AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic

I don't think I'll ever forget the day the herald showed up. It'd been a quiet day, not unlike any other in the dreary place I'd called home. Though it'd been a while ago now, the images of the drow raid on our beloved Cliffside were forever seared into our memories like the blackened marks upon the corpses of our fallen that fateful day. Though our town was slowly repopulating and damages to the town seemed to be mostly repaired, every one was still wary of outsiders. That is exactly what the herald was. An outsider.

My father pulled me close to his side when the man rode into town, his gnarled, burned hand clasping around the grip of his longsword. Ever since mother died in the attack, he'd taken to filling both parental roles, in addition to serving full time in the severely understaffed militia. He gave my golden locks a gentle muss with his free hand. I'll admit to feeling the same burning hatred that my father had toward this man, though he'd done nothing to earn our ire.

The herald now hopped down from his steed, and for a moment time stood still. The birds stopped their singing, the dogs ceased their barking and every one in town turned their attention to the commanding stranger. He wasn't so threatening on a closer look. From beneath his unstained brown robe, I could see the slight gleam of clean metal from his boots, and mailed gauntlets covered his exposed hands. Hanging from his belt was a mace. Though I wasn't experienced with magic, I knew this one to be very powerful. The rest of him looked it as well: his shoulders were broad and strong, as if made to carry the weight of the world, and the arms of his robe betrayed his great musculature. Before long, I found myself admiring his face. It was like staring into the face of some ancient god of lust, perfect and untouched by the ravages of age. His golden hair was neatly parted, and fell to his shoulders, allowing the wind to play with the smooth locks. His eyes were most fetching of all however. They were deep and blue like the great sea, and held the wisdom of the world within them. Though they were stern, they were soft and warm, even comforting in these troubled times. In his hand was a large, leather-bound tome, carefully knotted closed with red ribbon.

The herald's gaze seemed to pierce into all of us, into our souls. I felt my cheeks warm, and quickly hung my head to obscure the blush, cursing my girlishness, not a tenday from my thirteenth birthday. Many of the other girls were pink as well, though I noticed even a few of the older women flushed like the adolescents. My father's hand eased from his longsword when it was apparent the herald was human and not drow.

"Good people of Cliffside!" declared the herald, voice ringing in the crisp morning air. "I come to you offering prosperity and protection! You live in a veritable hell. If the goblins were not enough to terrorize you, you're the playthings of drow!" I felt my father wince at the statement. Despite my admiration of the outsider, my vision blurred with tears at the memories. "And not a stone's throw from you is a great bastion of demons and other evils! But, my friends, I offer you hope and a chance to live your lives in peace. What say you?"

To my surprise, my father strode to the front of the crowd. My father was not an unattractive man, though he looked quite ugly compared to the charismatic herald, with his dusky brown hair, and squat stature. "Stranger, we don't even know yer name," he started, in a voice that sounded meek compared to the outsider's earlier speech. "Ye should forgive us for doubtin' your charity, but ye mus' understand that times be difficult, an' false promises'll only harm us more than they'll do good."

If he felt the weight of the town's gaze upon him, it didn't show on the herald's face. His confident smile just brightened at the challenge. Even a few jeers came from the crowd after my father's speech, though he silenced them with a quiet raise of his hand. "I understand, my dear friends, that you have no reason to trust me. But, I will help you any ways." Holding up his book, he declared for the town. "My name is Herald Philip Logan, and I will be at my shrine down the road for those of you seeking blessings. And I promise," he held up his mailed gauntlet, "that there will be no goblins between myself and the shrine."

The man mounted once more and left without a word, leaving the town awestruck. Who had we just seen? Eventually, the people began to depart from the gathered crowd. I tried to follow after the herald, but my father halted my progress with a gentle, restraining hand on my shoulder. I didn't offer any resistance though. I knew in my heart the Herald would be back soon.

Weston's visits to the Cliffside hamlet had cut back significantly, much due to a change in the direction his life was taking him. Regardless, he did try to walk through the town on occassion feeling a comfort about how very quaint the small place was being partially isolated. He had talked with a few of the townsfolk, and for a short time, there was contemplation of moving in as a neighbor after asking to meet the motley group that perservered to live there. Now when he visited it was a day after that stranger's arrival, just two hours past sunrise. His own church was not far from Cliffside making it a good time to visit after morning prayers.

