7. The dark is what you make of it

Confess your fears

          There had been a couple magi in the crowd who'd fired on Kire with magic bolts. That started the action. Giving up the ruse that his crossbow was loaded Kire had to toss it aside to draw his sword and slide down onto the road before them. With the magic resistant charm from Siddithi long having been reforged into a magic resistance ring, his excellent armour and a grand sum of righteous violence Kire managed to tank, throttle and thrash their ranks enough that the bulk had retreated deeper towards the camp while their ringmaster was too occupied to execute them. The man's actual name had been announced as Deathclaw Haga: Kire hadn't gotten a good view of his hands during the camp intrusion or the challenge to have noticed that he sported leather and iron braces with long rusted claws where middle and index, and ring fingers lost to some past interrogation would have been.


          It had been a lopsided duel of Kire evading and taunting that Piggus Secundus was a better and more fitting name, that the poison on his claws couldn't be more toxic than the smell of his unwashed ass or challenging the criminal task master to see how long he could roll back down the sloped road to camp before puking versus Haga's hardened and unrelenting desire to crush the adventurer and recover the relic.


          Thanks to the desperation the bandits necessarily reacted with to Kire's countertheft the battle had been decided before it was started. Though strong and seasoned the larger of the embattled pair was properly tallied by his appearance and the charge up the hill had taxed him a great deal more than his junior foe with a love of cardio. When Haga had dropped to his knee with exertion, panting and sweating, Kire was about to start his questioning. Looking up to meet Kire's eyes with unflinching determination Haga foils that plan by suddenly plunging his claws into his own neck, accurately severing his own carotid arteries and dropping dead almost immediately.
          "Jesus, fuck...!" Kire sat cross legged for a quick rest and collected his breath.
          *You have the relic and their forces are broken. A return to Oxgrove or the chapel is a win here.*
          (Yes. Technically. But I want information, and someone down there has it. If I leave now I throw away my best chance of getting it. I can't give them a window to escape.)


          He took ten or so minutes to recharge and reset himself from the tension that had been accumulating through the skirmish ever since someone called out his title. He returns to his gear and relocates it, hiding it behind a tree. Since he hadn't made anything yet today he allows himself to create another ten bolts to reload his crossbow and a second magazine besides that he roughly hangs off his belt like a quarrel. Weapon slung and mask back on he started the march down the dark road back into the pit taking his time partially to conserve energy and partially because the kindled excitement had been quenched into a serious necessity.


          (I don't know who knows what so I can't let this get too messy too fast.) He kept careful watch on the activities in the camp the whole trip down expecting the archers to open up on him again when they caught his silhouette. The enemy party was running around in a vague show of action and when he was close enough to make it out better it seemed they were packing, or bracing, or both. Two levels left to go and one of them spots his approach calling out and pointing and it occurs to Kire that the reason he can't make out what they're saying isn't because of the distance but because they were not speaking the common language he had been set to.


          Kire readied his crossbow assuming shots were incoming, preparing to snipe the snipers but as he pivoted and tensed the sentry put up their hands and got on their knees. The rest of the camp changed the course of their preparations to surge forward and collect in ranks near the base of the hill and Kire forced his will over his hands to keep steady in case more magic blasts came. His clothing torn and burned with holes, breathing heavily into a horrific mask the eyes of which reflected the torchlight before the rest of him was even visible, he emerged at a deliberate pace into the camp with weapon ready...Greeted by a complete surrender.


--


          There had been a few survivors from the attack in the hills outside of Glimmerforge though one of them had been counted among the corpses from Kire's first bout of indiscriminate shooting. The one who had recognized and announced him was a straggler who had slipped away at the end of the failed heist when Kire had gone into fits. They'd witnessed enough to watch him murder blitz their archer team on the North hill a few minutes before subsequently tearing through the area screaming while they'd hid and waited for him to pass. Even if they hadn't later heard his freshly minted moniker in the debriefing on the assault they probably would have called him that just based on what they'd seen.


