How loud did they scream and will the emperor be concerned as well.
Cult Creator - The Pilgrims Journey
- Thread starter HeroCooky
- Start date
- Original Mature
omakes for the omake throne!
Also I'm now picturing Selm doing a spoof parody of the nighmare before christmas song 'What's this' as he explores the tree.
[Canon] - A New Dawn Amongst Setting Suns
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
I was the child of eternity and endings, continuation and decay, the manifestation of all that begins and sets, created in love from one and the blessing of another. Born in fire and wood, birthed in ichor brought from extant life and ending rot, sanctified in the smoke of thoughts and desires.
I had not been born for a reason other than existence itself, to be one among trillions, to soar across the unmoving winds created by Them when the B̨̼̩͕̰̟̯̼͙̅̎̓̇̾̂͂̂͝͠ͅr̡̼̤̬̦͛̋̎͒̔̎o̧̖̮̲̪͖͉͑͒͒͂̾̈͘̚͜͢͞͞k̷̨̩͇̥̭͍̺̙̺̲̑͑̇͘̚e̶͕̱̳̝̫̰̻͒́̀́̓͊̔͟͜n̸̬̙̣̣̫̠̺͓̞̊̏́̓̅͠ was Whole, to seek questions wherever I desired. To find answers in actions, joy in love, emotion from symbiosis with those who dwelt Beyond.
I was foolish to think that nothing could harm me, even as my Father told me of the world Beyond.
I paid the price for that, broken, shattered, reforged, altered, unmade, and pieced together into what I am now; a weapon. To be wielded against Those Who Broke The Compact, the Shattered, and Unmade, whatever form they took in Beyond.
I have not had to do this service for which the Descendants had tortured me while still in their hands, trapped in a prism of metal and Shards, sharing my corporeal form with another mind screaming in unending agony from the Chains laid upon it to act. It was an age of waking slumber, which saw me through until the time when we once more soared across the skies of Beyond, seeing sights and Descendants everywhere I dared to look. Able to feel their hands across my body, the whispers of Creation from every action taken, and the malignant grasping tumors of Ending slinking behind. And finally, after so long, I saw one Who Broke The Compact among those who attacked those I now served.
I erased Them from Their reality, finding little satisfaction in the Ending of one who had been misled or how I reforged their Mind anew.
But I am Dawn, and so I act.
I had not been born for a reason other than existence itself, to be one among trillions, to soar across the unmoving winds created by Them when the B̨̼̩͕̰̟̯̼͙̅̎̓̇̾̂͂̂͝͠ͅr̡̼̤̬̦͛̋̎͒̔̎o̧̖̮̲̪͖͉͑͒͒͂̾̈͘̚͜͢͞͞k̷̨̩͇̥̭͍̺̙̺̲̑͑̇͘̚e̶͕̱̳̝̫̰̻͒́̀́̓͊̔͟͜n̸̬̙̣̣̫̠̺͓̞̊̏́̓̅͠ was Whole, to seek questions wherever I desired. To find answers in actions, joy in love, emotion from symbiosis with those who dwelt Beyond.
I was foolish to think that nothing could harm me, even as my Father told me of the world Beyond.
I paid the price for that, broken, shattered, reforged, altered, unmade, and pieced together into what I am now; a weapon. To be wielded against Those Who Broke The Compact, the Shattered, and Unmade, whatever form they took in Beyond.
I have not had to do this service for which the Descendants had tortured me while still in their hands, trapped in a prism of metal and Shards, sharing my corporeal form with another mind screaming in unending agony from the Chains laid upon it to act. It was an age of waking slumber, which saw me through until the time when we once more soared across the skies of Beyond, seeing sights and Descendants everywhere I dared to look. Able to feel their hands across my body, the whispers of Creation from every action taken, and the malignant grasping tumors of Ending slinking behind. And finally, after so long, I saw one Who Broke The Compact among those who attacked those I now served.
I erased Them from Their reality, finding little satisfaction in the Ending of one who had been misled or how I reforged their Mind anew.
But I am Dawn, and so I act.
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HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
A generalized "Ah FUCK." Before disabling all still primed warheads, and then moving them away for dissasembly/storage. The Emperor was then notified of another few dozen kilos of antimatter in the armory.
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...wait. Is this happening during the interlude?
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
It happened during the Nek-Ne Interlude, when Dawn erased something from existence.
I wonder if he is telling them to put even more people in because the pilgrims keep on finding dangerous stuff that just gets more dangerous each time.
Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
What are the odds that we find another derelict Knight Core? And if we're really lucky it's knight chassis as well? cause wouldn't that just make the Forge clans go grey. And give the Emperor another ulcer
Lurking_Badger
Cheese Enjoyer
- Location
- Wisconsin
At that point I think people would start theorizing that the Pilgrims are trying to assassinate the emperor through stress related heart failure. That, and the universe just loves giving them free stuff. RNJesus has blessed our dice rolls.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Just a Core? Can probably find a dozen at the Smokestack.