The gobbo's around were more of an annoyance than a threat to Weston as he clapped a few over the head leaving them dizzy or running off with a boot to the rump. While he knew it was natural that the rare adventurer would kill the Gobbo's; it really wasn't in Weston's comfort. Besides, his actions to knock them around until they fled was instilling a little fear (so he believed). His particular coat stood out with the grey and red colors.

Yet it did surprise him when there wasn't a single encounter near the border of the town. Either there had been some recent success in driving the gobbo numbers back, or it was a peculiar day. The people of the town didn't treat Weston entirely as a stranger, but they did not treat him quite welcoming either- that he'd grown quite accustomed to and did not try to change in respect to the seclusiveness the people enjoyed.

Still, if there was a chance to converse with a citizen of the hamlet, Weston did not mind to speak casually of whatever news they had. From how the crops were doing, to Betsy's health (one of the cows), or that the weather was same-old same-old.

Perhaps somebody would share with him the curiosity of a stranger, horse mounted, and overly generous without much reason?

[[Hope that doesn't look like metagaming NPC's; did my best working with past interactions of Lally controlling the townsfolk

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I'd never seen my father that way before. His knees shook as if he were struggling to keep his balance in a quake, and his face was as pale as a ghost. I hurried to his side, offering him my shoulder, which he took with a grateful nod. We walked to the bedroom in silence, our shoes hitting the ground in time with one another. The bed groaned when he lowered into it, barely able to get his helmet off before he collapsed into the mattress.

By now, my mind was maelstrom of different emotions and thoughts fighting for dominance. The first one that escaped my lips was also the most obvious: "What happened?" My father's breath had finally returned to him, allowing him to sit up, and survey the room in silence. Each second ticked by as an hour, each moment excrutiating as any other wait. Finally, a deep breath came from the older man, drawing increased attentiveness. I knew how obedient I must've looked then, green eyes widened in concern. Father drew me close, and kissed my head as he always did.

"Outside of the town earlier today, the Herald was puttin' on a sermon for a few of us. Not a goblin in sight neither." I was grateful my head was buried in my father's chest, lest he see the small smile that touched my lips at the memory of the handsome man. "A blonde woman stopped by the sermon. A woman o' Mystra. She challenged the Herald, and he called me up to th' front. He put his hands on me. I don't know what he did but I felt my muscles strengthen there, though 'ey didn't seem to grow." By now, I was beaming so brightly, I was afraid I would illuminate the room.

"I was so shaken, I mean, I thought 'e was all pomp. When he dismissed us, 'e said he would return in three days t' choose a permanent location t' set up his temple and give his first official sermon of the Rider Beyond." My smiled faltered for a moment. I couldn't recall any god who went by that title. My father continued without notice. "I still don' trust him. No tellin' who granted him them spells..." My father continued to drone on about something, but I'd shut him off at this point. The Herald was a true cleric! Possibly the only one dedicated to this Rider Beyond.

At some point, I returned to my chores, a single thought running through my little brain: "Missus Emily Logan..."

// Friday, 6 PM GMT -5

Earlier this year, every youth in Cliffside would dazzle their friends with heroic and blatantly falsified accounts of slaying lone goblins as they prowled about the fields surrounding town. They'd often declare they could take down a dozen of them singlehandedly, though such tales and boasts were baseless fantasy, save one. While the adults were out repelling a small incursion one day, a lone goblin managed to slip into town. It was a small, wretched and pathetic little cur with jagged, pointed ears and a stench of urine. All the other children had fled at the beast's arrival to their homes and locked their doors, leaving me alone to the goblin's mercy. It drew closer to me, laughing - a horrible sound! - at the dark endeavors it had planned for me. I drew my spade close to my body a moment, and took a deep breath before I smote the creature over the head, its skull responding with a sickening crack. Red and other oozes bubbled forth from those demonic ears.

Maybe it was that fight-response that lured me from the safety of my bed to investigate the disturbing sounds outside my window tonight. They'd awoken me in the early morning, sounds of scratching and the gentle rustling of bushes, abstract from the normal winds that buffeted our town. Quiet as Mask himself, I slipped from the bed, and over to my father's. Though the drow attack had come suddenly, I refused to let him sleep with his longsword. To my benefit, tonight at least, I hadn't been able to prevent him from sharing his bed with his rondel. I pulled the weapon delicately from his hands, and stepped into the cool night air.