          The morale in the camp had been ruined and the surrender unanimously agreed to by everyone who made it back down should the assailant come after them again. They'd started packing and preparing to move out as a contingency but either there was a team up top who was coming to finish the job or there was one man who had brazenly walked into their camp and out with their prize, inflicted numerous casualties like it was trivial, and was in a strong position to kill their top ranking member last they'd seen. With those options they wanted nothing to do with whatever came down that road.


          With his weapon never taking its line of fire off one body or another Kire directs them all to bind each other in turn. There were a few massive lumber posts around the clearing where scaffolding had been built around and oxen hitched in the past and when the fifteen survivors were chain ganged to these posts by their own ropes and shackles he finally lowered his arms to tie the last.
          "When I return to Oxgrove in the morning I will send for a dispatch to come collect you. You will be given water before I leave, but you won't starve in one or two days."
          "What if we need to relieve ourselves?" Cried a voice down the line.
          "Then shit your pants!" Kire blew them off and sat cross legged opposite the captives who had clamoured to be most informative.


          They didn't know many details about the grander scheme of things but they were just one of a number of criminal parties who had been brought in under a large endeavour by a mysterious benefactor. Not just from the area, either. Underground recruitment drives had been posted across much of west and south Falkner and even into neighbouring Sarth in the south promising incredible pay and improved security for those who heeded the call. As more parties joined up they became further emboldened by the strength of their numbers and it was thought by most of the membership that the secretive upper echelons of this new crime syndicate intended to destabilize the region to make way for a coup. Although members could be rotated between different cells for jobs there was not much intelligence shared with the rank and file besides mission-pertinent briefings and enemy awareness gathering which is how Kire's moniker had been passed on...Although they couldn't say how that information was collected in the first place.


          The pay was good but there was rumours that the price of failure on an essential mission could be severe and the mission to steal the Eye, despite the low worth of the relic itself, had for some reason been deemed high. High enough to warrant all the manpower that was assembled to keep it secure. Someone from the upper ranks was to come and collect it with the payments the following afternoon which is why they had all been celebrating. With the explanations depleted Kire sat in silence there a moment longer lowering his head and closing his eyes.


          (Alright System I'll cut you a break. I thought the endless waves of grunts was another movie trope and that a band of bottom feeders shouldn't have so many bodies to throw at an armed guard as what we saw that day let alone this many more now. I guess as far as plot hooks goes you could have done worse.)
          *I hate you.*


          Standing and turning to the pair of old mining tunnels still open in the cliff facing where some of the bandits had been dwelling besides the small tents in the open he starts puttering off to investigate. Hefty beams reinforced the passage and where veins that hadn't been collapsed split off there was bed rolls and basic supplies laid out in each chamber like an ant nest of dormitories. Pacing back towards the exit he makes out some desperate movement on one of the prisoners, turning his lens to zoom in on one trying to shake their bindings off despite their neighbours trying to discourage them. Kire lifts his crossbow and at this range he is confident he can aim for the smallest margin possible just above their head.


          There is a scream from near the would-be escapee as the bolt almost fully disappears into the old wood of the post. The captive had stopped struggling and instead slowly reached up to touch the bead of blood running down their forehead. The shot had been close enough to graze over their skull and through their hair having come from the pitch-black tunnel without warning.


          Stepping out into the light again Kire just walks to the next tunnel for inspection without further need for threat. This one seemed to be Haga's own private station and Kire rummaged idly through the junk tossing aside bags, bottles and more.
          (Shitty liquor, a shitty paycheck, shitty equipment...Oh?) Finding a small locked box Kire pries it apart with his wrist blade to reveal four small vials bedded in straw. They were corked and looked similarly set up to potions, but Haga had insisted his claws were poisoned during their fight. Kire reads the contents through his power and hums with intrigue at the certainly toxic concoction inside.
          *I bet you wish you had that when dealing with Biggus Piggus.*
          (Who knew it would be Biggus' own cousin to provide me with the solution? Too late, alas.)


          Checking his time piece again the hour reads nearly midnight. He fits the vials into his belt and goes back to browsing the camp ground for its water source. "Slight change of plans," he announces as he patrols around the prisoner line. "I'll water you weeds tonight and go get my much deserved rest elsewhere." Finding the barrel he nudges it, finding its contents low enough to not be too heavy that he can partially tip and roll it along its bottom edge. Finding a few cups to pass around he makes sure everyone gets two drinks. "You all sit cozy until help comes tomorrow."
          "You're actually going to just leave us like this?!"
          Kire pauses at the foot of the road up, limping his head to the side to look at the lot over his shoulder. "As far as you know. Maybe I'll be up there watching."