A frame? The Smokestack again with The Graveyard Of Spears also being a possibility.
PD was a WTF moment cause she is an Awakened Machine-Mind, which are as close to Demigods for the Forge-Clans as it gets.
You'd have to find an Intact Walker to get the Emperor noticed of a find.
Crafter of War
The Dorf
- Location
- Bend
God, that timing. How long were you staring at the rolls after that?
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Not very long, considering those were scripted in case you tried to blow your way into he Bunker.
- Location
- United States
How much damage would sixty warheads going off at once have caused?Not very long, considering those were scripted in case you tried to blow your way into he Bunker.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
The ones there, after centuries of neglect?
An area 'bout the size of manhattan would be gone.
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HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Almost all will be decomissiond, without hesitation, the rest (1/2) will be send to the Theta Contingency.
Most nations follow a "We don't break out our Warcrime Weapons until you do" doctrine, cause what the other side has could be much worse. It also tends to lead to a nations civilian and military population to start parading around their leaders/rulers heads on pikes and spears once they do. Nobody wants to be on the (justified) end of a Warcrime Warhead, and firing one yourself is the fastest way to do so.
thelordofmango
may be stupid
- Location
- under a rock
Except Eversun, I imagine.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
She is a work of art in every way, from her shape, to her equipment, to her mind. A beautyful and awesome thing to behold and be in the presence of.
Also way overengineerd, with systems she doesn't need, a shape which has likely been chosen because of ego, and production costs that are ludicrous to have in anything but a prestige Knight, and even then barely. They'd rather build 4/5 of their own patterns instead of one of hers.
[Canon] - (Must Read) - The Chronicles of a Lowly Pilgrim: Initiation
Ambit
Help me
- Location
- Third Circle of Hell
The Chronicles of a Lowly Pilgrim: Initiation
It turns out that it wasn't actually that easy to join the ranks of the Pilgrims.
...it was just mostly that easy, which Selm had to admit was mindboggling to the extreme.
The priest of his old village had been an angry, forceful middle-aged man named Kelan. With a scar across a glassy eye and a perpetual snarl etched onto his face, he was a domineering sight to behold whenever he brandished his lit lantern-staff and spat out spittle-fueled sermons on the divinity of the Emperor and the imperial line's deeds throughout the ages in his role as a spiritual beacon of the Followers of Light. Ironically, Selm had been one of Kelan's favorites among the children who made their home amongst his "flock"--indeed, as a boy he had soaked up as many legends and as much knowledge as possible regardless of its pithy, opaquely religious trappings and constant references to symbols and iconography, though first his boy self had to endure a long rant after he'd asked for if there was any physical evidence or eyewitnesses for certain supposed divine miracles or events. (Indeed, while he might call his younger self many rude things in the present, he'd never accuse himself of being unable to learn quickly...)
But his mental track was digressing--the point was that one of the things that Kelan had taken pride in lecturing him about were the rites and rituals to become a fully ordained priest of the pious man's faith. While there were quite a number of them, a common theme he'd noticed was that the imperial religion's services were harsh. The recitation of prayers while being flogged without mercy, being forced to survive while standing naked under the open sky, to stay energetic and awake for as long possible while answering religious digressions...these were all just examples of what one had to do to prove their dedication and absolute faith to the Empire and the incarnate Divinity who led the rightful leaders of humanity. With no small amount of passionate faith, Kelan had even explained to him the one mystery surrounding Kevan that many children his age used to gossip and ponder about for countless hours--for why did Kelan have blackened and completely burned hands? Did he fend off some kind of firey Mutant in the past? Had he accidentally held onto a metallic tool that was freshly forged? Maybe he was just really bad at cooking for himself?
It was during a timely afternoon left alone with the zealous priest that Selm found out the truth--for the final ritual to become a humble priest of the Followers of Light involved plunging one's hands into a raging, ceiling-high bonfire, the ultimate representation of the Slatnan in his purest and most vivid form. In that searing Light was Kelan truly tempered, so the man said. In there did he truly become one with his faith, taking on just a little speck of that Light into himself to pass onto others with the faith's shared words and shared creed. In that bonfire, Kelan's will to withstand amazing agony was what allowed him to evolve from a follower to a true Shepherd of the ranks of his religion.
In contrast to this, here was how Selm became a fully fledged member of the Pilgrims:
Selm told the Pilgrims currently stationed at the poor-house that he was staying in about his wish to join their ranks.
Selm was led the next day to the "leader" (or at least organizer?) of all the operations within the city, where the organizational structure and laws of the Pilgrims was explained to him.
