They didn't need much time to pull the first bits of information from him. He was a nomad from the northern parts of the region, a low-ranking member of the organization — or, as the two interrogators concluded, more of a cult — called the Last Tribe. He quickly admitted the obvious: scattering crystals in places where, he claimed, his ancestors might feel inclined to join the "just" fight they were leading. Their cause, he said, was to purify the North, return to their roots, and stop the uncontrolled sale of everything to the South. However, to reveal operational details, he required a little encouragement. Ashan almost felt pity hearing him whimper under the curse that, as Moira explained, forced the victim to experience very vivid visions of a painful death in their mind.
This explanation sent a chill through him. He appreciated her help, yet just as with the first spell he had seen her weave when they first met — prepared to strike him with it if necessary — he now sensed something unnatural, even repulsive, in this magic. After a minute of the prisoner’s anguished moans, he suggested they’d heard enough. He was right; the man offered the rest without further delay or resistance.
As he explained, the Elder of the Last Tribe was an elderly seer whom he had not had the honor to meet personally but whom he served faithfully. Nearly a year ago, the Elder shared a vision with the rest of the tribe. In it, the ancestors told him that the time of purification had come, and they would assist their sons and daughters in the struggle. In these visions, they taught him the art of awakening them to fight, imparting plans to reclaim the North from traitors to the race. After this cleansing time, all Gray Nomads would be united as one Last Tribe, living in harmony with the old ways. Their prisoner truly believed these promises. He spoke passionately about the Elder's gift of seeing the future — and even of summoning their ancestors to fight. It was his own glorious duty to scatter the crystals to assist in this cause. For weeks, he had traveled the land, leaving them in locations previously marked for him. Others like him were doing the same. His assigned territory was the farthest from the tribe’s land, the Kardum district. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the Last Tribe's land lay, claiming that all the North belonged to them except for a few traitorous strongholds of the Northern City Union. And he genuinely seemed to believe this. He lived in a small community on the northwestern edge of the land. The stones had been given to him there by a local seer, one of the Elder’s disciples, along with instructions on what to do.
These were valuable insights, but they had to admit the cult had secured itself well. This man knew nothing more of real use to them, having received only general orders and a grand vision of his mission, thickly layered with mystical reasoning, before being sent south to act. Even captured, he couldn’t reveal much — exactly as the cult intended. They questioned him further about connections or communication methods, but he had nothing more to give. In a few weeks, he was expected to return to the far North, to his herds and pastures, proud of the crucial role he played in the Last Tribe’s great struggle.
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In the end, they confirmed with him that he hadn’t yet reached his next destination on their map. With the shadowed threat of the curse lingering, he also reluctantly shared a few locations he had previously visited, which they had not yet marked. Fortunately, there weren’t many, and he had traveled on foot. Ashan bound him securely, and despite their fatigue, they returned to town with him to report to Captain Darva. Potentially, every single trade town was just beginning to be plagued by seemingly trivial rumors of spirits on the roads — rumors that, unfortunately, had more reality to them than the locals might wish. There was no time to lose.
They had to wake the captain in the middle of the night before dawn. They shared everything the prisoner had told them, now securely locked up in the road wardens' station. Ashan ensured he was watched carefully to prevent any harm to himself. Darva listened intently, despite the indecent hour they had come to her private quarters. After a long moment of silence, rubbing her hastily gathered hair, she responded.
“This smelled fishy from the moment you returned from the fort ruins. But if this cultist is telling the truth about other towns, we must immediately send word to the council. I know a member who’ll listen to me even at this hour. If we’re lucky, we’ll dispatch couriers with bad news even tonight.” Her still-sleepy but increasingly focused gaze shifted to each of them in turn. “Excellent work, both of you. Get some sleep; you look like you’re about to drop. I’ll update you in the morning on how things stand.”
Ashan and Moira left Captains home and returned to their horses, who were no less tired than they were. Later, they spent a minute or two in the street next to the now-closed remedy shop below her room, exchanging words of comfort and reassurance that they would get through this. Then he took the horses and returned to the barracks to get some well-deserved rest.
Moira was exhausted but angry. Some aging cult leader had clearly dabbled in necromancy and decided it would give him the edge he needed to finally gain political and actual control over part of the North. Worst of all, there were people willing to believe it all and long for a mythic past that never existed! Moira raged in her thoughts, knowing from Ashan how divided and caste-bound this society had been during his active years. She resolved to write to her master at the Emperor's Court as soon as she could get some rest, and with that thought, exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.