Traveling in the past...
Crossing the Light, Errant naturally made very good time. He also got in a lot of practice dealing with rapid environmental shifting via dimension-skipping, which dovetailed with the memories of what he’d done back in the game and grounded him in the particular feeling of this reality.
Dimension-skipping naturally meant skimming the Veil, the layer of vibration/existence/quantum uniqueness that defined this plane. This was another sense it was very beneficial to cultivate, because there weren’t many things that came across the Veil that were friendly to the things on this side.
Creatures of Law wanted to remake the world to their ideal. Creatures of Chaos wanted to return it to unbound reality. Creatures of Evil wanted to do whatever they wanted without restraint. Creatures of the Elements wanted to get rid of the other Elements and their own to predominate. Creatures of the transient planes wanted to play with the locals, prey on them, and then head on back home.
The Heavenly Planes had good intentions, but generally they only came down if Called or there was a Big Problem. If Celestials were around... well, it was generally because they were randomly going around doing good deeds incognito, or something bad was happening that mortals weren’t handling very well...
Like that was a surprise...
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It only took him two days to reach Colamn, a distance of over three hundred miles, and that was with a minor delay when he slowed down through a new area and some brigands decided he would be a good target. Some burning bodies later, a few minor trinkets to his stash, and he continued on his way.
There were quite a few minor settlements on the way, but the towns and villages were just waymarks.
Colamn was something different, as it actually held a still-operational Temple of Harse, which maintained a firm grip on the town and defied the desires of the local nobility with great resilience. It was particularly noted for the zeal of its Inquisitors, who tracked down wrongdoers with grim determination and holy devotion, and made this place just Hell for thieves, smugglers, assassins, and the like. They really, really went after cultists involved in dark things, having brought down three noble families and a dozen merchant houses in the last decade for collusion with dark powers.
Unsurprisingly, this meant the town was flourishing, free from the tyranny of those with money and power that characterized the greying of morals of the Empire. It was a clear difference from the seat of his own family, all whispers and shadows and inferred brutality behind polite words. There were flowers on display in window boxes, and people were smiling and waving as they went down the streets, talking with their neighbors openly and without fear.
The guards at the gate took one look at his silver eyes and just waved him by, and although they waived the entry fee, he flipped a silver coin to them in passing, and they just nodded... and put it in the box of tolls.
Good men, he half-smiled, and headed for the temple of Harse.
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It wasn’t that hard to find, as the town had been gradually realigned around it, long-term planning done in a clean and organized way, very orderly, in the proper Harsite mindset. Scattered neighborhoods around industries of various types, certain businesses in certain areas to encourage buyer traffic to move around the city some, and even the noble estates were more scattered than they usually were, forcing them to go through the areas of their lessers to visit one another.
Shocking, really.
Imprus had a church here too, of course, and although it was well-financed by the nobility, regular instances of corruption assaulted it and sapped it of its foundational strength. In the last hundred years, at least a dozen High Priests had fallen from power badly here, their glad-handing and pandering to the nobility unable to keep up with the drive and devotion of the largely lower and middle-class-born clergy of the God of Justice in ferreting out all their schemes.
Too, the Imprusar also continually underestimated the degree of cooperation among the Good Churches in this town. The Temple of Harse regularly contributed to the festivals of the other faiths, shared information back and forth, and the Paladins operating out of the Temple were regularly seen at the churches of the others. Direct intervention had kept moves by outside powers from driving out certain churches, to the point where in the past Harsites had been preaching in Nuavan and Tiirithar Shrines.
Add in their unstinting support of Amana and Flora, and the roots of Harse in Colamn were very strong. It was difficult for much to get done without them finding out.
The Church of Harse having the most trusted bankers and enforcers of contracts in the Empire also rankled the Imprusar and Huul-mar to no end...
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He strode up the wide steps that led to the main Temple, a place of power where literally thousands came to attend services. He looked up at the balcony where the Speaker of Harse would stand, and back out over the plaza where the faithful would gather in their multitudes to hear the words of the God of Justice.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
It wasn’t always Harsites up there. Wandering Priests of other Good Faiths were often offered chances to speak, which could get quite interesting if a Bard of Tiirith took the podium and got the entire congregation dancing...
Smiling to himself, he glanced at some of the guards standing about, who noted his eyes, and if they were a bit startled at his age, they said nothing.
A young man in clerical robes moved to meet him as Errant stepped inside the vast church. Errant’s apparel naturally set him apart, given the black and reds of his attire clashing with the whites and steely grey of the Harsites here.
“May I help you, brother?” the young man asked, seeing the silver eyes and raising his eyebrows, but reserving judgement.
“I was told to go see a certain Inspector Piair in Colamn, and take him out to drink.”
The young Cleric’s mouth twitched towards a smile. “Well, he is quite a drinker at times,” he replied, without batting an eye. “Come. Have you been in the Spires of the Lasting Laws before?”