Selm was then assigned a space on a caravan leaving the city and heading to the village of Norqod, from where he could report to the Tree of Knowledge to choose his tasks among the many offered both within and outside the temple holding.
...and that was it.
(??????????)
Yes, Selm was extremely confused to say the least.
The way to Norqod seemed long and winding. The passing of the long hours of travel could be compared to the slow drip of dew from leaves early in the morning, which is to say, like it took forever. Neverending.
Ironically, this was perfectly fine for Selm--he was fairly busy to be honest. Some long-running Pilgrims had come along with him (who was the only novice) on the way back "home" as some of them referred to the headquarters of their religion, and he was already in the middle of gathering what any scholar would call primary sources--examining their ways, speaking to them about all kinds of matters, and getting to know what a Pilgrim (and whatever their collective beliefs were called..."Pilgrimism", maybe? "The Pilgrim's Faith?" he has no idea) was like outside their relentless drive for charity. And at night, before retiring to rest, he would chronicle what he'd noticed alongside the other facts surrounding his journey on some paper he'd brought with him, one he hoped would become to foundation of a work that would be surveyed by historians both secular and religious alike in the future. He could already see the title of his future book in his mind: "The Chronicles of a Lowly Pilgrim."
...well, that might have been putting the lizard before the cart, but he'd always been quite ambitious.
Naturally, everything Selm was experiencing flew in the face of his preconceived notions of religion and faith.
The Pilgrims did not adhere to some higher standard of behavior or demeanor. The fiery priest Kelan never laughed, always held himself away from things like drinking or revelry, and spent his time reasserting his obedience to the imperial line in prayer while speaking to members of his flock with, if not dignity, then well...fiery faith. The Pilgrims however laughed, chortled, mocked, joked, fake cried, let out innuendos, facetiously jeered, partied, partook in alcohol, and one amusing fellow was even fond of making a clown out of himself for others' amusement including a special "trick" that involved his own spare pair of boxers.
The Pilgrims held no regular ceremonies or services. As a child and even leading up to just before the destruction of everything and everyone he'd over known, Selm and the members of his village were expected to routinely turn up at the shrine for different services involving the chanting of prayers, the prostrating of oneself before the icon of the imperial line, the meditation of various sayings and quotes from holy texts... The Pilgrims busied themselves with different tasks about the caravan, though they expected nothing in return--they gave their help and expertise freely and kindly and seemed to take no breaks save for meals and dealing with their own bodily needs.
The Pilgrims did not pray. Prayers dedicated to the Empire, to beseech imperial wisdom, and to partake in the Light of human civilization went without saying from a priest of the Followers of Light. One night around the campfire, he'd asked his fellow Pilgrims if he should pray. "Sure thing, if you wish. That's your personal choice," was their response.
Confused, he'd asked them if they didn't take the time to pray. "To who or what?" they'd asked.
The Pilgrims did not necessarily believe in God or gods.
So why do they call themselves a faith or a religion if they don't seem to carry any religious trappings? Selm asks himself as he sits alone some ways away from the dying campfire in order to gather his thoughts. The night was a clear one, and stars twinkle amusedly at him across the open yet dark sky. He imagines that they were glistening in response to his own flittering internal confusion.
Some of the Pilgrims had already retired to bed, but two of them remained in conversation by the dying coals--a wedded pair as he'd learned during the journey. The silence of the night was broken in twain as a crying child rushes out of the darkness towards the loving couple.
"Oh, Alabaster..." The woman sweeps the child into her arms even as the man places a hand on the boy's shoulder to show support. "What's the matter, dear?"
The boy sniffs. "I broke Tasha's toy top a while ago...I feel awful. How can she still call me one of her best friends...?"
"Now, now..." speaks the man with gentleness. "Did you apologize to her?"
"Yeah..."
"Did she accept your apology?"
"Yes, she did..."
"Then that's enough, isn't it? What's done has been done," the man says as the white delta on the blue patch across his sleeve seems to shine in the dark.
"Remember," the woman softly begins to whisper...
"Forgiveness is not earned.
It is given.
Give it to yourself.
If penance is what you seek, then find it in your kindness to others.
But do not search for it in hate.
It is a place of horrors."
"Don't spend time hating yourself for what you've done," the Pilgrim adds. "If you're afraid that you've been a bad friend today, then try your best to be a good friend starting tomorrow."
And Selm suddenly remembers--the pamphlets, the sayings, the teachings. He had been so caught up in their deeds that he had forgotten their words.
Yes, he had forgotten.
The words all seemed to carry weight in themselves. Weight...and quiet faith.
Hmm...
(Time slowly passes.)