          When Kire had knocked at the chapel again the lock of the door clanked and it swung open almost immediately. Unsure if he had intended to come back that night or not but fearing for his safety Ertegar and Ness had been unable to rest and kept vigil for his return. The prompt return of the Eye was met with disbelief as was the reassurance that the brigands would not be coming back. Ness had looked ready to collapse when she heard that as if she could finally let herself go and get the sleep she hadn't in days. Kire lays out on a pew for the night and his hosts retire to their rooms with more thank-yous than he had been comfortable with.


--


          With by far the most sun to greet him in a morning since his reawakening Kire self-evicted the dome of windows as soon as Ertegar was up to provide the confirmation of job completion. He stopped at Oxgrove and although they did not have a guild house they did have a postal service through which he sent word to both Thornwick and Glimmerforge regarding the detained force of criminals on the way to getting breakfast at a way house and cooking a storm in his field notes.
          (So they said someone was going to come for collection today. Sounds like I have a date with destiny and my next clue.)
          *You've gamified this too much.*
          For some reason System's words almost prompted a breach in the manic episode of disbelief Kire had been running on this whole time and a wave of fatigue pressed against his forehead.


          (How do you figure?)
          *I tried to say it before. You've been here more than two weeks now. I'm sure you know by this point this isn't going to end suddenly at any instant. I can see through your entire head and I know even your vengeance is being internalized as a quest in a puzzle to end the experience.*
          Kire stopped his writing and rested his head on his palm with his eyes shut. (If you know so much then you know the life I lived and the world I lived it in. Settings like this are a fantasy. Stories like this are a myth. I don't know and you won't tell me what the hell is REALLY going on so how else should I treat it?)
          *Knowing the life you lived...I think is the reason you were brought here.*


          Kire slams his fist on the table and bites his bottom lip to stifle the expletive, eyes still closed. (And that's just it, yeah? That's all I get is that I was brought here? Some guide.)
          System...Ruminates. Kire could feel that. While the connection wasn't totally transparent both ways even with a one way mirror you'd feel when someone thumped their face against the opposite side. When the androgynous voice speaks again it is like the sternness of a mother or father simultaneously or just...Indistinguishably.
          *There are things that are not my place to talk about. There are things that you don't need to know. There are things you will know when the time is right, and things you will learn only if you prevail in the places necessary to learn them. Think what you must about this world if it helps you cope but believe, at least, that this is not a dream.*


          Kire releases a long hard sigh that carries the tension out of his chest and opens his eyes. The employee serving behind the counter cautiously approaches to set his plate beside his journal. He weighs the reluctant acceptance of System's truth against his own life he was missing. (No warning. No goodbyes. No way home.) He clamps his hand over his face as if in some attempt to press the tears back in. Failing the impossible he wipes them away and starts in on his breakfast. (Ok. Let's say I believe you that this is real. Doesn't mean I'm going to start behaving.)


          After offending the employee with an enthusiastic, positive review of what he insistently and deliberately misidentified as grilled squirrel and assuring them he would give them five stars on yelp he refilled the water bladder he had modified into his rucksack with a drinking hose, topped up some portable rations in his bag and set off for the mine to check on his captives and set a stake out for their employer.


          The morning was just starting to get warm when the mine came into view. On approach he thought he smelt a nasty tinge in the air. (Piggus Secundus' carcass must be starting to stink. Surprised I can smell it from here but he was a big boy.) Cresting the mine's edge and passing the body which remained exactly as it had landed on death he thinks the air seems...Somehow worse than it should be. Gazing over the side to where the camp was his muscles freeze seeing why.


