Itinerant: A Pilgrim Quest

[Gargulec]

A man once attended an academic conference, which lasted four days. He thought to himself: "how bad can it be; I am sure to have free time in the evenings, I will surely see to all of my work and obligations, and will not fail behind in any of them". Then, the conference ate a week of his life. The man was proven to be a fool, widely ridiculed and spent the rest of his days in deep shame. Anyway. You wanted for the dog to draw someone out! And received an update.

7.2 The Fisherman's Wife​

The dog barked at you a few more times, giving a distinct impression that he was doing it out of some sense of duty, or perhaps just a force of habit. Yet, you didn't come any closer, waiting to see if the mutt was heard by anyone inside. And he should be; for all of his shaggy look, he had quite a voice, the shrill barks carrying far into the lake.

You did not have to wait for long. In a moment, the doors to the shack opened, revealing to you a stocky, gray-haired woman, her dress the colour of damp soil.

"Quiet, you damn mongrel!" she yelled in the direction of the dog, who, apparently used to this, barked one final time, and shut up, settling down. The woman sighed, and looked at you, squinting heavily.

"I've told you not to come this week, woman" she spat. "Nothing left for you! Go pester someone else!"

You came a few steps closer, and saw the woman grow pale, her eyes widening.

"Oh… Saints gracious…" she murmured, taking a step back, fixating her sights on the spear in your hand, and the scar running across your face. "I didn't mean to… my eyes are not what they used to be…"

She moved her hand to slam the door shut.

"I thought you were that madwoman" her voice cracked. "I didn't mean to offend you, good sir, no, none at all…" she glanced out towards the lake, as if hoping to see some sort of respite come from there, then towards the dog, who was now ignoring you. "Please, come inside, there is a stew on the fire" she finally sighed, stepping aside. "The Saints do despise those who turn away strangers, do they not?" she added, forcing a smile.

You followed in, leaving the spear and the shield at the door; partially out of custom and courtesy, and partially because it was so narrow, that it would be difficult to squeeze in through.

It was dark inside, and the air smelled of smoke and fish. Over the embers of the firepit, a pot of stew bubbled, and you could feel your mouth water at the sight of it. You were hungrier than you realized.

"Please, settle yourself down, be at home, I will bring wine…" she kept on murmuring, shuffling around. She didn't look at you at all, either too afraid or too disgusted. Or some combination of both.

There was a loaf of rye bread by the fire, and you tore a loaf from it, shaping it into a spoon, then took it to the stew. It was warm, and nothing about it mattered, beyond that. You ate, hungrily, and in silence, feeling the woman's eyes on you. She disappeared for a moment, and returned carrying a clay mug, placing it by your feet. You took it, and drank; the wine was thin and sour.

The silence stretched.

Finally, the woman spoke, in a fearful, dull voice.

"Lord" she addressed you "by the Saints that are good, please do not take anything from us; there is nothing to take. Eat and drink all you want, but please, do not harm us."
She spoke those words like a well-learned prayer, still averting her eyes. And you thought about once hearing that a man exiled, a man without family, a man without home, is like a wolf, a danger to all people of good religion.

You looked at the woman, and she looked aside. The shack could serve a family, but she was the only one inside. There was more stew in the pot than she could possibly eat – it waited for someone. Probably someone else than you.

You…

[ ] …searched your pack for a coin, placed it by the fire, and left without a word.

[ ] …apologized for the intrusion and introduced yourself as a pilgrim.

[ ] …said nothing, and waited.

 

[Gargulec]

Introduce yourself! That was your choice. Was it a correct one? Every choice is correct, unless it isn't! Anyway, the update is here:

7.3 Unfinished Pilgrimages​

You searched for words with which you could explain who you were. But in the end, you said little.

"I am a pilgrim" you explained, eating the last of the bread. "I apologize for arriving so suddenly, and I thank you for being hosted. Saints bless you."

The woman made a gesture of devotion again, and looked at you closely. You could not tell if she believed you. You waited.

"And where is your pilgrimage taking you?" she asked. She sounded unsure, and there was something in the question that made you think that she asked it only because she could not think of anything else to say.

"To the city of Step" you replied quietly, and smiled. She gasped; seeing your face twist with the expression was not easy for her. But, realizing what you were trying to show, she smiled back.

"That's very far away."

"Yes" you nodded.

"My husband once took a pilgrimage" the woman said, after a pause. "In the spring. To Saint Arnulf, in the city of Pillars. Our son was very sick, and we thought he would die. But he never reached the city…"

She did not look at you as she spoke. Instead, she found herself a long stick, and aimlessly picked with it at the coals in the firepit.

"He never did reach the city. He met a man on the road, who was a healer, and the man helped our son instead. Gave him a very strong poultice, and did not ask for anything in return. He was a saint."

Finally contended with the state of the firepit, she set the stick aside. She did not look at you.