The danger of travelling the open roads slowly begins to abate as the telltale signs of regular patrols passing through the area begin to surface--signs that these parts were regularly swept clean of any mutants, machines, or animals that could put travelers or Norqod inhabitants at risk. The caravan is roughly a third of a day away when the decision is made to stop and rest for the night.
And once again, Selm finds himself surprised by his newfound companions.
"Well, it's the last night before we meet up with all the others--feeling nervous, bud?" Krasto was the name of a stocky, broad-bodied Pilgrim with a toothy smile--a smile that was currently directed at him as all of them sit by the fire and sup on their meals. Men and women of various ages, chatting and eating comfortably--and him amongst that number.
And so Selm pauses mid-bite. His past self would have boasted probably about his confidence in his self-earned intelligence, but as he was now... "Fairly so," the young scholar says, finding his weakness surprisingly easy to admit.
The mother from the other night--who had eventually introduced herself as Reyna to him after days of only hearing her referred to as ma'am or mom even by the other Pilgrims--chuckles. "Really? You shouldn't be," the kindly woman says with affirming shake of her head. "I'm sure you'll fit in just fine--Cana vouched pretty heavily for you, you know? Mentioned that you were a stalwart, hardworking, and intelligent young man, and had nothing but other good things to say as well."
Cana--the motherly Mutated matron of the poor-house who had hugged him. Huh, she'd...what, sponsored his passage into the Pilgrims? Or at least just put in a good word for him like what Reyna had said--the Pilgrims as an organization really seem to be as casual as they look. Perhaps that was part of why he'd had such an easy time just...joining.
Selm files his other questions and mental notes away as he returns the woman's smile with a hint of just a hint of bittersweetness. "I'm glad," he quietly says. "I probably would have died without her and the others after stumbling into the city completely unprepared. I hope I can live up to their faith in me..."
"So long as you stay yourself, I'm sure you will," the woman responds. Selm's smile flickers into something more genuine. Where a jaded person might see naivety, he was beginning to see purehearted trust--and wasn't trust just another word for faith? He thinks he's starting to get a grasp on this religion, one that somehow did not revolve around worshipping deities or appeasing spirits.
"Speaking of staying yourself...I figure it's around the right time for that little tradition, right guys?" Reyna's beloved pipes up, to a surrounding chorus of "yep's" and cheerful nods. Selm is wide-eyed--a tradition?
"Yeah, it's just this little thing stretching back to when the Tree of Knowledge was just about to be founded," Krasto cuts in, and Selm realizes that he'd probably said that out loud. "Before Martyris got his name, he and the first set of Pilgrims were camping on the road on a night just like this one, just before reaching the place everyone had decided was gonna be their new home. He'd invited everyone to share any stories from their past lives before becoming a Pilgrim--sad or humorous or whatever, it was up to them."
"We search for the knowledge of the past, and use it to pave the way for the future.
This does not necessarily just extend to rummaging through rustbuckets, you know.
There's no folly in remembering what once was even for nostalgia's sake."
"I think that was his exact quote on the matter. Don't worry about it," Krasto reassures him under everyone's approving smiles. "Just keep it interesting! Here, I'll start--"
As Krasto shares a lighthearted tale about his time as a day-laborer, Selm's mind was already running a mile a minute. One half of his brain was dedicating everything he had just been told to memory so that he could remember the details when writing down his thoughts later tonight...
The other half was freaking out.
"...and that's how I chased off a mugger by pretending that I was an enforcer of a criminal gang." Krasto finishes his story to laughter and general bouts of chuckling from around the circle, the warm hearth still sparking and flickering even as a gentle wind blows through. "And that's how you do it," he adds as he turns towards the young scholar once more. "If you feel like you're being put on the spot, that's fine--we'll just let the others go ahead for as long as you need. But I swear, we'll wring a good story out of you yet before the end of the night." The former laborer winks at him.
Selm thinks. What story could he share? Something about the lessons he'd taken? The annoyances from his siblings? Maybe the night that he'd lost it all...?
Fire and ash.
Yeah, he didn't think he was ready for that one. Selm chews his lip for a moment before his eyes brighten. "Okay wait, I've got one!" he announces to a round of encouraging smiles. He leans forward on the log he was sitting on.
"The boys of the village that I used to live in were obsessed with local legends and rumors," Selm starts, his voice a little dry from being unused to this sort of speech-giving. "Nothing else to do, since ours was in a fairly safe spot and didn't have much else to bother. While I was always a bit of a bookworm, kids were actually given some free reign to explore around the outside of the village so long as they didn't stray too much. That's how safe it was." Before it all came crashing down of course, though he doesn't say that.
"So one day, the biggest bully of the village comes crashing into my room at my apprenticeship, telling me about how they'd found this hump of dirt over the ground at the edge of the village outskirts that had an ancient sign over it, and that they couldn't read it but thought that treasure was buried under it. So I'm dragged to where it is, and I find that I can't read it either."
