I have to admit that I wasn't initially big a fan of our new allies. Meaning our most immediate new allies, of course, as even the others were still quite new, and my opinions of them weren't exactly the highest, either. Even considering Meryll's defeat, she was obviously a strong fighter, but that's all that she was. The giantess was clearly a violent brute at heart. I could tell that Samuel, sorry, Samson wasn't much better, either. He may not have been as hot blooded as she, but there was no real loyalty there. He was only out for his own interests, whatever those might be. In itself, this wouldn't be a significant problem, quite the opposite, really. A strong leader exists to harness and nurture the individual strengths of their followers, combining them into a proper fighting force. Jebediah wasn't a bad fellow, and I must say that while he may have been a little daft at times, my perspective of him had improved since we'd first met. He was humble, personable and had a decent head on his shoulders, all things considered. He just wasn't a strong leader. Then, of course, there was Dave, too, but I increasingly found myself not considering him to be a proper member of the group. He just kind of stood around and made people mildly uncomfortable, but otherwise doing nothing to aid or burden us in any way.
This leads us to the newcomers. Most of them weren't a problem. Samson wasn't entirely wrong in his opinion that religious people make fine soldiers. They're natural followers, have a dogmatic moral center which encourages loyalty, and have at least a little less fear of death than the common atheist. The problem lied with Sellas. She was a scary one. Whether in soldiers, politics or general person-hood, a little religion can be a good thing, but true believers, something far more rare than most people realize? They're a problem. A common theist has respect for hierarchies, but the devout? They only recognize one higher authority, and that is whose interests they serve. Sure, they'll obey laws and even follow orders, to an extent, so long as they feel that it goes along with the will of their own particular deities, but only so far as that. The moment that you step out of line, the true believer has no more use for you, and those new soldiers? Their eyes were clearly on the strange woman, following her desires, not those of Jebediah or anyone else in our group.
This was all the worse due to the fact that religious beliefs tend to be surprisingly malleable. Even if they weren't however, and I say this as a simple scribe with limited comprehension of religion in general, much less the Starman cult, I saw little reason to believe this conflict represented some grand battle between the cosmic forces of good and evil. I had no idea what the shadow king Mollenoch wanted, but I knew enough about mice to realize that it was probably not mindless destruction and hatred. Destruction was most likely just a means to an end. Even his reputation for madness was likely dramatically overstated. He probably had his own goals which simply ran counter to our own. He was wrong in the sense that it's wrong to use violence to try to get your way (although even that is more of a matter for philosophers than scribes), but it was unlikely that he was some demon or force of chaotic malevolence. It was even less likely that he was an active agent serving whatever boogeyman that the cult had dreamed up. It was a conflict, like any other. Even from my neutral perspective, I believed that we were in the right, but we weren't necessarily a force of good, especially not in the grander, cosmic sense. We weren't saints acting in service to a God, we were just fighting to stay alive, and sooner or later Sellas was going to realize that. I could only pray that it wouldn't happen during some a crucial moment. Were I more personally invested in the matter, I'd bring it up to her myself, but, again, it's my job to record history, not to create it.
Our somewhat large band (although still pitifully small by the standards of an army) had left the walled city and begun to venture to the east, towards... somewhere. Sure, our goal was a vague one, but I couldn't complain too much. We had to go somewhere, after all, since it was clear that we would not find what we sought within those walls. Jebediah remained the leader, but that felt more like a technicality. The bulk of our forces served the wide-eyed mouse woman, with the remainder largely serving themselves. Still, that technicality wasn't without value. However little charisma and leadership he might have had, ultimately, he was still the glue that held the entire force together, however fragile a bond that may have been. In this situation, however, his lack of authority and pride might actually proven beneficial, as me and the other founding members lacked the numbers to survive should a power struggle for control of the band break out between him and Sellas. As it stood, the two seemed to be getting along quite well. For now.
