Artorian didn’t smell anything off, though the stream very likely helped with that. Better safe than sorry! He flooded his Presence with starlight Aura, and kept it tightly bound at skin level without any light emanation. Fighting off disease was top priority while he worked his way to the inner wall. Nothing but housing between the outer and inner wall? Maybe there would be a reason for this. The inner wall at least looked normal. He got in line for the gatehouse, behind the same merchants and Acolytes no less! Well, wasn’t that just convenient.
“Let’s see if anything changes.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Acolytes did nothing different beyond sounding tired. The young Clerics spoke with groans as they complained of sore feet. No electrum changed hands, just the hand pattern. However, the merchants pulled out their money pouches, and every last one of them forked over ten electrum. What? Ten! That was half a gold coin! This was straight robbery.
Artorian was stopped just as before. The guards this time looked him up and down first, wondering how a beggar had gotten this far. “What’s with the outdated robes? Did you lose your chasuble? We can’t let you in without one.”
The guards gathered closely together, so close that one more step would make it a battle formation. Artorian composed himself, wistfully speaking. “As I told your counterparts earlier, I’m a pilgrim from the far west. I’m here for the temple. It’s my first time, and yes, I brought my fee.”
One of the guards muscled his way to the front with an outstretched hand. Rather than give him the money right away, Artorian instead performed the copied Acolyte hand motion. The guard’s smile fell, stopping in his tracks as his eyes met with the geezer’s. The academic could see little rusty gears of a practically unused mind twist to life behind the scrutinizing hazel eyes. Something didn’t add up, and the guard didn’t know what.
The metal *tink* of electrum came from Artorian’s hands. Ten pieces worth of coin showing. Rather than handing it over, he stared the bannerman down over his strange sunglasses. The old man clearly wasn’t blind, so why…? A thought occurred to the guard, who had so far refused to take another step, his discomfort steadily building.
Another guard nearby had the same thought. She jerked back, and sprung to action. A thirty-something woman lurched to snatch her fellow guard by the collar. Pulling him back and quickly whispering into his ear. “Isn’t it too early for pilgrims?”
The electrum loving guard that had strode forth quickly stepped aside and saluted. He snapped to attention, little gears locking in place and arriving at a conclusion. “Sir Acolyte.”
Interesting. Again with the honorific? Artorian could afford to press his luck a little here as the remaining seven bannermen fell in line, each holding the salute. Artorian dropped the question with heavy emphasis on certain words. “Are you certain, you don’t want a pilgrim’s ten electrum?”
“Sir, Acolytes pay no gate fees, sir.” The guard swallowed, not dropping his salute. The academic paused, not prepared for the guard to ask a question in return. “Is… is this an inspection, sir? I assure you that we of the western way gate have everything in order.”
The academic nonchalantly looked away for a moment. More to hide his face so as to keep up this ruse he had just stumbled his way into. Composing himself, he made the coins disappear into his pouch. His tone dropped, and he planned his words so that he could ask leading questions while stepping past the electrum lover; pausing next to the woman who’d whispered. It was easy to add fear to those already believing there was a conspiracy.
“An inspection? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just as I have no idea where one gets a chasuble. What does the eastern way gate say to a person who asks where to get one?”
The bannermen were nervous. This was a trap. This was clearly a ploy by either the Inquisition or The Order to check on their work without notice. A pilgrim wouldn’t know an Acolyte hand sigil; those were learned in utmost secrecy. The man had mentioned it was his first time here, but something felt wrong when he also immediately said he’d brought the fee.
If it was truly the first time here, how did he know there was a fee? How did he know it was exactly ten electrum? Had the old man talked to anyone, he would have known to secure a chasuble first, and to show up in something that didn’t make him look like a beggar. This was all far too suspicious, and the outfit was just… too obvious. It was like he wanted them to know he was out of place.
Artorian was scouring his mind for details, and his thoughts landed on the Head Cleric’s behavior in the Fringe. He adapted his stance to how Tarrean used to trudge around, and that minor detail was caught by eight pairs of eyes. Deagle the bannerwoman snapped to a salute for one of higher station, which informed her fellow guard that they were in deep feces if they played this wrong.
Their suspicions were true! She answered swiftly and with verbal force. “Master Cleric, it is the order of the faith that we direct those who wish to acquire a chasuble in the direction of the courier service. They are to add a writ of intent, and have it delivered with a single divine to pay the processing fee. If the faith finds this writ to be persuasive, and discovers the requestor to be in good standing, they will be hand delivered a chasuble and allowed entry into the sanctuary. There is to be no entry without a chasuble.”
The bannermen shifted their stances and salutes, snapping to attention to a person of higher station. Deagle had the sharpest eyes in their little platoon. They had doubted, but if she saw something… it was usually right on the money. In Chasuble, everything lately was about money. The improvising ‘Head Cleric’ nodded, seemingly in approval, and took a step forward to ask something of the next person in line. This was absolutely an inspection! Bones!
“What does western way gate say to a person who asks where to acquire better robes?”