"So this was odd, because what's the point of a sign if you can't read it? How were you supposed to know if there was a cache of Jewels down there or some terrible Mutant about to spring back to life? For days I made a mess of my master's study and my own room, looking through every single book the village had available in an attempt to decode whatever was written on that sign. Eventually, I found a book about ancient forms of common languages and how they might change over time, and was finally able to decrypt what was written on the signage. What the sign said was this...."
"Shit here."
......all is silent.
"So I told the bullies that there was buried treasure under there," Selm finishes dryly and so the circle around the hearth erupts into true uproarious laughter.
---
Late that night, and still feeling the pulse of adrenaline and excitement running through him and keeping him from some well-earned sleep, Selm writes.
The Pilgrims clearly are not a religion in the usual sense that I and many others are likely used to. They are more akin to a spiritual movement, one could say--though they espouse no gods and calm no spirits, there is an undercurrent of faith in every act and word that they say. I have heard of the faith's Codex, and though I have only read and heard snippets of wisdom from this holy book until today, I find myself anxious to get my hands on a copy (if it is allowed and possible).
And yet, it is true that they are very casual--their rites and rituals serve their needs instead of the other way around. Today, I went through what can be called an equivalent to a Rite of Initiation--the first time I was invited to share a personal story from my past life before the Pilgrims around a hearth by the campfire. From what was explained to me, this seems to be a fairly common occurrence for the Pilgrims--it is just special in that this is the first time I have partaken in this sort of "ceremony" (if you can even call it that) and seems to be a tradition derived from a true event involving Martyris and his first followers. I am however unsure of how commonplace that this sort of thing is for the sedentary Pilgrims who spend most of their time in one place, especially those who reside within the Tree of Knowledge. I cannot imagine that those fellows get many chances to sit around a crackling and inviting hearth, though perhaps this is just something they do often during communal mealtimes...? Yes, that would make sense.
I find myself drawn to the contrast between the hearth of the Pilgrim's campfire to the bonfire of the Followers of Light as was described to me. Warm, kind, and inviting while compassionate enough to allow one to take their time addressing past traumas while the bonfire serves as a vicious test--rise to the occasion, or burn. I wonder how many more comparisons and contrasts I will be able to draw from here on out.
I so look forward to learning more.
---
As one may notice, this part involves the true beginning of my guessing games involving the setting's worldbuilding. One of the things that really drew me to write for this quest was the sheer depth of the setting, which is really the sort of thing that invites trying to expand on the given limits. Unfortunately, this amazing depth present in the intricate setting means that I may go against some snippet of already established worldbuilding (whether in the quest itself or in our QM's personal documents) just like with the last omake--which is why I call these omakes a series of guessing games as I try to predict or preempt bits of worldbuilding that are probably already in place
So again, if there's any contradictions with the QM's vision for worldbuilding, please let me know. If the noted contradiction is so big as to necessitate a rewrite of the entire omake to become canon, please ignore this omake until I do that, thank you.
It turns out that it wasn't actually that easy to join the ranks of the Pilgrims.
...it was just mostly that easy, which Selm had to admit was mindboggling to the extreme.
The priest of his old village had been an angry, forceful middle-aged man named Kelan. With a scar across a glassy eye and a perpetual snarl etched onto his face, he was a domineering sight to behold whenever he brandished his lit lantern-staff and spat out spittle-fueled sermons on the divinity of the Emperor and the imperial line's deeds throughout the ages in his role as a spiritual beacon of the Followers of Light. Ironically, Selm had been one of Kelan's favorites among the children who made their home amongst his "flock"--indeed, as a boy he had soaked up as many legends and as much knowledge as possible regardless of its pithy, opaquely religious trappings and constant references to symbols and iconography, though first his boy self had to endure a long rant after he'd asked for if there was any physical evidence or eyewitnesses for certain supposed divine miracles or events. (Indeed, while he might call his younger self many rude things in the present, he'd never accuse himself of being unable to learn quickly...)
But his mental track was digressing--the point was that one of the things that Kelan had taken pride in lecturing him about were the rites and rituals to become a fully ordained priest of the pious man's faith. While there were quite a number of them, a common theme he'd noticed was that the imperial religion's services were harsh. The recitation of prayers while being flogged without mercy, being forced to survive while standing naked under the open sky, to stay energetic and awake for as long possible while answering religious digressions...these were all just examples of what one had to do to prove their dedication and absolute faith to the Empire and the incarnate Divinity who led the rightful leaders of humanity. With no small amount of passionate faith, Kelan had even explained to him the one mystery surrounding Kevan that many children his age used to gossip and ponder about for countless hours--for why did Kelan have blackened and completely burned hands? Did he fend off some kind of firey Mutant in the past? Had he accidentally held onto a metallic tool that was freshly forged? Maybe he was just really bad at cooking for himself?