My heart quickened as I stalked through the darkness. The moon was full, though a cloud had momentarily obscured it. This was no game of 'Beat The Drow' with the town scarecrow. Then I spotted it; in the dark night, I could only make out the silhouette of a rather tall, slender figure. A bit too tall to be a drow by my estimations, and its back was hunched like a goblin's. As I sat there pondering, the cloud shifted from its position, causing the celestial light of Selune to spill into the night.

It was a ghoulish creature. All wrinkled, with gnarled hands and a few errant strands of white hair upon its head. It was tall and lanky, lacking in any particular body structure. Its clothes were messed and ragged like some grave-dwelling horror crawled from the Abyss. But worst of all were those eyes. There was nothing in them. No color, no pupil, and no occupation of mind at all, merely a white, cloudy substance where the eye should be. Drawing back my father's rondel, I let loose a battlecry (though, it came out like a scream) and charged toward the abomination. To my surprise, the ghoul was ready for my attack. It spun out of the blade's path, and gripped my wrist, twisting it until the weapon fell uselessly from my hand. I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks as I shrieked like a banshee. The few houses in town lit up at my anguished cry, and the sounds of doors opening and steel being drawn filled my ears.

Then, to my surprise, the wretched creature released my hand with a pained howl, and collapsed to the ground, its shriveled body curling into a fetal position. "Emily!" cracked my father's voice, like a crisp whip. Silence fell on the crowd, including me, though a silent sob or two still managed to escape me, betrayed by my shuddering shoulders. Despite the limited light, I could still see the burn marks on my father's sword hand, and though he made no move to slay the pathetic ghoul before our feet, his blade was pointed down at it, ready to drive the weapon through its flesh if it made any movements.

But all of that faded when the gentle beat of hooves reached us all. I found myself looking expectantly to the forested road into town. I wasn't disappointed as that handsome figure rode into view upon his steed. The moonlight made his golden hair shine, and I found my cheeks redden just watching him. His expression was far from pleased however as he surveyed us before those beautiful blue eyes landed on the curled form at my feet. "What are you doing to my mother?" My mouth was surely hanging open. How could such a wretched beast birth such a beautiful being as the Herald?

"I... I thought she was a monster," slipped from my lips before I could halt them. He sighed as he dismounted and knelt beside me to gather up his mother. "Quite inquisitive little girl, aren't you? And so fair too. You would do well to remain indoors lest some man snatch you to be his bride." I looked down, and stammered a thank you as he returned his attention to his mother and began to stand. For a brief moment, I though I saw his features marred by rage and hate at the old woman in his arms. But surely... No. It must've just been my eyes playing an illusion on me, for when I looked up, that dashing smile I adored was there once more, if it had ever left. Bidding us farewell, he mounted up with his mother and rode into the night.

Tomorrow was his sermon, and I'm sure everyone wanted to head to sleep so they could look their best for the herald. So why could I feel their jealous glares at my back?

// Reminder - Tomorrow

Weston was genuinly interested in what The Herald had to say over the course of the part preaching, part offering, part debacle of skepticism tossed his way. Admittedly, Weston was quite skeptical at first impression, any man who seems too good to be true, well, is. But this Herald didn't retain that sense when the conversation went on long enough.

Weston's interest, however, was drawn away from this Herald Phillip Logan and more to this entity dubbed The Rider Beyond. Weston did not know all of the gods and goddess, this one was another new to his slowly growing knowledge as it happened to. But it became evident this was not only a new name, but entirely a new possible deity being spoken of by the reactions of those remaining more skeptical than Weston.

Perhaps it came as a slight jealousy he was looking at a man with all the charisma to sway a town (or, a few of the town) into trusting him and likely being welcoming - expecially how some of the woman fawned over him. The disgust was very subtle, Weston realizing this stranger whom seemed to desire to settle in Cliffside was likely to achieve the dream much more easily. Weston had come to offer his skills as healer, to help keep back the goblins, even his Edonil could help there, and in hopes start to retake the lost fields due east to work a plot in.

Life, however, was determined to take Weston another direction, and he went with the whim of his wife's sudden change of instincts. So what was he to think of the Herald, fully poised to take do what Weston had dreamed of for a good home. The bitterness was pointless, and childish, Weston was a whole different person. And the Herald was speaking not so much of his own interest, but that this Rider Beyond had guided him to Cliffside and told him to seek to aid it.