"So, what exactly is this 'devourer'?" Jebediah asked the smiling woman. She was always smiling, but it always felt s a little closer to Samuel's broken smile than that of a common mouse. Sure, the basic elements were there, but it still left you unsettled. It was also similar to Samuel's in the sense that I didn't believe that it was flawed due to deception or deliberate manipulation on her part. There was just something wrong, something intangibly broken behind it. Something that most likely even she was unaware of.
"I suppose it's understandable that you wouldn't know. Even within our dogma, we choose to focus on the light over the darkness, the creator over the destroyer, the blessed over the accursed. The Devourer with its all seeing eyes dwells up within the heavens, in opposition to our very existence. While we are flesh and blood and souls and dreams and wills and everything else that makes a living thing alive, it is cold and empty. It is without a proper mind or spirit, a terrible contraption designed for no purpose beyond expanding itself at the expense of all else." She said, looking down, as though afraid of meeting the gaze of this mysterious devil. "It is death and destruction. Stagnation. The end. The Starman, on the other hand, is the spirit of innovation, of dreams, of beauty, of growth. Of love. From deep beneath the ground it gives us strength, urging us forward to become our best possible selves, and, in turn, to create the best possible world."
"Huh, so the Starman is underground, and the Devourer is... up among the stars?" Jebediah said, scratching his cheek. "That sounds a little confusing."
"It isn't that confusing." Sellas said, letting a rare hint of annoyance creep into her voice before it was once more pushed away. It was clear that this is not the first time that she had had to respond to this criticism of their dogma. One little detail I had picked up during my research was that the 'Starman' wasn't the original name given to the deity of this cult. It was originally called the Alien Intelligence, but that title proved unmarketable, being made up of the two concepts which no small number of mice despise above all others. I guess the logic was that the being itself didn't really care what it was called. "Some unenlightened souls see the heavens as being a place of greatness and worship, but they're wrong. It is a place of coldness and darkness and emptiness. Life comes from the earth. Not the depths of space."
The farmer nodded his head, likely more for the sake of being agreeable rather than supporting those views, but it still left me rather worried. On one hand, if he were drawn into this cult, it would certainly solve the problem of a potential rift between factions, but on the other... how do I put this... those Starman mice were just creepy, and a gentle and open-minded sort like Jeb was just the kind of mouse that could easily be sucked into this lunacy. Also, religious texts tend to be notoriously dry and dull, and I would hate for this work to end up becoming one. Fortunately, as we walked, a distraction arose to break up the conversation, which, I had little doubt, would have invariably led to more aggressive recruitment efforts.
Beautiful music filled the air, with a silver-furred mouse in a long, plain dress at its source, sitting atop a tall stone, head bowed, eyes closed, all of her energies focused upon strumming her thin fingers along the strings of a strange wooden instrument. From a distance it looked simple enough, but a deep and complex sound emanated forth, the subtlest of motions leading to many gentle, overlapping tones. Even I found myself briefly caught in the spell as the others looked to her, but it wasn't long before I came to my senses, recognizing the blight which has been laid before us: A bard.
I'm sure that some of the more ignorant among the readers will be asking themselves what's wrong with bards? As tempted as I am to simply offer the dismissive answer of 'everything', I suppose I'd better be more clear. Bards are the bitter enemies of scribes and historians. So much knowledge, stories and history end up passing from mouse to mouse through these performers who are, by and large, far more interested in setting a proper rhyme scheme than historical accuracy. A catchy tune, no matter how inaccurate, remains within the social consciousness far longer something written in a history book. So much more so that these musicians can largely create their own histories, and quite often do. That, of course, is just the beginning of the issues to be had with bards. Now, I'm an ordinary man, and I can enjoy a toe-tapping ditty as much as the next mouse, but the novelty of such things wear off quickly, and generally speaking, bards never stop singing. It's even worse when you consider the sort of personality that craves the spotlight, full time. It's one that's far more appealing in small doses. Ideally extremely small doses.