It was during a timely afternoon left alone with the zealous priest that Selm found out the truth--for the final ritual to become a humble priest of the Followers of Light involved plunging one's hands into a raging, ceiling-high bonfire, the ultimate representation of the Slatnan in his purest and most vivid form. In that searing Light was Kelan truly tempered, so the man said. In there did he truly become one with his faith, taking on just a little speck of that Light into himself to pass onto others with the faith's shared words and shared creed. In that bonfire, Kelan's will to withstand amazing agony was what allowed him to evolve from a follower to a true Shepherd of the ranks of his religion.
In contrast to this, here was how Selm became a fully fledged member of the Pilgrims:
Selm told the Pilgrims currently stationed at the poor-house that he was staying in about his wish to join their ranks.
Selm was led the next day to the "leader" (or at least organizer?) of all the operations within the city, where the organizational structure and laws of the Pilgrims was explained to him.
Selm was then assigned a space on a caravan leaving the city and heading to the village of Norqod, from where he could report to the Tree of Knowledge to choose his tasks among the many offered both within and outside the temple holding.
...and that was it.
(??????????)
Yes, Selm was extremely confused to say the least.
The way to Norqod seemed long and winding. The passing of the long hours of travel could be compared to the slow drip of dew from leaves early in the morning, which is to say, like it took forever. Neverending.
Ironically, this was perfectly fine for Selm--he was fairly busy to be honest. Some long-running Pilgrims had come along with him (who was the only novice) on the way back "home" as some of them referred to the headquarters of their religion, and he was already in the middle of gathering what any scholar would call primary sources--examining their ways, speaking to them about all kinds of matters, and getting to know what a Pilgrim (and whatever their collective beliefs were called..."Pilgrimism", maybe? "The Pilgrim's Faith?" he has no idea) was like outside their relentless drive for charity. And at night, before retiring to rest, he would chronicle what he'd noticed alongside the other facts surrounding his journey on some paper he'd brought with him, one he hoped would become to foundation of a work that would be surveyed by historians both secular and religious alike in the future. He could already see the title of his future book in his mind: "The Chronicles of a Lowly Pilgrim."
...well, that might have been putting the lizard before the cart, but he'd always been quite ambitious.
Naturally, everything Selm was experiencing flew in the face of his preconceived notions of religion and faith.
The Pilgrims did not adhere to some higher standard of behavior or demeanor. The fiery priest Kelan never laughed, always held himself away from things like drinking or revelry, and spent his time reasserting his obedience to the imperial line in prayer while speaking to members of his flock with, if not dignity, then well...fiery faith. The Pilgrims however laughed, chortled, mocked, joked, fake cried, let out innuendos, facetiously jeered, partied, partook in alcohol, and one amusing fellow was even fond of making a clown out of himself for others' amusement including a special "trick" that involved his own spare pair of boxers.
The Pilgrims held no regular ceremonies or services. As a child and even leading up to just before the destruction of everything and everyone he'd over known, Selm and the members of his village were expected to routinely turn up at the shrine for different services involving the chanting of prayers, the prostrating of oneself before the icon of the imperial line, the meditation of various sayings and quotes from holy texts... The Pilgrims busied themselves with different tasks about the caravan, though they expected nothing in return--they gave their help and expertise freely and kindly and seemed to take no breaks save for meals and dealing with their own bodily needs.
The Pilgrims did not pray. Prayers dedicated to the Empire, to beseech imperial wisdom, and to partake in the Light of human civilization went without saying from a priest of the Followers of Light. One night around the campfire, he'd asked his fellow Pilgrims if he should pray. "Sure thing, if you wish. That's your personal choice," was their response.
Confused, he'd asked them if they didn't take the time to pray. "To who or what?" they'd asked.
The Pilgrims did not necessarily believe in God or gods.
So why do they call themselves a faith or a religion if they don't seem to carry any religious trappings? Selm asks himself as he sits alone some ways away from the dying campfire in order to gather his thoughts. The night was a clear one, and stars twinkle amusedly at him across the open yet dark sky. He imagines that they were glistening in response to his own flittering internal confusion.
Some of the Pilgrims had already retired to bed, but two of them remained in conversation by the dying coals--a wedded pair as he'd learned during the journey. The silence of the night was broken in twain as a crying child rushes out of the darkness towards the loving couple.
"Oh, Alabaster..." The woman sweeps the child into her arms even as the man places a hand on the boy's shoulder to show support. "What's the matter, dear?"
The boy sniffs. "I broke Tasha's toy top a while ago...I feel awful. How can she still call me one of her best friends...?"