“To my regret, I have not. My travels were restricted until late. I would appreciate seeing such a place of The Light, and paying my respects to the Ivory King,” Errant answered with a smile.
“Then let me show you around before we visit the Inquisitor. I am sure he will dig out a fine vintage or two for you...”
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The wine was poured smoothly into crystalline glasses, removed from a case at the side. It was indeed a good vintage, as supporting wine-making was supporting the work of Flora.
Inquisitor Piair was a smaller, wiry fellow, with intense brown eyes that were always looking for signs of weakness, reading the area around him for threats and prepared to act, wheels spinning behind his gaze. His reputation preceded him as a finder of killers and a thief-taker, and he had some powerful enemies... which he regarded only as proof that he was on the right path.
“Before we begin, I ask if I might borrow a pen and paper? I have to write a message to my father.”
The Inquisitor answered him by pulling out a writing board, paper, pen, and ink, and putting them down before the younger man. He waited patiently as Errant wrote swiftly on the white sheet, describing his encounter with Master Phlenigos and Hanz in sparse detail, noting that they seemed to have been goaded on by Guildmaster Kupholos.
“If you could stamp it for me, and see that it is delivered to my father.” He put his signet ring’s seal upon it, and pushed the board back.
The inquisitor silently took out the dust to dry it, sprinkling it on as he rapidly read over the contents, blew it dry, folded it up precisely, and placed it in an unremarkable messenger’s envelope. Errant marked it with his signet again, wrote ‘For Father’ upon it, and it was set aside.
“The son of the Duke Gilderalz, a Heavenbound.” His dark eyes studied Errant in surprise and delight. “Heaven works in mysterious ways. We have known of your interest and possible position for years, of course, but dared not inquire directly of the higher powers, lest the unwelcome overhear.”
“Discretion where needed, action where required,” Errant responded calmly, and received a nod in return. They both took a drink, and The Drinking Game began.
The tradition was very old, and quite sacrosanct. For all their presence in society, the clergy of Harse were often hamstrung by the very laws they loved and championed. They were also not fools. Evil laws ignited great passions of indignation in them. Evildoers walking away because they had committed sins inadmissible in the courts of law outraged them, as those were the hallmarks of Tyranny Ascending. As the God of Justice, Harse represented fair laws beneficial to the living and the dead, and using position, wealth, or corruption to bend those laws in favor of the few fanned embers of scorn in the souls of all his clergy.
And so, the clergy went out and got drunk with certain people. In clerical circles, these were often followers of Valus and Tiirith, who generally had no problem whatsoever with going around the law to punish people the law could not touch. The clergy would slurringly impart certain things about certain people, the Valusar would buy them more drinks, walk them home singing risqué songs... and then some brutal, enthusiastic, and very violent things would start befalling certain folk, while the cleric bemoaned his headache and wondered pitifully about what he had spoken of.
Good was not stupid, and Lawful Good was very, very Not Stupid. Being of the Silver in the real world was quite difficult, especially when Evil was a very real thing wanting you to Not Be That Way. Heck, it was the same for Neutrality, and even The Land.
“May I ask how you got my name?” Inquisitor Piair asked, swirling the wine in his hand.
Errant lifted his hand, and the Wrath rose and spun in a silver and gold helix. Piair tried to narrow his eyes and raise his brows at the same time, an interesting challenge, and then shook his head with a sigh again.
“It is not that I work with the Brotherhood... but they speak of things that always turn out to be true, and they seem to have chosen me as a contact person.” He shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride deep in his eyes. “I take it you are like I, an incidental person who disposes of problems they cannot be bothered to.”
“The next tier down, actually. I have never actually met one, only those who were associating with them for certain purposes, which turned out to be quite amenable to my disposition.”
“May I ask where?”
“The most recent was in the swamp southeast of Gulder. There were Mother Vines raising Simming Pods. Pod People had already taken over three fishing villages there.”
He frowned deeply, and took a sip. “Mother Vines come from Outside Creation, as do the Pods. There have been many such events happening in recent years.”
“I was apprised that the cult that placed them had been exterminated in some haste, but the Shadowknife delegated removal of the infection before it blossomed.”
“Yes, they are horrible at proper clean-up of messes. But sniffing out the dangers, ah, they have no equal.” Piair sighed and looked to Errant. “So, what are you looking for here?”
“I am en route to the capital. I thought I’d hear whatever slipped off your tongue, have a few laughs on the way, and get a recommendation for drinking partners and watering holes there. I aim to apply at some of the Orders there, and was wondering if any of them know how to drink.”
The Inquisitor smiled thinly, reaching across to tink glasses with the younger man, and downed a clear mouthful. “Now, this is only hearsay, of course...”
“Of course,” Errant agreed, his face totally serious and composed as he also took a drink...