against all those evil influences noone else tends to notice before it is too late.


As his group reaches the gate, he holds for a moment, raising his hands as if he wants to embrace not only the village, but everything around. "May the Father bless this village and all those honest souls living in and around its guarded walls. May they all find His favor, and His guidance whenever needed." Only then, he moves on, responding to the man's salute with a few words of peace: "And may all of your watches only see good and honest men pass by, elder."


Taking a look around, the inn stands out - a rather unusual sign in front, probably connected to at least half a dozen stories the innkeeper knows to tell about. Later on, this might be a good place to meet the villagers - not for him, but for those accompanying him on this trip. Only few care to share a beer with an inquisitor - with responsibility comes a certain degree of loneliness, and his shoulders carry a whole lot of it. For now, there is not much more to do than pay a visit to the local churchman, getting everything in order for their stay. "The church, Bleak. Less of a watchtower eyeing everything around, more of a welcoming friendliness for all those seeking advice. If it is led properly, that is - which we shall see in a moment." There are two kinds of churchmen: Those who understand the Father's principles and follow them, and those who do not. So far, Thunderleigh has met more of the first kind and reported those of the latter, making sure another suitable man is found before harm can follow from it. You never know what you get before arriving, though, and so he carefully watches out for any sign of inappropriateness around the houses, hinting at a poor leadership by those in charge within these palisades.
 
Walker of the Sacred Planes


Walker sat idly, with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He was by the fire inside the Fisherman's Widow inn. The Monk had only arrived in town a day earlier, where he was greeted with the same apprehensive-yet welcoming attitude everywhere in Kelen. The commoners and aristocracy alike knew better than to treat a Monk poorly, especially when they needed something done. So the inn keeper of the Fisherman's Widow was more than happy to let the Monk named Walker sit by his fire. The man didn't take up very much space and he didn't do much other than sit there and 'mediate', or whatever it was that monks did. He sure was handy, too, apparently Monks didn't shy away from manual labor like some other church type folk, cause since Walker showed up the Inn was cleaner than he ever remembered. All the firewood was chopped and stacked nicely in the stock room, too.


Where others might feel empty or anxious about not having a clear purpose, Walker flourished in his eternal wanderings. He felt that it wasn't his place to know his purpose, instead he traveled Saganas's beautiful countryside and trusted that the Gods would present him an opportunity to do good and cull the unjust. With an empty mind, the physical world around him became so much more clear and his body became more sensitive. He could feel every centimeter of skin that was warmed by the fire and how it felt different than the rest of his body. He could hear and monitor the movement of everyone within the inn, the idle chatter and loud footfalls on creaky boards. The pouring of drinks and the crackling of the fire, it was all magnified and given position relative to the other sensory input he was receiving. Without vision, he could truly become one with the environment.
 
This was the sort of town Anielka had seen many times before. In fact other than the wall - and the clear view out over the ocean - this could almost be the town where she'd grown up. The man by the gate could be old Gaffer Babyn if his beard was a little longer, acting as the nominal watcher at the gates. When nobles came galloping down the road he doubtless put on a prouder show, but the Inquisitor's band looked a motley crew compared to his towering splendour. 


Using her half-rotten spear for a walking stick, she gave the elderly man a grave nod and then passed on into the town. She marked a few likely folk to speak to later on. The woman sweeping the front stoop before the weeping woman - a local reference no doubt. The shabby-looking woman working to sew up some torn lengths of sailcloth, sitting on a creaky chair. The boys playing Soldier and Spawn in the corner of the square, their sticks clacking fiercely against one another. 


That would come later though. For now they had other business here in town, and the weary woman casually drifted out to lean against the wall of one of the nearby buildings. From here she could keep an eye on the Inquisitor, and also on the church that seemed to fascinate him so.
 
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Bleak nods, listening-but-not to Thunderleigh's correction.  The (welcoming, friendly) screaming (church) tower is given no more of his attention.  The Man will know more about it and perhaps even teach it to him once meeting this priest whom presumably leads the town.


He looks towards the others. The Freelancer? Anielka is quiet. Lost in thought? He thinks not. Watchful. She is making this place her own, identifying each individual in it.  It would be best not to disturb her as she catalogues the old and the young - though to see the children wrestle and gambol in the little alleys as though tied to their respective spots by invisible stakes, an old, thoughtful smile touches his eyes.


"Do they have them in your land as well, Severatine?" Bleak asks Albus.  For him, the other's pasts are merely tales - though they have more in common with each other than Bleak, he reminds himself each is as different as one of the Twelve Tribes.  "Churches? Like this one?" He clarifies, pronouncing the word Thunderleigh insisted on with careful respect.
 
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