The worst thing about bards, however, is just how useful they are. Even I can't deny it. Whether it's for a small adventuring band or a proper army, a single bard can have a dramatic impact by both boosting the strength and morale of allies and weakening their respective enemies. This impact goes far beyond simply making people feel good, too. It's a sort of magic, much more vague than conventional sorcery. Rather than simply boost the spirit, it is said to, to a small extent, actually re-write reality, granting good fortune to their allies and curses upon their enemies. The worst part is that there is far, far too much evidence in support of this view to simply dismiss it as nonsense. Unpleasant people, in themselves, aren't so bad. The world is full of them and they can generally be avoided with little difficulty The real problem arises when unpleasant people are also necessary.
I had to admit, though, that there was something odd about this one. Most bards love nothing more than the sound of their own voice, yet this one wasn't singing. She wasn't dancing either. She wasn't wearing a colorful outfit and vying for attention. She simply sat, serenely, strumming at the strange chords, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. At least at first.
She stopped playing mid-note, raised her head, and turned it towards our group. "Hello? Is someone there?" she asked with a soft voice.
It was a rather strange question. We were an armed band (well, most of us were armed, even if the weapons held by the Starman cult members were less than remarkable), of moderate size, standing within a relatively open field directly in front of her. It appeared that I was not the only one who felt this way, as each of the mice in our group looked to one another, awkwardly, wondering if they were expected to be the ones to state the obvious. Finally, our leader spoke up. That's another nice thing about having a proper leader: Awkward tasks like this end up left to them.
"Um... yes?" He said, as though we weren't entirely certain, himself.
The expression of the mouse girl immediately changed from one of calm serenity to enthusiasm as she hopped up to her feet, slid down the side of the smooth stone on her rear and landed in the grass in front of Jeb and the others. The landing was a perfect one, implying a sort of grace which was immediately betrayed the moment she tried to walk a single step forward, as she let out a surprised squeak and fell face-first into the earth. She showed no signs of pain, either to her body or pride as she quickly hopped back up, clumsily brushed herself off and smiled.
"Hi there! I don't see many mice outside the city." she grinned. "I'm Annabelle. You can call me 'Anna'... or 'Belle'... or 'Anne'... or anything else, really. It hardly matters to me. What's your name?"
Another odd question. One could safely assume that she was talking to Jebediah, but there were quite a few of us in his immediate vicinity. I must admit that it took me a rather embarrassingly long time to solve this mystery. Well, less time than it took most of our band, but that's hardly a compliment. The eyes of the mouse-girl had been closed this entire time. At first I thought she might simply have been the shy type, as a lot of mice (even if very few bards) make a point to avoid eye contact. It was an easy mistake to make in this case, as her eyes were, in fact, open just a crack, but within that space was a rather disturbing milky yellow of sickness or infection, further signs of it crusting about the corners of the eyes. I'm not a doctor, but even I could tell that there was a serious problem there, and that if she did have any amount of vision, it was undoubtedly quite poor.
There was a sudden physical reaction as our leader noticed this as well. Not a shiver of revulsion or pity, but a clear realization. "Ah, my name is Jebediah. I am leading this proud band of soldiers in a crusade against the evil Shadow King, Mollenoch." he said with a nod. He actually sounded fairly commanding until he just had to add one last word. "...Apparently."
"Ah, yes! The rumored 'Hell Reaper'. I've heard much about you!" she beamed, at least as best she could without opening her eyes.
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"Huh, I thought it was just 'The Reaper'?" Jeb said, to nobody in particular, scratching his head.
"It would seem that you have been promoted." Samson chimed in with a somewhat derisive tone.
"Hmm... I'm not sure I approve of that." the farmer muttered before shaking it off. "No matter. Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, young miss, but should a mouse of your... delicate constitution be so far from the city, unattended?"
The bard simply nodded her head, taking no offense at the statement. "Yes, I know it is rather dangerous out here. I'm even rather ashamed to say that I made a promise to a good friend to not go outside on my own, but, well... it's just so nice out here! The air is so clean and fresh, and the sound of the wind flowing through the grass is so soothing. Everything is just so... so open!" she sighed contently, raising her head, not to look to the sky as clearly it would offer her no greater view to her than the grass. By this point, I could safely guess that she was entirely blind. Not only did she fail to make eye contact, but she didn't even turn her head towards those she was speaking to, instead only seeming to react to the sounds made by others, swiveling her round ears towards them. "Besides. The city isn't all that far away. If anything happens, all I need to do is run in that direction."