          What should have been fifteen cranky guests even at this distance looked a little more like fifteen cooked corpses. He launches into a sprint down the road accelerating rapidly between the shock and gravity. (They said their employer wasn't coming until the afternoon, what the fuck is that!?) As he winds inwards the picture of their bodies still bound, smouldering and smoking, becomes ever clearer.
          When he arrives to stalk up and down the length where even the ropes had burned away in many places it did not look actually to be fire that did it.
          *Do you suppose they were executed more for their failure at their mission or to ensure their silence?*


          Kire had put the back of his hand to his mouth and nose reflexively as he got closer to examine their injuries. "Well executing them doesn't remedy either of those things now does it?" He looks over the camp and jogs a few laps looking for any other evidence of what happened. Footprints were far too many from the chaos of the night before and the victims had all been tied erasing any need for a struggle. Kire snaps his fingers as he remembers himself and fishes out his mask, putting it on and drawing on the divining enchantment he had laid into the forehead gem. Wisps formed through the air like the scene was being smudged by a brush and the haze shifted as he scrolled backwards in time. (I would have paid Siddithi triple for this power. No wonder he was so cautious about holding on to it.)


          He did not have to go back far. Like watching a movie laid over his vision two figures had arrived at the break of dawn and stood questioning the captives. He could see what was happening but not hear more than whispers. One of the figures was a humanoid in white elegant robes who wore a cloth draped over the lower half of their face and a white half-mask with gold streaks under the eyes covering the upper. Beside them was a...Minotaur? Close in height to Kire but with drastically more muscle packed on. Kire walked around the vision in assessment. Full plate with a tower shield and a maul wielded one handed the beast-man had a distinguishing fractal web of marks wrapping around both sides of the neck and disappearing under his armour where the fur had stopped growing. While the robed figure had been a whisper the Minotaur, when he took his turn, was yelling-Chastising the captives while the robed one casually backed away a safe distance behind.


          Kire found himself leaping backwards as he was so caught up in watching the vision he flinched when the Minotaur swung his hammer and sent several thick bands of lightning into their helpless subordinates, the blue flash passing through the area where Kire had been standing. Of course, it was just a vision and couldn't have hurt the observer. Taking slow steps along their rank the Minotaur held his hammer level and the lightning continued to pour out as a sustained arc into the thrashing and screaming bandits who flailed, fried, and died in twos and threes while the others down the line wailed in terror at the Minotaur's approach.
          It was just a vision, but a terrible one.


          Kire felt sick from watching the senseless slaughter that happened not two hours sooner than his own arrival. The figures had left just after tying their loose ends but Kire sat in the camp, cross-legged and eyes closed to reflect on what he'd seen. There was still so many dangers in this world he was not aware of and he felt foolish for how he'd rushed in the night before. (If I'd been on the other end of that attack I would have had no defence for it. They were probably more physical threat than I'm equipped to handle straight on too.)
          *Gorgoth the Thunderer. Most curious to see him all the way out here let alone working with a crime syndicate. A vicious bastard, a simpleton certainly, but no common bandit.*
          Kire stood, deciding now is the time to develop his next big weapon-and the real reason he had made the mask in the first place. Walking in to the tunnel where Haga's stuff had been he pulls a chair up to the table which he sweeps clear. (You're giving specific exposition now? What can you tell me about these two?)


          System's presence pressed eerily close on Kire's back, as if someone was standing right over him. The feeling was so strong he felt himself turn to check over his shoulder for a second just to make sure someone had not actually snuck up on him.
          *Gorgoth was a common thug and thief, once. After being struck by lightning in the middle of a fight he had something of a 'divine epiphany', convincing himself he was the chosen champion of Ragi, the storm god. Rather than scrounging for scraps to survive he became zealous and motivated to prove the might of himself and his god, travelling to spread the word and striking down any who contested Ragi's divine glory. He should not even be in this country and the reasons for aligning with this new criminal faction are especially difficult to guess.*
          Kire was too distracted by the explanation and the fact that he was even getting an explanation to have started working yet. (You've never given me such clear intel before. You feeling bad about our earlier conversation?)
          There was the sensation of being brushed off. *I feel comfortable explaining this one because he is an obvious notorious figure albeit not in Falkner. He has a notable criminal reputation in Valderon and I haven't said anything you wouldn't find out on a bounty poster.*
          System's tone was matter-of-fact but Kire still thought this felt like an oddly direct concession.