Chiffon, the bannerman teen that Artorian now spoke with, did his best to spill forth his answer. His painful attempt to remember made the platoon around him squeeze their eyes shut, stopping themselves from cringing. “We, ueh. The… robes. The robes are… robes! Raiment’s are acquired… through the temple! Or bought… at… the temple?”
Chiffon cringed as the person he believed to be a Head Cleric rubbed his forehead with a disappointed palm. Artorian exhaled out a defeated sigh, not looking at the lad as he did. “Someone… help him.”
Finding an excellent opportunity to smooth this inspection, Deagle cleared her throat. “A faithful may requisition attire at any provisionary, and they will be provided for according to their rank. A visitor may purchase attire with the permission of a witnessing Ecclesiarch, who is one rank higher than the attire being purchased.”
Artorian took a sturdy step backwards, placing him back in line with Deagle, who was regretting her life choices. The old man didn’t look at her, he just asked a question that was as simple as it was painful. “Then what’s this I hear about visitors purchasing attire without a witnessing Ecclesiarch present? Quickly now, we’ve people approaching.”
Deagle swallowed hard, some sweat forming on her forehead while the rest of her squad remained still as water. They weren’t lifting a finger to pull her out of this fire. Abyss! She wasn’t going to take the fall for this! “We could speak inside the gatehouse, in more detail, sir.”
The old man peeked over his shoulder. More merchants approaching from the look of it. He could use that. “Just you. The rest of your… hard working fellows have merchants to see. I’m absolutely certain the entire group’s reputation lies in your hands. Let’s speak further inside.”
Deagle turned and marched inside with a self-satisfied grin plastered on her face. The rest of her squad had neglected to help her, and the Head Cleric’s wording did not set them at ease. Now it was them who were abyssed if she messed up!
Artorian set his stick against the shoddy wooden table as Deagle closed the studded door behind him. She pulled out a chair for him, and he cautiously did little before seating. Giving her ample opportunity to over compe
nsate for the situation. It made him seem entitled, but that was a positive for the moment. “It doesn’t look very… good, so far.”
Deagle dabbed her forehead with a piece of spare cloth. “The status of the west…”
She stopped abruptly when his hand shot up, his piercing stare giving her chills. He spoke swiftly, and Deagle tried to keep her composure at the speck of good news. “I have a problem you can help me with, and if you do, I will pretend I was never here.”
Sliding in the chair opposite to him, she sat upright and at attention. If there was anything she could get to give her an edge, she’d take it. “Sir!”
Artorian rubbed at his eyebrows, trying to pick his words carefully. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. You’re the only one I’ll tell, so if it gets out, I’ll know where to look. An Initiate royally failed at my requisition order. Now they lost my shipment, and the Initiate has mysteriously gone missing.”
“I was informed that the… western direction, was a place things could get done. I don’t take kindly to my raiment and chasuble being denied to me, and I’d look a complete fool telling anyone it was… misplaced. How many divines is it going to take for me to get a new set without anyone knowing?”
His finger tapped onto the table, and the C-ranker left deep dimples in the wood. It helped sell the illusion that his rank and power were aligned, even if he was absolutely bluffing. Artorian attempted to scowl like a Dwarf; they were fabulous at looking irritated, and he had recent examples to play from.
Deagle didn’t flinch. “That is going to be incredibly costly.”
If she had more to say, Artorian didn’t let her. He snatched his coin purse from the table and threw it down. Several pieces of electrum spilled free, only to spin and reach standstill upright on their edges. All of them. Sitting back to seemingly calm his anger, he returned to rubbing his eyebrows, covering up most of his face with his hand. “Make it work.”
Gathering up all the electrum, she counted it out and added it back into the pouch. “It will work, Your Grace. You have far more here than needed, is there anything else you might… want…?
Artorian copied Tarrean’s grumble, and waved the request off. “Get me my needs before the end of the day, and you can have whatever remains.”
He didn’t even look up in time to hear the door close. Deagle had raced out, snatched two more of her bannermen, and gotten a move on. She explained things on the way, and upon hearing just how much electrum they were talking about, quickly found incredible motivation.
The door creaked, and a teenager managed to walk in a few paces before being overcome with shock. He had completely forgotten people had a meeting here, and since he’d seen Deagle leave, had figured it was empty. “S… sorry, sir! I’ll leave!”
“It’s fine. Perhaps you can help me.” Artorian couldn’t believe it when the same tainted greed corrupted tone of the guards met him.
“I would be delighted. I’m Chiffon, just so Your Grace knows.”
He’d expected it from the forty-ish-year-olds, but the teen? That was… disheartening. Artorian could have misheard, or it could be an enthusiastic attempt to dig his way out of the abysmal showing that had occurred outside.
Artorian was getting too stressed to tell, and he needed space from the ruse. “The details are known to those who ran off. Until they’re back, I desire some shut-eye, preferably without being seen.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Chiffon opened the door that led deeper within the inside of the interior wall. It led to a sort of makeshift canteen, and was that the corner of a bed he saw in faint candle light? “We have cots for when everyone needs to be here, but currently it’s just been a skeleton crew.”
Pushing himself from the table, Artorian angrily snatched his wooden flotsam stick from the side of the table. “It will do, wake me when they’re back. I wish to be here no longer than needed.”