Annabelle pointed a paw outwards, seemingly at nothing. Jeb, much like everyone else, myself included, was more than a little bit confused by the gesture, but he figured things out rather quickly. The farmer stepped forward and, with just a little hesitancy at the idea of laying hands on an unfamiliar young lady, turned her still pointing paw some forty-four degrees to the left, in the direction of the kingdom. "The city is actually in this direction." he said.
The young bard furrowed her brow and tilted her head. "Are you sure?"
As for the farmer, he looked sideways over at the ancient vehicle which housed the city, hardly a hundred lengths away, easily within view, and then back to her. He looked back to it, once more, just to verify his perspective before finally saying, "I'm pretty sure?"
He spoke with a certain awkwardness, having absolutely no desire to embarrass the silver mouse, but that concern was clearly unwarranted. She burst into high-pitched laughter, wiping the slightly miscolored tears from her eyes. "Oh dear, I'm sure lucky that you kind folks have come along. That could have been incredibly embarrassing!" she said, still chuckling to herself. I imagine that I wasn't the only one baffled by this reaction. Far more than just embarrassing, had any sort of danger arose, such an error could have been downright lethal.
"I admire your independence, but it is far too dangerous out here." Meryll said in a surprisingly kind and soft voice, stepping forward, taking both of the bards paws in her own to look her in the face. Her gesture surprised me, as I would have guessed she was the sort to have little patience for the weak or infirm. As for the bard herself, she crinkled up her nose just a bit, clearly surprised by the unexpected flowery scent which came from the oversized warrior. "Please, allow us to escort you back to the city where it is safe."
An expression of mild panic took hold of the bard, as her whole body stiffened, ears perking up. "No!" she said, before her tension faded, her tone shifting to one of embarrassment. "Um, sorry, I really do appreciate the kind gesture, and I know this place is dangerous and a lot of bad things could happen but... I don't want to go back there. Not yet. It's so... stifling. So many people moving in all directions, feeling their eyes on me without being able to look back. Feeling judged, helpless, pitied. I mean, I get it..." Annabelle smiled softly. "Even out here, I'm not exactly very useful, but among the open air and nature and grass..." she turned her head, as though looking about the environment, and I suppose in her own way, she was still taking it in, and immediately relaxed. "I feel so at peace. So natural. Like everything is as it's meant to be. Without those around to constantly remind me how useless and vulnerable I am, not that they're wrong, I can, for a little while, forget it... I can just be me. And that, well, that's a pretty wonderful feeling."
She paused, turning back to the large mouse woman who stared at the young girl with rapt fascination before continuing to speak. "You know, for the longest time I hated myself. I kind of wanted to be gone. I didn't necessarily want to die, but, well, I think I might have wanted to live just a little bit less. But, after a strange, fleeting encounter with someone very special, I realized that it wasn't me that I hated. I hated others idea of me, and for a while there I just assumed that was the only idea of me that could possibly exist. But, the world is so much bigger than that, isn't it? I'm my own person, and there's so much more to everything than just me and them. So, well... I come out here, where I can be all alone with my music and, just for a little while... for a little while not be bound by others perceptions or expectations. To only have to live up to my own standards."
Her expression turned, once more from delight to shyness. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry. Here I go prattling on to a group of perfect strangers. You must think me quite the fool." she chuckled once more, shaking her head. "You're very kind, miss, letting me go on like that, and I appreciate your concern... I really do. I can feel the respect and kindness behind your words. You aren't speaking to me as though I were some lesser creature, I know you just don't want me to get hurt and, well..." she paused once again. "That really does mean a lot to me."
