The Lost Flock
First of the Eighth Month 294 AC
"Old Mother, old mother, some King's men are here to see you?" the boy's voice was high and thin, not just with his age, but more so with the worry that filled the camp ever since the good septon had left with the easterners. The Brotherhood knew they walked in the light of the Seven and that they would be rewarded in paradise for their faith, but they knew also that the favor of the Seven was no guarantee of a peaceful life in this fallen world. All of them had been drawn to the truth of Septon Gregor's words, even into the wilds where those rich in honors and gold had been deaf to them.
Adara was old indeed, the eldest person in the camp by the Wailing Caves, and rare was the smallfolk, man or woman, who lived to see as many winters as she. So lacking their shepherd the folk turned to her for guidance, or at least for reassurance.
"They don't call him a king anymore," she said gently to the boy. Noble folk were very particular about their titles. It was so when she had lost a brother many years ago when he had not shown the right sort respect. He had been whipped and the wounds had gone sour. It had taken him three weeks to die.
It took her a while to trundle down the steep path from the cave, though not near as much as it did to shoo away those who wanted to escort her down. What good would those men with crooks and slings, with clubs and knives, have done against men armed and armored in blood-forged steel?
"What do you think you are going to do to them, eh? Make them fall over themselves laughing and break their necks?" If there could be said to be one virtue to growing old it was that you could speak your mind in full, no longer having the time to sweeten the tongue.
The men bristled, especially her own two sons standing at the fore. Tall and proud, they were like elm trees, but they could still do with more of their mother's wisdom. They were no warriors, no more than most of the Brotherhood, poor tillers of the soil and herders of goats, wood cutters and charcoal makers, and so she must go, and so she must speak to these men alone. She did not fear death, for by now she had felt his cold breath on the back of her neck many times and she knew as well as she knew her own name that she would not live to see another winter.
The news was grim, the Septon had plead his case before the throne and he had been taken away in chains for breaking the new law, but the young easterner said if they gave themselves over to the Imperator's mercy and 'went through the proper channels' they would be given permission to worship the Seven and the One on Earth.
"The septons will never let us spread the word, them and the lord of the Tooth," Adara said firmly. "All they care about is getting the gods to carry water for their greed and their lusts."
"The decision to allow and accredit a religion is neither of the local count and certainly not of any priest," the dragon man seemed offended at the mere notion. "An in depth investigations will be undertaken by the Inquisition with the aid of the Scholarum should there be any miracle-working involved. If all is found to be in order, a license will be granted to your preacher to be a formal part of the estate of the clergy with all the rights and obligations therein."
"Well our preacher is in jail, ain't he?" the old woman could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. How were they meant to know they needed a parchment from across the sea?
"Choose another then," the man shrugged. "Look, the internal running of your, er... Brotherhood, once it has been authorized, if it is authorized, is none of my concern. Now we are fine with you staying up here if you like, but you are going to have to give free passage to all of our investigators and answer questions honestly..."
Adara nodded and was surprised at how reasonable he seemed, even if he did sniff at the smell of honest sweat and sheep like most townsfolk. She would never know that most the investigation had come and gone over the past two weeks in secret by glamored agents and secret signs, and that the nice young man in front of her had been responsible for interrogating and then dosing with memory moss as many as half a dozen of her fellow believers, including one of her sons.
Deal with the Brotherhood of Hugor: 68 (Success)
OOC: Vote is still open for Psion sheets. I did not put it in explicitly because it would have been rather jarring.