"I think that he should have made the pilgrimage. The Saint is probably angry at him. That he made his promise, and then did not fulfil it. You promised to make this pilgrimage of yours?"

"I did" you replied, still smiling. The woman shrugged.

"There used to be a girl, at the lakeside" she continued. From the pouch at her belt, she drew a bone needle and started twirling it between her fingers, fixating her eyes on it. "She came in the early spring, and slept under open skies. She spoke of strange things. Of a pilgrim and a warrior, looking for the city of Step. Of how… she fought. We thought her quite mad, but we gave her food sometimes. She kept coming again, and again, so finally, I told her to leave. We do not have much to share. But she insisted on coming anyway, and what was I to do? But now, I have not seen her for some days."

She hid the needle, and finally forced herself to look directly in your eyes.

"Was she waiting for you?"

"Yes."

The woman looked aside.

"I think she might have died. But I can take you to the place where she used to sleep. My husband will not return from the lake for some more hours, so I can spare the time."

You nodded, and said:

[ ] "Take me there."

[ ] "I do not need that."

 

[Gargulec]

Take me there was your decision. And an update! Short one. But I don't like long ones. Sometimes.

7.4 Sentinel Rock​

The world around you was rendered in greys. From the leaden sky to graphite waters, pale haze swirling above, and gravel-strewn lakeside, what little colour there was around faded into grey, no longer distinguishable from it.

"She used to sleep here" the fisherman's wife said, pointing to a heap of sticks and refuse. You crouched by it, and started picking through it. It wasn't a good place to live. An elevated outcropping of rock overlooking the lake, exposed to the wind, offering no shelter from the elements. One could endure here through the spring and summer, but past it, it was a place to wither, not thrive. But it was a good seat for a sentinel, watching the waters flow on and on, waiting and awaiting. You turned away from that.

The pile of sticks was a collapsed shack, crudely woven from branches and grass. Ashes and coals, long extinguished, indicated where she had made herself bonfires. In the night they must had been visible from far out into the lake, like a light atop a watchtower. You picked through them with the butt of your spear, and found nothing of interest. The place was dead, and abandoned. Within weeks, there would be no trace left of it, on the lonely, jutting rock. You stood up.

"I don't know what happened to her" the woman that led you here murmured. "She just stopped coming one day."

She paused, and looked at you, almost without flinching.

"Did you know her?"

You considered.

"It's possible."

The woman nodded. Once again, you noticed her twiddling with the bone needle, its sharp tip scraping against calloused skin.

"Some days ago…" she finally said "five men came through here. My husband didn't like the look of them, so we took our boat and sailed out into the lake, so that they would not harm us. But we did not see the madwoman after they moved on."

She made another pause, followed by a gesture of devotion.

"There is… there is a village nearby. They had to pass through it. Maybe someone there will tell you more about them. Maybe there you will learn something."

She didn't say anything more, but instead started walking away from the lake, towards the woods. You followed her close, not saying anything. Even the greens, you noticed, seemed grey to you. The forest was monochrome. You wished you could look at your shield, see if the bright-blue pain too seemed so washed off as the world around. But you just walked.

The woman took you to the edge of the forest, to a narrow, but well-visible trail.

"If you take it" she explained "you will reach the village before night. But wicked people live there, and they may not want to help you."

She made a step back.

"I… I need to go. My husband will return soon. I need to be home for him."

Stumbling, she turned away, leaving you alone. You took a step towards the woodland trail, but hesitated. There was a chance to turn away from it. Move in any other direction, look for the city that does not exist, or at least for someone to help you on your quest. It was an opportunity you had to consider. Avoid whatever this trail leads to, wicked people and their swords and knives.

But the hesitation lasted only for a moment, and you…

[ ] …took the woodland trail.

[ ] …turned away from all that.

 

[Gargulec]

You took the woodland trail! The road calls, no matter what is at the end. Is there anything? You chase a city that does not exist. Does it mean that the road never ends? Who knows. But there are still people to meet on the way.

8.0 A Wild Bunch​

At the end of the trail, at the edge of the village, you found a bonfire, and around it, three men, busying themselves with a roast. They noticed you, and at first paid you no attention, their focus on stoking the fire and turning their improvised spit. But as you moved past them, towards the night-covered village, one of them, a wiry man wrapped in a ragged cloak, raised his hand and stopped you.

"There is nothing there" he said, shaking his head. "They are all dead."

He paused and allowed you to take a look yourself. It was no lie; the homes ahead were run-down and cold. No dogs barked and no children cried to announce a stranger. No one came out to face you, and you could see no smoke rise above the slanted roofs. In the quiet, you could hear the forest rustle, and fire crackle – and beyond it, nothing. The village was grave-silent.