Meryll gripped the young bards paws tightly. Perhaps a little too tightly and, bizarrely, her awkwardly small eyes were brimming with tears. I didn't really understand why. Not to say that the plight of the bard wasn't deserving of sympathy in its own right, but I never imagined the large, heavily armed warrior to be the type to get pulled in by such things. "You have to come with us!" she said excitedly, staring intently into those closed eyes, a wide smile upon her face.
"Hmmm... we are more than a little bit under-staffed." Samson said. "Having a bard join us might help bolster the ranks, just a little."
"Wait, what? No!" I said, knowing exactly where this was going and, despite my professional obligations to not intervene in such matters, unable to help myself. "Are you joking? We can't just drag some random invalid with us on our quest!" I turned to Annabelle to say. "Um, no offense."
"Some offense taken." she grumbled before turning her head more-or-less towards Jebediah. "Is he always like this?"
"Well," the farmer said, clearly giving the matter some thought. "I haven't really known him all that long but... yes?"
I similarly took some offense to that statement, but being a bigger person than the bard, I didn't feel obligated to state it.
"I'm just saying that we have more than enough non-combatants as it is, and once we actually encounter the enemy and the proper battle begins, that's going to cause trouble enough." I said, very much aware that I, myself, was one of those non-combatants. "...but there's no way that a blind mouse can safely navigate a battlefield, and we don't have the personnel to spare to protect her." I looked about at the different faces in search of support and in each one I found some measures of agreement but no real confidence in that stance. Finally, salvation came to me as I turned to an unlikely ally. "Sellas! You agree with me, right? This is a grand, holy crusade and no place for some random civilian who will just get in the way."
The expression of the older mouse woman wasn't necessarily one of skepticism, as I had hoped, but rather one of deep thought. In spite of my general objections to her presence, I had never considered her to be stupid. Quite the contrary. Religious folks are often dismissed as stupid by atheists, but that's really an unfair assessment. Despite certain obvious blind spots, these more often caused by stubbornness and wishful thinking than proper ignorance, religious people could be incredibly intelligent. Even when their beliefs are wrong which is, I dare say, almost always, they don't follow them simply because they don't know better, but rather because they wish to believe them true. That's also what makes folks like her so dangerous. A fool who believes in fairy tales is relatively harmless, but one clever enough to gain actual influence and power, along with the confidence and determination which comes with believing that such views are grand cosmic truths? They can cause an incalculable amount of damage.
"It would seem that this encounter was a fated one. It would be improper for me to stand against destiny." She finally answered. "Of course, it isn't my decision."
"Oooh, you're going on a quest?" the bard chirped, excitedly. "I love those!"
"Maybe we weren't exactly clear..." Samson spoke up, seemingly happy to have some extra cannon fodder around but still not without his reservations. "This isn't some vacation. We're going to battle against an opponent with dramatically greater numbers, better technology, and probably a lot more combat skill and general discipline. It will be extremely dangerous."
In the face of such a revelation, Annabelle simply shook her head and smiled. "Oh, please. Everything I do is extremely dangerous. Why, I can hardly make myself breakfast without putting my life on the line in the process." she paused, apparently recognizing that the words would do little to inspire confidence. She frowned a little. "I mean I'd absolutely love to, if you'd have me, but I don't want to be a burden or anything."
All eyes turned to me, as, apparently, the lone dissenter. To say that this wasn't the sort of position that I wanted to find myself in would be an understatement. I was not supposed to be making major tactical decisions, yet was consistently finding myself drawn into such matters. I should have just remained quiet, and honestly, I easily could have. Had the newcomer had been anything but a bard, that is.
"I'm just saying..." I said, grumbling softly. "That maybe just taking in any stray mouse along the road that wants to join us isn't the best idea."
That sort of worked, I figured. Not too declarative, simply expressing a line of logical reasoning, the likes of which the others would surely have also expressed had they considered it. That's not dictating the very events I'm supposed to be recording, it's just giving the heroes the slightest nudge in the right direction. Or so I had thought.
"Isn't that what we were basically doing in the city? Looking for anyone who wanted to come along?" Jeb asked. "Now, I'm not exactly a mighty champion myself, so it feels a little hypocritical for me to say who is or isn't useful enough to join us."