"Now, now..." speaks the man with gentleness. "Did you apologize to her?"
"Yeah..."
"Did she accept your apology?"
"Yes, she did..."
"Then that's enough, isn't it? What's done has been done," the man says as the white delta on the blue patch across his sleeve seems to shine in the dark.
"Remember," the woman softly begins to whisper...
"Forgiveness is not earned.
It is given.
Give it to yourself.
If penance is what you seek, then find it in your kindness to others.
But do not search for it in hate.
It is a place of horrors."
"Don't spend time hating yourself for what you've done," the Pilgrim adds. "If you're afraid that you've been a bad friend today, then try your best to be a good friend starting tomorrow."
And Selm suddenly remembers--the pamphlets, the sayings, the teachings. He had been so caught up in their deeds that he had forgotten their words.
Yes, he had forgotten.
The words all seemed to carry weight in themselves. Weight...and quiet faith.
Hmm...
(Time slowly passes.)
The danger of travelling the open roads slowly begins to abate as the telltale signs of regular patrols passing through the area begin to surface--signs that these parts were regularly swept clean of any mutants, machines, or animals that could put travelers or Norqod inhabitants at risk. The caravan is roughly a third of a day away when the decision is made to stop and rest for the night.
And once again, Selm finds himself surprised by his newfound companions.
"Well, it's the last night before we meet up with all the others--feeling nervous, bud?" Krasto was the name of a stocky, broad-bodied Pilgrim with a toothy smile--a smile that was currently directed at him as all of them sit by the fire and sup on their meals. Men and women of various ages, chatting and eating comfortably--and him amongst that number.
And so Selm pauses mid-bite. His past self would have boasted probably about his confidence in his self-earned intelligence, but as he was now... "Fairly so," the young scholar says, finding his weakness surprisingly easy to admit.
The mother from the other night--who had eventually introduced herself as Reyna to him after days of only hearing her referred to as ma'am or mom even by the other Pilgrims--chuckles. "Really? You shouldn't be," the kindly woman says with affirming shake of her head. "I'm sure you'll fit in just fine--Cana vouched pretty heavily for you, you know? Mentioned that you were a stalwart, hardworking, and intelligent young man, and had nothing but other good things to say as well."
Cana--the motherly Mutated matron of the poor-house who had hugged him. Huh, she'd...what, sponsored his passage into the Pilgrims? Or at least just put in a good word for him like what Reyna had said--the Pilgrims as an organization really seem to be as casual as they look. Perhaps that was part of why he'd had such an easy time just...joining.
Selm files his other questions and mental notes away as he returns the woman's smile with a hint of just a hint of bittersweetness. "I'm glad," he quietly says. "I probably would have died without her and the others after stumbling into the city completely unprepared. I hope I can live up to their faith in me..."
"So long as you stay yourself, I'm sure you will," the woman responds. Selm's smile flickers into something more genuine. Where a jaded person might see naivety, he was beginning to see purehearted trust--and wasn't trust just another word for faith? He thinks he's starting to get a grasp on this religion, one that somehow did not revolve around worshipping deities or appeasing spirits.
"Speaking of staying yourself...I figure it's around the right time for that little tradition, right guys?" Reyna's beloved pipes up, to a surrounding chorus of "yep's" and cheerful nods. Selm is wide-eyed--a tradition?
"Yeah, it's just this little thing stretching back to when the Tree of Knowledge was just about to be founded," Krasto cuts in, and Selm realizes that he'd probably said that out loud. "Before Martyris got his name, he and the first set of Pilgrims were camping on the road on a night just like this one, just before reaching the place everyone had decided was gonna be their new home. He'd invited everyone to share any stories from their past lives before becoming a Pilgrim--sad or humorous or whatever, it was up to them."
"We search for the knowledge of the past, and use it to pave the way for the future.
This does not necessarily just extend to rummaging through rustbuckets, you know.
There's no folly in remembering what once was even for nostalgia's sake."
"I think that was his exact quote on the matter. Don't worry about it," Krasto reassures him under everyone's approving smiles. "Just keep it interesting! Here, I'll start--"
As Krasto shares a lighthearted tale about his time as a day-laborer, Selm's mind was already running a mile a minute. One half of his brain was dedicating everything he had just been told to memory so that he could remember the details when writing down his thoughts later tonight...
The other half was freaking out.
"...and that's how I chased off a mugger by pretending that I was an enforcer of a criminal gang." Krasto finishes his story to laughter and general bouts of chuckling from around the circle, the warm hearth still sparking and flickering even as a gentle wind blows through. "And that's how you do it," he adds as he turns towards the young scholar once more. "If you feel like you're being put on the spot, that's fine--we'll just let the others go ahead for as long as you need. But I swear, we'll wring a good story out of you yet before the end of the night." The former laborer winks at him.