          Removing his left bracer and detaching the switchblade he presses his hand to the smooth and bare bottom half and reignites the latent signature of his creation magic within it. Thickening, bending and resculpting the steel he gives it a small, swelled cylindrical chamber at the front of which is a nozzle. This one would be activated by a button with a sliding safety plate over it which itself was kept in place by a small spring-backed nub. He checks the seal of his mask now as a precaution, clicking a switch hidden under the left side jaw to switch it to filtered intake. The mask had originally been conceived to protect himself from his own designs which he had yet to follow through on making because he deemed it too unsafe to do in town, able to switch the ugly apparatus from open valve to a gas mask filter. Eventually he wanted to give it its own oxygen supply for closed breathing in dangerous or low-oxygen environments but he hadn't settled on how to do that yet.
          Creating a cylinder that could perfectly socket into his bracer with a push-valve on top for releasing its contents he fills its pressurized chamber with an aerosolized mix; The easiest of his intended chemicals to replicate due to his real-world exposure...Riot control gas.


--


          After experimenting to also create an aerosol version of Haga's neurotoxin and an anaesthetic to induce paralysis Kire is headed back for the church and Oxgrove, running for most of it when he considered there might be a follow-up attack if the relic was that important to warrant sacrificing so much manpower over. He'd also grabbed Haga's claws on the way out after System's mention of bounty posters. Seeing the temple safe his first stop in Oxgrove is to send another letter to the neighbouring guild halls to update about the prisoners in Bandit's Hollow and he was about to seek out a ride back to Thornwick when he overheard discussion about a big ceremony at the temple that night to celebrate the relic's return and to mourn their recent losses.
          Kire was quiet inside and outside while he ate his lunch and he meandered off to park himself in a nearby field where the long wild grasses had been levelled on a patch of lifeless soil to a walkable clearing.
          *You're not heading back yet?*


          Kire stationed his bag and extra kit, standing in the clearing and drawing his sword...Then passing it from his left to right hand, rolling it over to a reverse grip and immediately sheathing it again. He draws it again. (I've always had a natural knack for fighting and weapon handling but I come from a world where that's a niche sport at best. Now I'm in a world where thousands of people make a business out of expertise in that capacity.) Having practised his draw several times he adds a transition to a fighting stance to it. Sheath, draw, stance. Sheath, draw, stance.
          (It's not enough to just maintain my fitness or get by on natural talent or just my weapons. I need to cultivate more skills.)
          Sheath, draw, stance, strike. Sheath, draw, stance, strike. System seemed pleased.
          *You plan to stick around for the ceremony tonight Mr. "religion is for freaks"?*
          Kire didn't answer with words. Sheath, draw, stance, strike, dodge, strike. Sheath, draw, stance, strike, dodge, strike.


          Kire did this for hours and even added knee pads to his ensemble to comfortably allow kneeling spins, crouched strikes and rolls to his irregular, weaving combat style. Throughout those hours he was tangentially aware of a growing procession and crowd in the next field over surrounding the chapel with colourful tents being erected. He pays little enough attention until he hears the grasses nearby shifting and stops mid-strike, eyes shifting while the rest of him remained still and tense. A long stick pokes through and pushes aside the dry, gold-green brush to allow Ertegar to step through.
          Kire releases his pent-up breath. "Should you be stumbling through the fields alone old-timer? Might trip on a groundhog burrow or get your dick bit by a snake."


          Ertegar's expression was indecipherable. "Or I might accidentally smack somebody with my walking stick. Don't mind me, continue what you were doing." The blind priest stood there with both palms resting on the top of his short stave as if to prop himself for a rest, eyes resting high on the horizon beyond Kire who resets himself to start his drills over.
          Kire had started slow that day: He had no formal training in western sword styles but he knew enough about the basic principles to be mindful of the essentials. Parry with the side of the blade, maintaining edge alignment, moving around binds. Beyond that he'd improvised everything around his agility and flexibility balanced against his weapon's short reach and hefty balance for a tricky, sweeping flow of attacks following the same principles of the circular flowing style taught in his Dojo's Kempo. Over the hundred or more drills through the afternoon it had become a swift and savage flurry to assail from any angle while timing exertion around the blade's momentum to conserve energy.