I couldn't really argue against that. It would be forcefully trying to influence matters, which goes against my oath as a scribe. I know, I've mentioned this oath repeatedly by this point, but it's important that the reader remembers it, so that when the inevitable moment comes when I finally do have to break it, and rise to the occasion for the sake of the greater good, it will be all the more impactful. Also, there was a somewhat lesser reason in the fact that I couldn't actually think up a proper retort. At least not one that didn't make me sound horrible for not wanting a blind girl to come along, especially since I had little issue with that part. It's not my job to help the group succeed, and even if taking this new girl along were an objectively terrible decision, that hardly mattered. After all, often a character making a terrible decision is what makes for the best sorts of stories. If nothing else, a blind character would add a little extra diversity to the group, even if it's already reaching the point where keeping track of everyone is starting to get a little bit confusing. It was mostly the bard thing, though. Well, I was also admittedly just a little bit biased by the fact that I could easily become a casualty of such objectively terrible decisions.
"So... I can come along?" the blind mouse asked. Jeb nodded in response, after nobody raised an objection. His approval was enough to basically seal the deal, anyways. Leaders privilege and all that. Even if it was not an official role with set rules and hierarchies, it seemed that people just tended to, by default, go along with whatever a leader says, no matter how empty that leadership title might be. Meryll certainly seemed pleased by this. Looking back at her obsession over Jerin, maybe she just had a thing for small mouse girls. For the sake of my sanity, I choose not to actively contemplate what exactly that 'thing' entailed.
It took more than a few moments for all of us, myself included, to realize that the bard couldn't see our leader nod, and so far as she was concerned, we were all standing, silently, refusing to answer. "Oh, yes, we'd be honored to have you." The farmer verbally answered, clearly a little embarrassed.
Anne was clearly quite excited for a moment, before her expression turned to one of concern. "Um, I'm sorry. I know you are all being super nice to me, and I have no right at all to be making demands... it's just that..." she lowered her head, removing the strange stringed instrument from her back. "Would it be all right if I played my music as we traveled? I'll try not to be too noisy or disruptive."
There was a universal expression of confusion among our band. Once more, it was up to someone, anyone, to state the obvious. Fortunately, our brave leader stepped forward, one more, to accomplish that task. "Well, you are a bard, so... yes? That's sort of your job." he said. Coming from anyone else, that would have sounded sarcastic and bordering on malicious, but he had a way of speaking which lead you to believe that even he was contemplating the logic of it as he was spoke, no matter how obvious that logic might have been. It was difficult to say whether this was a product of him being deeply empathetic, or incredibly stupid. Perhaps a combination of the two.
"Wow, really?" Annabelle chirped excitedly. "This day just keeps getting better!"
And so, our numbers had swelled by one. That might not sound like much, but percentage wise, it wasn't a trivial difference. As our group continued, she enthusiastically introduced herself and got the names of everyone, although Dave, naturally, was unable or unwilling to introduce himself, requiring someone else to do so for him. His primary method of communication didn't work on the blind mouse, either, so the pair had failed to properly connect. Not that the silent mouse had properly connected with anyone else, either, of course. The introductions, of course. included the followers of Sellas, none of whose names I personally knew. If any of them end up doing anything important, I'll be sure to make a note of them. Up to this point, however, they simply followed Sellas about like obedient pets, avoided eye contact with spoken to, and when faced with even the most trivial of decisions would look to their leader... not our leader, their leader, for affirmation. As such, while they didn't treat the newcomer coldly by any stretch, there was a certain shyness there. It felt like most of the cult members had little experience when it came to dealing with outsiders, at least dealing with them in a social sense, rather than following their practiced recruitment scripts. Still, a couple of them always remained near the bard, to help guide her, not that it really proved necessary. The young girl wasn't quite as incapable as I had earlier feared, and even when left unattended, she never seemed to fall far behind or wandered far from the group. Were it not for her regular habit of tripping and falling over even the tiniest pebbles and other obstacles in her path, one might not realize that she was blind at all.