"Plague" the man who hailed you said, creeping up behind you without a sound. "Fresh graves around the shrine, homes abandoned. Saint Orno did not listen to their prayers, it seems."

It wasn't that strange. Sometimes, a fever or a disease came over a town or a village, laying low all that it touched. And sometimes, those who remained did not want to linger. They fled away, from their home and their land, to some other place, to leave death behind. And sometimes, they would later return, and pray to Saint Orno, skewered by heathen spears, who was the patron of the afflicted, and the one who shielded against the arrows of ill air. But not here.

"Only the lord remains, I think" the man continued speaking, and pointed to a hill on the horizon. A tower stood on it, surrounded by a wall, overlooking the land. "Maybe he allowed his servants with him?"

"I doubt it" you heard another voice come from around the bonfire. It belonged to gray-garbed, cold-eyed man. He did not turn from the roast while speaking, watching it as if the was the entire world for him. His head was shaved in the manner of a monk, but he carried a sword with himself, and did not seem much of a man of religion.

"I think it's about done" said the third one. He had an axe slung over his shoulder, and a gaping hole where an eye should be on his face. He bared his arms, and they were thick with scars and blots of ink. "Let's eat."

You sat with them around the fire, and ate. It was a good roast, juicy and filling, although you did not know what manner of animal provided it to you. Without wasting words, you tore the meat, and ate it, and then, sucked the marrow from the bones and threw them into the fire, to crackle and crack. Around you, the night fell unnoticed, and moon peeked through the cover of the clouds, bright silver.

"Who are you?" asked the wiry man. "Not many come from the direction you wandered."

"Look at the face" the scarred man scoffed. "Isn't it obvious? A warrior sits among us."

"A woman" said the not-monk, still not looking at you. Whatever he saw in the fire, fascinated him utterly.

"Travels alone, with a spear and a shield, and a scar that speaks for itself" replied the scarred, and shrugged his wide arms. "A warrior, I say."

"Or a runaway" the not-monk scoffed back.

You remained quiet, sticking your hands out towards the fire to warm them. The night was colder than the summer would suggest.

"Aren't we all?" the wiry man sighed. "What use is this mistrust?"

"Wake up with a knife in your gut" the not-monk suggested. "Be killed and robbed by an exile."

"Fate abides as fate must" the scarred one replied. "I've lived a good life."

"Part with it, then, but on your own" the not-monk glanced at him, so quickly that you barely caught the motion. "I say that we kill her, and take what she has."

"It is an option to consider" the wiry man agreed. You reached for the Rye-stalk and placed it across your knees, hands wrapped around the shaft. It still felt heavy to lift. But you were getting used to it.

"We broke bread with her" the scarred man noted.

"That we did" the not-monk hesitated before agreeing, and then chucked a bit of wood into the fire. Sparks showered into the night. "That is unfortunate."

They went quiet, all of them, perhaps lost in their own thoughts, or considering what to do with you next. You too, considered, but as was your custom, not for long.

You straightened and…

[ ] …walked away into the night without a word, leaving a coin behind.

[ ] …turned on your side, wrapped yourself in your cloak, and went to sleep by the fire.

[ ] …took your spear in your hand and…

[ ] …thrust it between the not-monk's legs.
[ ] …thrust it between the wiry man's legs.
[ ] …thrust it between the scarred man's legs.​

 

[Gargulec]

Go to sleep! Do not care about the strangers. Move between them freely, walk the land as if it was yours. Because it belongs to the Saints, and your life belongs to the Saints. Thus, it is yours to inherit. Or maybe you do not belong to them, any more? Who knows.

Also, this update is very short, but I want to avoid padding as much as possible, and so, I will instead endavour to make the next one count!

8.1 A Princely Spear​

You woke up before dawn. The bonfire was still warm with embers, glowing dim orange. Across them, you saw the not-monk sit. You did not if he had woken before you, or perhaps did not sleep at all through the night. He held a spear across his lap – and you recognized it as the Rye-stalk. There was something reverential in how he touched it, how he looked it. It reminded you of those who were in the presence of a relic of a Saint, stepping back and averting their eyes, while yearning for nothing more but to look at it and come closer.

You stirred, or made some other noise which alerted him. Quickly, he tore his eyes away from the weapon, and turned to you. Then, with a sigh, he stood up, and gently placed the Rye-stalk next to you, where you left it for the night. You brought it closer, and held on tight. The man did not say anything, just sighed again and threw dirt on the embers to extinguish them. With the dawn still some hours again, you drifted into sleep again.

The morning was cold and grey. Heavy clouds covered the sky, and there was autumn in the wind. You remembered watching first flowers bloom on the day when you left your home. That was then.

Now was now.

The three men were already awake. They shared some bread and some cheese with you, and you shared some wine with them. You gathered your equipment, strapped the shield to your back, and holding the spear as a walking-stick, you prepared to leave.