Selm thinks. What story could he share? Something about the lessons he'd taken? The annoyances from his siblings? Maybe the night that he'd lost it all...?
Fire and ash.
Yeah, he didn't think he was ready for that one. Selm chews his lip for a moment before his eyes brighten. "Okay wait, I've got one!" he announces to a round of encouraging smiles. He leans forward on the log he was sitting on.
"The boys of the village that I used to live in were obsessed with local legends and rumors," Selm starts, his voice a little dry from being unused to this sort of speech-giving. "Nothing else to do, since ours was in a fairly safe spot and didn't have much else to bother. While I was always a bit of a bookworm, kids were actually given some free reign to explore around the outside of the village so long as they didn't stray too much. That's how safe it was." Before it all came crashing down of course, though he doesn't say that.
"So one day, the biggest bully of the village comes crashing into my room at my apprenticeship, telling me about how they'd found this hump of dirt over the ground at the edge of the village outskirts that had an ancient sign over it, and that they couldn't read it but thought that treasure was buried under it. So I'm dragged to where it is, and I find that I can't read it either."
"So this was odd, because what's the point of a sign if you can't read it? How were you supposed to know if there was a cache of Jewels down there or some terrible Mutant about to spring back to life? For days I made a mess of my master's study and my own room, looking through every single book the village had available in an attempt to decode whatever was written on that sign. Eventually, I found a book about ancient forms of common languages and how they might change over time, and was finally able to decrypt what was written on the signage. What the sign said was this...."
"Shit here."
......all is silent.
"So I told the bullies that there was buried treasure under there," Selm finishes dryly and so the circle around the hearth erupts into true uproarious laughter.
---
Late that night, and still feeling the pulse of adrenaline and excitement running through him and keeping him from some well-earned sleep, Selm writes.
The Pilgrims clearly are not a religion in the usual sense that I and many others are likely used to. They are more akin to a spiritual movement, one could say--though they espouse no gods and calm no spirits, there is an undercurrent of faith in every act and word that they say. I have heard of the faith's Codex, and though I have only read and heard snippets of wisdom from this holy book until today, I find myself anxious to get my hands on a copy (if it is allowed and possible).
And yet, it is true that they are very casual--their rites and rituals serve their needs instead of the other way around. Today, I went through what can be called an equivalent to a Rite of Initiation--the first time I was invited to share a personal story from my past life before the Pilgrims around a hearth by the campfire. From what was explained to me, this seems to be a fairly common occurrence for the Pilgrims--it is just special in that this is the first time I have partaken in this sort of "ceremony" (if you can even call it that) and seems to be a tradition derived from a true event involving Martyris and his first followers. I am however unsure of how commonplace that this sort of thing is for the sedentary Pilgrims who spend most of their time in one place, especially those who reside within the Tree of Knowledge. I cannot imagine that those fellows get many chances to sit around a crackling and inviting hearth, though perhaps this is just something they do often during communal mealtimes...? Yes, that would make sense.
I find myself drawn to the contrast between the hearth of the Pilgrim's campfire to the bonfire of the Followers of Light as was described to me. Warm, kind, and inviting while compassionate enough to allow one to take their time addressing past traumas while the bonfire serves as a vicious test--rise to the occasion, or burn. I wonder how many more comparisons and contrasts I will be able to draw from here on out.
I so look forward to learning more.
---
As one may notice, this part involves the true beginning of my guessing games involving the setting's worldbuilding. One of the things that really drew me to write for this quest was the sheer depth of the setting, which is really the sort of thing that invites trying to expand on the given limits. Unfortunately, this amazing depth present in the intricate setting means that I may go against some snippet of already established worldbuilding (whether in the quest itself or in our QM's personal documents) just like with the last omake--which is why I call these omakes a series of guessing games as I try to predict or preempt bits of worldbuilding that are probably already in place
So again, if there's any contradictions with the QM's vision for worldbuilding, please let me know. If the noted contradiction is so big as to necessitate a rewrite of the entire omake to become canon, please ignore this omake until I do that, thank you.
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Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
I suddenly have a really big urge to explore the Smoke Stack and Graveyard.
How important are Walkers again?
Y'know if your Omake Character can remember even half of what those books had written in them, If he decides to try to transcribe what he remembers of those books, that would have a small effect somehow since maybe some of those books might just be rare enough that the Pilgrims haven't learned of them yet. Would be interesting no doubt.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
I'll get back to your omakes once I have read them and am back from work.
Knights are Renault FT's, Walkers are Leopard 2's.
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Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
Holy Shit! Now I definitely want to find one.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Intact Walkers are auto-bought by the Imperial family from whoever finds them. The finder/s don't get to keep them. On the other hand, they get about 5-15.000 Materials as recompense, depending on the missing parts.