Contemplation and Ritual

“I am more than you think I am”, the Vessel pondered the phrase once again in their mind, turning it over in a hope to extract its meaning.

“What do I think of Orsha?”, they questioned.

They thought of Orsha in the same way that they imagined everyone should.

The god was cruel, torturing their people for their own benefit, forcing thousands to be crushed under the weight of pain and hardship every day.

They were a simple creature of malice.

“Perhaps that is it, they are more cruel than I think they are!”, Wanderer concluded, only able to spend a single moment in that belief before it crumbled apart.

“But what manner of creature would brag about their cruelty, and then let us leave twice?”

It just didn't add up, Wanderer had gotten something wrong.

Their Spirit, having gained enough control of their thoughts to once again communicate, suggested another idea.

Perhaps the God was declaring they were simply more powerful than the Golem thought they were, and were showing off their capabilities.

Yet this too didn't stand up to scrutiny, after all, Wanderer had never doubted Orsha’s power, it would simply make no sense to declare that power when there was never a reason for disbelief.

For a long moment, the duo pondered the question yet failed to come up with answers.

After a while, the Vessel got distracted from their contemplation and found themself gazing at the far away bonfire.

Some time while they were fleeing, Orsha’s physical form had disappeared and now the only thing left was the great fire, which was being danced around by thousands of dress up monsters, a final ritual to end the festival as the sun began to rise.

As they looked upon the sea of dancing humans a sudden realisation hit Wanderer, one they had long since forgotten even in their admiration of the festival’s beauty.

The festival, despite, or perhaps because of its trials and tribulations, was a celebration and one that incited happiness and joy in many people.

Another wave of enlightenment struck them, the realisation that perhaps struggle was not always a bad thing, in moderation it made life worth living.

Could Wanderer truly say that they would have been the same if from the moment they awoke from the cave, they were spoiled and given everything they ever wanted.

Could they say that they would have been better.

For the first time in their life, Wanderer considered if they were better off without knowing about their parent.

“Perhaps that is what the god meant, that they are simply more kind, more moral than I thought they were”.

It was this explanation Wanderer settled on, it made the most sense and for a moment the Vessel had made up that they were mistaken all along, and Orsha was actually a good person.

But it didn't take long for the memories to return from the place they were banished, and when they did, they once again reverted the Golem’s opinion.

The atrocities they had seen because of Orsha’s influence simply could not be excused.

But then, was Orsha good or evil, did they provide happiness and satisfaction in struggle, or torture and kill for selfish power.

Their Spirit spoke up, using their wisdom to guide Wanderer’s mind once again.

Not everyone was certifiably good or evil, many fall somewhere in between, some even change from one side to the other because they end up regretting their actions.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Is that it then, is Orsha one of those who are only half good and half evil, or do they simply regret what they did?”

A bolt of exasperation flowed through their link, Wanderer getting the sense that they had somehow missed some crucial part of the explanation.

The Vessel shook off the thought, deciding to leave the contemplation of God's morality for later and instead reflect upon the strange vision they received.

Yet unlike Orsha’s message, there simply isn't much to ponder out.

The whole experience was contextless and bizarre, was Wanderer seeing the former slaves in real time, or was it a memory or symbolic representation.

What was up with the third eye and why did the injured human look at them, how could a human even look at them when the Vessel was not physically in the room.

At least they were pretty sure they weren't.

Did the human actually see them, or did Orsha simply place Wanderers view point in such a position that they would be stared at.

With the god’s message at least they could kind of puzzle out an intention, but the vision was just a mystery, a mystery befitting of such a vague and uncertain figure.

“Was it a warning?” the Vessel thought.

Had they perhaps insulted the slaves by setting them free, and now they were hunting the Golem down?

The idea, though illogical and somewhat unlikely, stuck in Wanderers brain, it was the only thing that made any semblance of sense.

“Was that what the third eye was for, to track me?”

The thought conjured dread in the Vessel’s soul.

All of a sudden, Wanderer felt very trapped in the city walls, as if at any moment, some bounty hunter or angered slave would pop out and take their head.

The Golem became very aware of how exposed they were on the rooftop.

Scooping up Emio, they jumped down from the second story onto the empty streets below, uncaring of any attempt to hide the verdestry, there was no one around, after all.

With haste and the urging of their Spirit, who was similarly incensed by the Golem’s idea, the trio began to make their way through the city, working off Wanderer’s memory of the map.

Despite the irrationality of the idea, a sense of paranoia began to overtake the Vessel, soon they found that they were checking behind every corner, scared that the group had followed them to the city, no matter how far away they undoubtedly were.

Eventually, the Golem found themself circling around the central courtyard to get to where they needed to go, and as they passed through a road that provided them a clear view of the ceremony below, they caught sight of something rather peculiar.

At first, all Wanderer could make out was that every person congregating around the massive bonfire was going up and throwing something in the flames, some kind of ceremonial bundle perhaps.

It wasn't until the dragon that had led them to the city centre went up to the fire did they truly realise what exactly was being burned.

In abject horror, the Golem watched the twelve figures underneath the costume, an object of such splendour and beauty that Wanderer doubted they could ever recreate it, take off the ensemble and throw it into the fire where it exploded in flames.

Before the sheer shock at such an object of beauty being destroyed hit them, an even more dreadful thought occurred.

If the people were expected to destroy their costumes once the sun rose and the festival ended, and they thought that Wanderer was wearing a costume, then the disguise that protected them from recognition, and by extension, attack, had just become irrelevant.

They very quickly realised that any chance they had to gather information was gone, and even the guilt at having failed their mission wasn't enough to keep them around.

Much to the confusion of Emio, Wanderer pivoted and ran, the streets were empty now but they wouldn't remain that way for long.

And the Vessel really wasn't sure if they could manage to escape once there were thousands of people around.

Clay hooves and bushy tendrils hit hard stone as the trio made their way back into the slums of the city, the dawning light of day covering the buildings in a reflective blue.

The sound of hundreds of feet marching in unison broke the Vessel out of their sprint, causing them to swerve around an alley corner just in time to dodge the attention of a large group of soldiers who appeared like phantoms from an intersecting road.

Peeking around the wall, Wanderer witnessed two groups of militia walking in double file. The soldiers on the right possessed the signature blue and white armour of the people of the valley, the Earliag, with long sharp swords and shining metal giving away their position like a tree in a field.

At the head of this column of soldiers, stood their leader, a vain man dressed in full armour and a flowing cape, his head undressed as to display his glory.

The left column, in contrast, had none of the organisation or splendour of the right, instead, the warriors within were untrained and variable.

Some wore stone masks over their faces, some had helmets of metal or hard wooden caps, some had spears and glaives while others had hammers and maces.

As a whole, the group seemed more like a ragtag collection of killers than any sort of organisation, and the disgruntled looks on their faces reflected their dislike for the forced cooperation.

Their leader was as intimidating as his partner was splendid, a hulking brute of a woman whose dark skin was marred with scars and leather armour stitched together, a mask of dark stone turning the figure into an image of pure fright.

The battalion moved forward and crossed the road, seeming to head in the very direction that Wanderer wished to go.

A pit of dread rose in the Vessel’s soul as they feared that they knew the reason why.