This Rider Beyond, for a bit scarce on dogma and teachings, or followers, caught Weston's attention based on this guidance to move and begin in Cliffside. And there was some good answers the Herald could give, expecially his clever wording when asked if he killed when fighting. Weston was looking forward to perhaps a chance to learn more, expecially as this entity was so unknown. It made it a bit of a mystery.

So Weston spoke with this Herald after the seremony asking what symbol was for this Ridery Beyond. A white horse, all four hooves planted, and head held high. The best Weston could do on short notice was carved horse figure with it's four hooves down in a rather normal position, not painted at all. Still, it was something more than naught. He went through his prayers to his patron, Salandra, shorter being the night prayers as her time was more the morning. He flipped his coin of Tymora that had a face pointed right and one pointed left on opposite sides remind one to look for chance opportunity in all directions. Observed a symbol of Tempus who's honor he respected. And last to his new little carved horse among his collection of symbols for the various gods, just how many practiced observing more than just their patron deity. How to pray, though, to an entitiy he hardly understood? "To the Rider Beyond, endeavours the follower deemed Herald, good and proper to be. Guide with the light as he says you bring to offer goodwill to the calm hamlet. May the people be brought comfort in due time from the silent dangers." He nodded, thinking that would do until he could learn more.

Birthdays were never anything particularly special among the adults of Cliffside. It just marked another horrid year of raids, crops and missed opportunities. It was something entirely different for children. Childhood was reputedly short in these small villages. Already I was experiencing the responsibilities and privileges not normally granted for a few more years to city children. I was thirteen today, and things were boding ill. Father woke me up especially early this morning; though father's chores had been steadily increasing in difficulty and length over the passed several days and today's proved to be the most arduous yet.

As I passed through town, dragging crates of metal, flour, mead and freshly cut boar, my eyes caught notice of a few dwarves standing alongside the Herald, investigating the flat, hard surface of the cliff face just beyond the cow pen. I'd overheard a few of the adults speaking to him earlier, particularly mister Pathell, about the location he planned to settle. In one of the strangest prophecies I'd ever heard, he spoke of a hollowed chamber behind a foot of rock and earth that would serve as his home. The dwarves were there to excavate it. I thought it would simply be easier for him to stay with the two young ladies. It was quite obvious they'd appreciate his company.

I was allowed to venture a little further from the town today, as well. Goblin numbers were dwindling. Where once small armies had surfaced, it was a strange occurrence when more than three would step up to attack, and they weren’t particularly an impressive three either. Those I did see were hesitant to approach Cliffside, leaving me in relative peace as I did my chores. Most of the day continued like that, bringing various heavy objects from one point to the next, while my father had taken himself a grand little trip up to Cordor. The blue sky had yielded to twilight before all my chores were completed. My arms and legs were lead and my blonde hair was stained with the generous amount of sweat my exertions had awarded me. Father had returned home by that time, and instantly ordered me to wash up and get dressed in clean clothing. I wasn't about to argue.

I was about to go to sleep when my father roused me to go walking with him. The Herald would be doing his nightly vigil by this hour, preaching to whatever villagers and travelers would come by. Day by day, the numbers grew. There were still those who doubted the Herald's words despite the proof that goblins were, for some reason, losing their desire to raid on Cliffside.

To my surprise, Father brought me to Kahlia's house. The middle-aged Lathanderan's house was lit up cheerily and hushed voices emanated through the door. Perhaps the Herald was making some announcement? Father threw open the door and gave me a firm shove inside. I could hear applause and laughter before my eyes adjusted to the bright light. Inside of the small house was every one who lived in Cliffside. One of the girls, just a few years younger than me, placed a white kitten in my arms. "Happy birthday, Emily!"

I blinked a few times, but beamed brightly as various residents gave me food or toys for the small animal. Herald himself presented me with a small, toy mouse stuffed with some aphrodisiac that made the little kitten wild. I was thankful that his mother had maintained her nearly catatonic state in the back of the room. I swear, I'd seen less vacant eyes on cows. After some pie and a bit of necessary mingling, father urged me home. I set the sleeping kitten in a small bed that Jardo had made me out of the bottom of a crate, some hay and some linen. Before I could get to sleep though, father roused me one last time. He'd been particularly insufferable today. After forcing so many hard chores on my small shoulders, he hadn't even given me a gift. It was only my impeccable manners kept me from snapping at him.