          "You don't fight like any swordsman I've ever heard of. Most irregular....Most irregular." Ertegar twisted his stave in the dirt with a look of deep thought.
          Kire stops for a break and shakes himself loose. "Aren't you supposed to be blind?" Kire said as he deliberately nursed his water supply, sitting on a decently sized rock near his bag.
          Ertegar helps himself to sit down beside Kire, pushing back to back against the younger man to make room for himself on the stone that wasn't comfortably big enough for both of them. "Blind...Sure. Light no longer graces me with its interpretation of the world. But I can hear and feel plenty fine. When you swing your sword I can track its path by the sound...When you bend and crouch your breathing is displaced. Your footsteps slide and patter to adjust your weight and it even seems by the position of your breath and the change in centre of mass that you maneuver off of your feet as well, sometimes."


          Ertegar holds out his hand expectantly and Kire hesitates before handing him the hose to his water bag. (Pushy old codger, almost reminds me of me.) When the priest has finished with their drink Kire rubs off the nozzle and stows it, feeling impressed enough by the assessment to be interested in what the holy man had to say. "So you can follow the movements by the sounds. You must be quite an accomplished swordsman to make such clear sense of it with so little else to go off of."
          Ertegar was silent a moment before responding, sitting with his head bowed. "I was an Adventurer and instructor for 15 years, and I have almost as much experience in being blind. I was retired when I lost my sight but long after my eyes abandoned their duty I could still see the play of blades clearly in my mind and dreams...As one does with things they commit their life to."


          "You seem to handle your condition quite well. You manage it so naturally I couldn't tell if you had always been blind." Kire said as he fidgeted and leaned forward to make room for shaking his tunic to air out the sweat that had oozed through his under layers. Ertegar stood and paced the clearing.
          "I didn't always. A cockatrice spat venom in my eyes while out on a quest and if not for my companions I would have been slain just after. It took...Months, I suppose, for the panic attacks to stop. I couldn't handle the permanent darkness. I would awake in the night, not knowing if it WAS night, not really knowing if I was awake or if my eyes were open, and all I could bring myself to do was to scream and lash out...Struggling in vain to fight back the crushing blackness. I grieved that I would never see flowers again or look upon the faces of my comrades and I wept that I would never be useful or wield a sword again."


          Ertegar had stopped walking and his back was turned to Kire, but the otherworlder felt the sorrow enough that a grim expression of solidarity came over him from vividly imagining the experience. The priest continued his pacing and his story.
          "I had resigned myself to oblivion but my party did not give up on me. A dear friend encouraged me to come to this chapel to meet with the disciples of the Hermit and I reluctantly agreed if only to get them off my back. I didn't know what the Hermit could teach, I was not a spiritual man."
          Ertegar stops in the middle of the clearing where Kire had been practising and turns his stave upright in both hands with his feet sliding into a deep strong stance in the same movement. The walking stick now looked like a Claymore and the priest looked ready to strike at the air, although he held himself back.
          "And what did the Hermit teach?" Kire prodded, rapt with attention.
          The priest took a deep breath, relaxing his stance and slowly drawing one hand up the length of the stave which he lowered to be level and turned to Kire. "This," he emphasized the gentle running of his fingers over the instrument. "Every fine grain of wood. The infinitesimal curves of imperfect carving. And this," He places his foot in one of the places where Kire had dug a groove through the grass and follows the path perfectly with his own foot. "The gentlest give in the ground and the whisper of grass. Brother Jaremee started me with touch-reading and wood block carving so that I could learn to see all the texture and richness in the world even without my eyes. In my fear of the dark I had felt abandoned by the sun but here I was reminded that even when you close your eyes on a sunny day you can still feel its warmth on your skin. In time the great truth of the Hermit abated my terror."


          "The great truth?" Kire asked and stood not wanting his muscles to relax too much without a proper cooldown after all the excercise.
          In answer Ertegar took up the same strong stance as before raising his stave like a great sword and took two powerful strikes to the air advancing a step with each so that he stopped just shy of reaching Kire with the blows. The mastery in the technique was clearly evident and carried incredible precision.
          "That the dark is not something that need be feared. Simply...The dark is what you make of it."