"It is a princely weapon that you carry" the not-monk halted you. "I come from the land of spear-masters, and I have never seen one as fine as this. Before you leave us, stranger, pray, tell. How did you come across it?"

Ready to depart, you nonetheless faced him and…

[ ] …told him about Cu.

[ ] …told him that you found it.

[ ] …told him that you inherited it.

[ ] …did not tell him anything, and left.

 

[Gargulec]

Okay.

Right, I don't know how to say it. First of all: I am sorry. I am deeply sorry. When I started writing this quest, I did not imagine just how much additional work I'd receive over next few months. Right now, I am working on my master's thesis, a series of essays for a history website, a number of papers for various Polish journals, some university work and assorted personal projects. It is not to say that I do not have the time to write this quest; the amount of hours I have logged into League of Legends over past few weeks paints a different picture. But the truth of the matter is that I just do not have it in me to run this quest in a manner that I would find satisfactory, putting in enough research and care to make this quest what I would want it to be. It is a kind of a creative work that I just cannot carry along with all the other writing projects that are on my back.

And for that, I am sorry. You guys, you were truly excellent, and I loved the appreciation I received. It was wonderful - and so, even more, I do not want to subject you to one-two shitty updates per month, because you deserve way better than that. This quest deserves way better than that. I am sorry. But this has to end.

Just, one more thing. Arrakis teaches the attitude of the knife - chopping off what's incomplete and saying: 'Now, it's complete because it's ended here. We all know that quote. So although I can't wrap up that quest in the way that I planned to, I can give at least some semblance of a send-of. And so...

The Road Goes On
​

You smashed your spear against the soil.

"Harken!"

And you said: that among the green hills of the Rosemary Island was Cu born, a princeling, of a line as ancient as deep are the roots of an thousand-years oak. And you said: he was fair, and he was strong, and all knew that he would become a great king, just and brave. And you said: he had a sister, who was as beautiful as the dawn, an envy of nations. And you said: he grew tall, and he grew proud; he fought many and never lost a fight. His was the strength of a hundred men. And you said: others saw him and his sister, and said: there are no finer souls in the entire world, no man stronger and no women more beautiful. And those among them who were of good spirit cheered, for they saw light; but those who were of vile character, and could not bring themselves to look upon such brightness schemed to smother it. And chief among them was an evil man, from a line that had long since been inferior to the line of Cu, and whose name should forever be left forgotten. And as he could not challenge Cu in a fight, he instead sought a dark spell, and brought a fell fever on Cu's sister, and she withered, and she died. And although in life she was as beautiful as the dawn, in death, her body was like all the stars which adorn the firmament, and those who looked upon her as she was given to the ground could not help but to weep at the saintly visage.

And you said: knowing that his sister dear was felled by a foul spell, Cu took his father's spear, and swore to avenge her, or perish trying. Hearing that, the evil man sought refuge in a shrine, where he cowered, for he knew he was doomed. However, even in death, evil brings damnation to others; and so Cu violated the peace of the sanctuary and slew the evil man upon the altar-slab, and that was a grand blasphemy. And for that, he could no longer be allowed to walk the soil of the Rosemary Island, but instead was exiled, and told that he could not return until he found the city of Step, the abode of the First Saint, and there received absolution.

And you said: and he never found it, for the city of Step does not exist.

And you said: once there was a girl, who was stolen from her home by bandits, and all was taken away from her, but for her red hair. She was sold to a king, and made his concubine, and when the king was slain, she was taken as a trophy, and made a concubine. And she prayed, although she did not believe, that somebody could save her, and take her to the city of Step, the abode of the First Saint, where no one is ever treated unjustly.

And you said: she never found it, for the city of Step does not exist.

And you said: once there was a fair girl, from a house of Reda, son of Rada, from the line of Reik, who was a companion to Otha… and you said of how disaster came over your house, and how you promised to avert it, and save the family, and took on a journey, took on a pilgrimage to the city of Step, abode of the First Saint, to there receive a miracle, to stop the ill fate, to turn around the misfortune.

And you said: she never found it, for the city of Step does not exist.

And you said: Cu died a wretched death, but it was a good death. And he will never reach the city of Step.

And you said: the red-headed maid died a wretched death, but it was a good death. And she will never live in the city of Step.

And you said: I died a wretched death, but it was a good death. And I will never find the city of Step.

And you said: the road goes on.

And you said: this journey will never end.

And you said: Let us consider where our true home is;

And then let us think how to come thither;

And then also strive that we indeed come there,

Into the blessedness there everlasting.

And you said: one day, I will find the city of Step.

And all that you said was true.

***
​

So. That's it. Thank you again. You were amazing! Thank you a hundred, a thousand times. And sorry again I could not carry it, but I think it's better to just let it end than have it fester. And I wish I could say all of that in a better, clearer way.

Maybe next time!​