Chiffon was of the exact same opinion. This old man being here interfered with… business. He closed the door after the Master Cleric entered, and hoped never to encounter the man again. His direct superior could deal with the fallout of waking a Head Cleric; he wanted as little attention on him as possible since this hadn’t gone favorably.
Artorian flicked into Essence sight when the door closed. The light went with it, and a single miniature candle wasn’t going to cut it. He was essentially trapped here for the duration of the ruse, but he’d correctly guessed that money greases palms. The corruption was categories higher than his initial assumptions and that was going to be… difficult. He was out of coin to sell this bluff. The bannermen had said something about Clerics being ‘provided’ for and he’d have to bank on that.
Since he was here, and not at all tired… might as well rifle through everything he could find and read any material he could get his hands on. He had some time to kill, and only now realized that he didn’t know the Head Cleric hand sigil. They weren’t going to bring him Acolyte raiment’s, but Head Cleric ones! No wonder she’d said it was going to be costly.
He slapped himself on the forehead as that thought hit him. “Crackers and toast!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The bannermen were happy to see the Head Cleric leave; a four-striped chasuble was not easy to acquire. Deagle had swindled some profit out of it, but the deal had taken far more than she expected. Artorian wasn’t interested in the details after they’d forked over the raiment and chasuble.
He’d washed up in the miniature dorm, and combed the living daylights out of his beard to make it match the requirements of the ‘Cleric Handbook’ he’d found in Chiffon’s belongings. He’d snuck the book back in after a read, no need to make it obvious he’d snooped.
Cedar, pine, and cypress structures dotted the land. They were two stories tall, and Artorian had to dodge pails of dirty water being emptied on the way through the cobblestone pathways. The flat roof each structure had added a bonus third floor, but from what he could tell it was mostly clothes drying territory. The flapping of cloth was a constant sound that didn’t bleed away into the background.
People got out of his way, even if his progress through the city was done at a snail's pace. He wasn’t fond of the attention, and had to forcibly prevent himself from addressing the issue just to keep trudging along. Artorian needed to get his mind on something. Goals. How about goals?
Lodging, meals, sunlight. He didn’t have a great view from down in the tiny alleys. Puzzling out heads or tails concerning the city layout was not happening, he’d be aimlessly roaming for hours. With a slight bend of the knee, he jumped straight up. Playing hopscotch on light-bricks like it was an elaborate game when nobody was around.
Once atop the building, the sunlight on the roof alone was heavenly. This robe was fantastic for letting the light through. How did it accomplish that? He’d keep it in mind if he took it apart one day. If he could be fully clothed and not be hampered during active cultivation, that would be exquisite. He savored a deep breath as the sun’s rays washed over him. How warming and pleasant it was.
“Erm… Mister? Are… you here for the laundry?” Artorian turned around with his hands behind his back, a pint-sized girl held a basket full of wet clothes. She blinked at him, and his attention was drawn to her eyes. Pink irises? He’d never seen that before.
“I’m not, but I can give you a hand if you’d like. I was just lost in thought.” The caution in the child was thrown to the wind, and she smiled at the idea that she wasn’t going to need to jump to get the towels over the tall hang line. She hoisted the basket over, and pulled the wet towel right out and held it up to the grandfatherly looking man.
“He’ go!” It took them ten minutes instead of the half hour it should have taken, leaving the pink irised girl with a full twenty minutes to just lounge on the roof without needing to do work. She turned her head to see the old man looking off into the distance. The city was flat, and only the buildings gave it any character at all. Did they build this without a city plan
ner? He couldn’t find a straight main street no matter where he looked. Telling the difference between a shop and a home wasn’t possible. Only very unique structures stood out.
“Find them?”
Artorian quirked a brow, attention turned to the little girl. “Hmm?”
She kicked her legs out off the side of the roof. “Said you lost your thoughts.”
“Ah. I was lost in thought, a little different. Though lost nonetheless. See, I’m not sure where I should go. Perhaps you know? Where can an old man go if he doesn’t want to be found, but that’s safe enough to sleep?”
The leg kicking paused; her finger pressed to her closed mouth as the smallest cogs turned. “Mmm. Mommy would say it depends on what someone pays.”
Artorian scoffed. Again with the corruption. If even a five-year-old gave this answer, this place was lost. “What’s your name, little one?”
She flopped onto the roof. “Scilla, but everyone calls me ‘hey you’.”
He nodded, and kept up the questions. “Nice to meet you, Scilla. Why are your eyes pink?”
Scilla shrugged; she didn’t like this topic. Her words became acid. “Dunno. Momma doesn’t like it. Sis has green, and she’s the big favorite. Brother has brown, and nobody looks at him twice. I’ve got the cursed color. That’s why I sleep in the corner and eat last.”
Artorian cycled Essence. Scilla had a center, but it was smaller than expected. A tiny smattering of every corruption, most of it on her back. Sleeping on the ground had something to do with that, no doubt. Her eyes were interesting and odd. They were… stripped? There was Essence damage present, though he couldn’t tell any further details without a direct connection.
He scoffed, brushing the front of his robes off. “So turn them green.”
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