--


          They walked back together and Ertegar explained that some of the celebrants had seen Kire practising and made comment that the stranger seemed to be in distress so the temple master had come over to check up on him. On the note of celebrants Kire finds that he had misunderstood tonight's affairs somewhat as the occasion was much more auspicious than he had initially recognized; The event was not so much to celebrate the artifacts return but rather by enormous coincidence it was a traditional event held on the last full moon before the harvest season began and that the relic just so happened to be returned in time was just the salvation of the peoples' festive spirits for the occasion.
          The area around the doors had several open tents for food, drink and seating with small fire tables. A couple more larger steel fire pits were being set up in the open with additional seating. The festivities were to kick off with a sermon inside the chapel and while preparations were made Ertegar allowed Kire to use his own bath to wash off the sweat and grime of the day's training.


          There was a solemness to the affair once it got started as they addressed those who had been killed in the failed retaliation against the gang. After the memorial and some (Kire assumed) fairly standard sermons on the Hermit's teachings and other speeches by guests the doors were opened and attendees were free to pray at the altar or go outside where some were praying to the moon directly.
          Kire approached the altar and closed his eyes as if in prayer but mostly he focused his attention on those around him to get a feel for the community's priorities. There had been a lot of talk about a safe and bountiful harvest from the communal leadership who had shared the speaking with the temple's keeper and visiting fellow brothers of other chapels but here he also made out whispered wishes for bravery in the dark months of winter. Some people were silent, some asked for the Hermit to keep them in his thoughts even when they were out of sight. It was not the morbid, emotionally sickly affair Kire had expected from those who by the roadside looked like they worshipped the night.


          Outside there was slow music and slow drinks where people huddled together to share their fears and hopes for the coming seasons in the belief that speaking these aloud and sharing them with others helped you to conquer one and achieve the other. For all the dressings of a party it was not a jubilant affair but a tender one.
          (This is...Actually pretty touching. People tend to not be so open about their feelings where I come from. Seems these folks are quite ahead of us in some ways.)
          *Just wait, another thirty minutes or so they begin the human sacrifices and cutting out their own eyes to blind themselves to be closer to their God.*
          Kire's arm tensed like he wanted to smack System but unfortunately he'd have nobody to smack but himself. He did find himself biting back a smirk though. (You're funny. You're a funny guy.)


          A few hours later and the large oxen-pulled wagons who had brought in the congregation were loading up their first trips to take people back to Oxgrove where extra accommodations had been set up for the event. Fires were doused, tents were taken inside, and when the last loads of people were on their way out Kire was left alone under the night sky on a single chair with his fifth bottle of mead staring at the full moon.
          *You never did share your fears or dreams with the others.*
          (You want to hear me lay it out? Alright-)
          *Not to me. Out loud. To the moon.*


          With a deep sigh Kire looked around to make sure there was nobody else around and took a hard swig from the bottle finishing its contents. Setting the bottle on the grass beside his seat he stands and puts more distance between himself and the chapel, leaning back and looking up at the moon. Wrestling with his thoughts and feelings, trying to dismiss participation but for the coaxing of System in his head, he buckles. "I'm afraid I'll never seen my family again. I'm...I'm afraid I'll never go home again."
          Emotions undammed in his inebriated chest and the only way to squeeze them out was to talk louder. "I'm afraid that everything I ever knew is lost to me! I'm afraid that the people I cared about will think I abandoned them!" His cracking voice had become a yell. "I'm afraid I'll be lost to this dream forever!" At that he lowered his face and clamped his hands over it, once again trying to push the undesirable feelings anywhere but where he can feel them the hottest.


          As many moments as it needs to level himself later he tries to recuperate with a twisted joke. He turns back towards the chapel with the moon behind him, sauntering back at a normal volume. "And my wish? For a castle and a whole harem befitting a ridiculous cliche fantasy adventure."
          He laughed, dabbing at the moisture around his eyes when for a split second the world goes fully black. His heart froze in his chest with a sobering shock at the unnatural half-second he just experienced like the sky itself had just experienced a brief blackout. He spins around to look up at the full moon. "Did you just fucking blink?"