Thank the Rider Beyond that I didn't. Father held an honest to goodness short sword when I turned to face him. "Now," he started, a hint of pride swelling his voice. "Ye got all the materials and stuff for this, so it is yours regardless. However, what I'm offering ye is lessons. I won't go easy on ye and if I suspect for a second ye're not trying, I won't teach ye any more." I accepted the short sword, eyes as bright as the moon, unable to muster any sound to fill my words. My father flashed me a very quick grin as he nodded his head in understanding. "We'll start at first light tomorrow. Get some sleep, sweetheart."

Word reaches the ear's of the Dawnguard, Ozy'Solis he sit's in the Kohlingen keep examining letters from friend's and co-work's, he candlelight flickers beside him as he reads over the reports from this little cliff side village "a hero it would appears has emerged, or perhaps someone who would trick this humble followers of lathander" he ponders on the thought a moment before he takes out his quill and scribes several letters to other Dawnguard.

Quote:

i have received reports of this herald speaking of a god or some kind referred to as "the the Rider Beyond", and the town has been inspired by such, i do not doubt the greatness in this heralds deed's but i worry that those so devoted to Lathander might stray from the path of light, i myself will be making extra trips to this town to ensure it's safety from now onwards i urge all the Dawnugard who are able do the same, offer your words of advice your gold and your sword and skill to aid these good people, remind them of the Morninglord and all that he stands for.

Dawnlord Ozy'Solis

After finishin these letters he then ventures to this little cliff side hamlet with hopes to meet this herald and Learn of this "the Rider Beyond" deity and who the herald really is, he has give orders to his fellow Dawnguard to ensure that more trips are taken to this cliff side village so blessed by lathanders light, he is certain with time he can ensure that the villages are truly safe and that lathander is not forgotten, hearing that Weston Carter to has visited this hamlet he decided to seek him out to see what this man may have learnt.

There was a long fiasco and raised voice(s) for a time at the cliffside. Only a handful saw the incident between a human and a red-kin. Many accusations had been thrown around and in the end one of the two went for a swimming lession involuntarily.

Weston was fuming by the time he left, glad he'd caused enough stir to get the others to leave as he was telling them to do so. He felt justified, any means neccisary, which led him to start the argument in the first place. He was horrible when he got angry, but he felt it had every reason to be as some of the others appeared to be spying on the home where the Herald's mother was being taken care of. Weston went out of his way to bring the woman a live chicken, and the others decided a woman wasn't allowed to enjoy cooking a fresh poultry meal- no, apparently it had to be some live blood ritual because new people to the small hamelt couldn't be ordinary. Actually, that is probably why everyone wanted so badly to make them look terrible- because they were ordinary! Who was blind? Not Weston. No. He could see the trusth of the matter. Others needed there to be something wrong with a little benevolence of a good charismatic man and his aging mother who wasn't always able to think coherently.

There just wasn't anything odd to them! He had and was showing his good intentions. The mother was old, old people could say strange things or incoherent thoughts, make simple mistakes or forget where they were. Or even want to work with fresh food to prepare themselves.

"Why do they all demand this be a cult theory!?" Weston startled the cart driver and had to apologize. But he still sat fuming on his way to Kohligen in hopes to get a letter directly with Yaston.

Renas mused...

How many towns, like this, across amia, have no protection? How many little places, with no communication to adventurers, at the mercy of the terrible powers of the adventurers that war across the isle, and petty monsters we do not even stoop to slay for them?

... cliffside... can we even offer you an apology. The coalition of the adventuring faith is so young, and so much has happened.

Whoever this Herald is, for a time he has brought peace to your town. That cannot be disputed... and we're all grateful for that, im sure.

And yet, it is the way, as always, that if the hearts of these townsfolk are to pass into new hands... we must know them. Know that this man is safe, caring... the faith of these villagers must be waning, and would be hurt so badly were it abused. If this rider beyond will be the home of the peoples souls, then it is the duty of Lathanders blessed clergy to be sure the riders is caring.

Renais set her paperwork in order, and prepared to set out for the town. If nothing more, she might learn the troubles of town life in amia, and think about how to protect the folk of other small towns, if any such means were possible.

I'd never seen a man murdered before. And yet when I saw it happen before my own eyes, I could scarcely believe it. The man in golden armor and red wings picked up the Salandran Weston, and simply hurled him to his death off of the cliff. At the sight, I could feel my father flinch as I clung to him tightly. The horror was far from over, however, when he was still reluctant to leave. I worried my father would face the same fate as that Weston had but, thank the Rider Beyond, he hadn't. The man with the draconic wings left, bringing with him the rabble which had been harrying our home for the passed few hours.

Nathandy and Kahlia came over to the house later that evening to speak with father. I was to be asleep, though I could hear them speaking in low tones in the adjacent room. "He could've just as easily killed any one of us," asserted my father about midway into their discussion. It was on this line that sleep abandoned me. "Maybe, but who should we blame? The Knights? The Dawnbringers?" I heard Nathandy ask. "Come now, the Dawnbringers have been good to us in the past. So have the knights." That was Kahlia. "Maybe so, but that murdering dragonkin came with the Dawnguard, and even dresses like them." Nathandy again. Kahlia didn't manage a reply.

"Listen, some fellow spoke to me at the sermon. I'll see if I can't get him t' get some vengeance on our behalf," my father reasoned with the two men. I heard some soft murmurs of assent. I never thought I'd hear Kahlia's faith in the Lathanderans waver. The next thing I heard was pouring. I slunk out of my bed and to the door, peeking into the room. The three adults were crowded around our diminutive dinner table. Nathandy was currently pouring himself some ale. "Maybe the Herald would be willing to do something." Kahlia hesitated a brief moment, before nodding his head, though my father just scowled. "Come on, Thomas," Nathandy urged, "Can't wait for those avengers to do everything." Father sighed, and looked toward the bedroom. For a brief moment our eyes locked. Without a word, I spun around and hurried to bed as quietly as I could.

The next morning, Kahlia was gathering donations to send off to the chapel in Cordor. It was the smallest tithe in months.

Last edited by Torzeng on Thu, Nov 12 2009, 15:50 PM, edited 1 time in total.

A white horse, all four hooves planted, and head held high. The best Weston could do on short notice was carved horse figure with it's four hooves down in a rather normal position, not painted at all.

The statuet was smashed on the floor in frustration.

--o--

As for being one of "them" now, again even, Weston could understand. It made it easier anyways. Once he had gotten back the will to see the hamlet again, being branded like the outsider was all he could expect for.

So foolish as to have been ready to believe as well, or had it been foolish?

It was better this way. His life wasn't ready to be so thin. With having family living elsewhere already far from the temple, perhaps it was better that he was reminded of his statues of really being an adventurer. After all, to the best of his knowledge, the hamlet had been a calm place until he showed interest in how peaceful it was.

I didn't see what happened when the Herald and the knights squared off in the basement of the small house. Father told me it had been a bloody affair. However, everyone saw what happened afterwards, concerning the fate of the herald's mother, Marie Logan. The entire population of Cliffside was gathered around. The knights had Marie in custody. Everything was going well until my father tried to administer justice on behalf of the town and on the behalf of Nina. 'Blood for blood', that's what he always said. And yet, the knights refused, and the dawnguard supported them. Despite my father's best efforts and arguments, they would not allow Cliffside closure. Even though Kahlia tried to convince father otherwise, even he backed down when the knights stepped over us, and bullied our much weaker numbers into submission. My father's frustrated words echoed in my head in that night as I tried to sleep. I'm sure it represented the hearts of many of Cliffside's residents when our 'saviors' turned to tyranny to get their way.

"Fine, leave. But the Knights? The Dawnguard? Cliffside? We're done."

Many of the adults testified to evidence of the Herald's guilt following an examination and subsequent cleaning of the basement. Marie's confession also condemned the pair of them. The Rider Beyond turned out to be a devil, the Herald a manipulative monster and the champions of the Triad and Lathander little more than bullies who wanted to keep a murderer alive rather than see her fittingly dispatched. Kahlia no longer gathered donations for the church of Lathander; they would refuse. Though my father and the other adults had begun to speak of Weston as one of us, he was soon regarded as one of 'them'. The outsiders.

Some locals had begun to listen to my father's lofty-respect for the followers of Hoar, these days. As for me, I'm too tired to worry about the gods any more, or their followers. I wish they'd all just leave us alone.

The Herald Comes to Cliffside

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