In all my years in the Legions, I cannot say that I ever had a week with more strangeness than the last week. Maybe it was simply that in the Legions, you breakdown in the morning, march all day, make camp at night, and fight somewhere in the middle, and you do that ad nauseum. Even when in barracks, there is a rigid routine: Cleaning, repairing, building.

I cannot remember the name of every small town along the way, or all of the details of everyone I passed along the road, but there are a couple of events which really stick out in my memory. I had just finished a long days’ walk, and was looking for an inn or tavern to settle out in. I found a place that looked not too run down, so I went inside. I imagine that the patrons were the usual mix of locals and travellers, but one amongst their number really caught my eye.

A one word description of him would be “viator.” A Traveller, or Messenger. His strange demeanor and odd looks drew me to him immediately. Not physically, but my eyes simply could not stop turning towards his countenance. A short, but powerful man of Tultipet he later claimed to be, and a tattoo artist at that. Claims that his people often take up the trade of decorating the skin with ink, and so he was plying his trade out in the world, and had been doing so for roughly a year. While he claimed to be a part of a caravan that was passing through, it seemed that his membership in the caravan was only viewed as being casual and merely because they happened to be going in the same direction. It certainly did not appear that the other members of the caravan felt that he was one of them. In talking with the man, who goes by the name Delahk, it became apparent that he is somewhat ignorant in the ways of the world, and particularly in how the gods interact with the world. He claimed to have knowledge and believe that the gods, and specifically Illiir, had impacted his life, but he refused to accept that maybe it is part of a grand plan that Illiir has for all of us. When I asked him if he was on his own personal Quaero Lux Lucim, he seemed to balk at the idea that he would need any light, or that he lacked it now. However, as I probed deeper, I came to think that he does feel an emptiness inside where I feel the warmth of The Radiant Orb within my own breast. I know that his aspects as The Curse Bringer and The Unforgiving are valid to many, and I cannot deny his willingneess to punish those that he deems are punishable, but I also cannot help but believe that Illiir has a special plan for us all, and that perhaps this wayfaring tattooist has his own part to play. And so, I do not know if Delahk is a simple Traveller, or if he is the Messenger as well, but I do know that I read a Message in his soul, and in the scribings on his body: he is seeking something, something more than material goods, and maybe he just seeks answers. If it is your will, oh Light Everlasting, then I will help him to find the answers he seeks, and to fill the void within his soul.

Except for the old muleskinner I ran into on my way the next day, no one else seemed to really pique my interest, and I cannot but believe that had I been supposed to notice them, that I would have been drawn to them by a glint of Your holy light off a buckle or some such thing. The muleskinner, however was rather funny. With a not-so-broken wheel on his wagon, he certainly let loose with invective against all the powers above. After calming him a bit, we managed to simply replace the wheel on the axle, and to hammer the pintle back into place to hold it on. A simple problem, a simple fix, and the man was so gracious as to offer to have me ride with him on into Boskowitz. I certainly do not mind walking. I have walked a million leagues with the Legions, but I admit that riding for a change, like some haughty Centurion on his overgrown donkey did not feel bad either. Perhaps I am growing soft?

Boskowitz is nothing special as a town. The lawlessness and casual attitude towards life were obvious just about everywhere. In my short time in the town thus far, I have seen: the near theft, rape, and ravagement of a young Patrician girl; the destruction of the wares and wagon of Delahk; a casual attitude about enforcing the law by the local constabulary; and the practice of his craft by an unlicensed tattoo artist. Now, yes, I admit to not always being a law and order sort, but without some rule of law, civilization itself will topple. Of course, that is what is happening, is it not? The rebellious provinces have chosen to throw off the law and protection of the Coryani Legions, and now face the long slide into barbarism that can only follow. Every Coryani knows that their duty is to the Empire when she calls. Freedom to carry on our day-to-day lives comes at a price. Freedom is never free, and while maybe only a decimus of the citizens of Coryan will ever be called upon to even lift a sword in her defense, while the rest choose their own paths, without that decimus all would be lost.

As I think a bit more on the young Patrician girl, I wonder just what she was thinking? Have her teachers and family left her totally ignorant of the barbarism and violence the world has to offer? She seemed to believe that with a haughty attitude and righteous indignation that she could quell a disturbance that most likely will only be solved through force of arms and a solid asskicking. Indeed, she seemed oblivious to her dangerous position as she scolded the miscreants of the caravan guards for their pranks against Delahk. Did she not notice them slowly surrounding her? Did she not see the sparkle of malice and sexual intent in their eyes as she strutted about? How could she not have heard their blatant offers to take her into the wagons and have their way with her? I do not know how we got out of that situation without a tumble, but I am assured that Illiir’s guiding light had something to do with it. I did see the girl twice again, she was standing with all of the other perfumed dandies in a roped off beergarden vaguely listening to His Holiness speak, and then again afterwards as I went in search of Delahk to make discussion with him. Do the dainty dandies think that a couple of yards of rolled silk on stanchions is actually sufficient to keep them separated from the unwashed masses that they despise so much? Do they think that splashing themselves with scented oils, and wrapping their greasy hair into a twist will actually hide their dirty scent? The lowest fisherman on the banks of the Corvis; the meanest boatsman in the swamps of Toranesta; the basest scullery maid in Grand Coryan, they all know that clean does not mean covering up your putrid stink, but that fresh water, and soap when available, is the way to make clean. Even in the Legions, we knew to keep clean, lest disease and infection set in and ravage your camps. Ahh well, the ignorance of power and station is all that I can see in that.

How can I describe the feeling of getting to hear His Holiness, the Patriarch of the Mother Church? When I started my travel to hear him, I had visions of a grand plan, and a grand speech, one that would call forth the Milandisians and cause them to truly see the error of their ways and flock back to the banners of Coryan as they rightfully should never have left. And while I could feel his glorious radiance wash over me with every word, his wisdom, and knowledge, and vision are so far beyond my own, that I fear I do not fully understand the message he was bringing. He spoke of unity, and setting aside differences, but he did not seem to require a dissolution of the rebellious government of Milandir. Indeed, he did not seem to require it, or expect it. An air of letting the past be the past, like two brothers who used to set pranks against one another, but when the neighbor bully would come to call, they would face their common adversary with total disregard to their own differences. It seemed he was stating that we have more to unite us, than to divide us, and that we need not follow a shared Emperor in order to be working towards the same goal. A week ago, I would have called any man a liar who had claimed this would be the Prelate’s theme. A week ago, I should have cried heresy and called down the wrath of the Church itself against any who spoke this way. Yet now, a week later, having heard the words from the Patriarch himself, having felt his power, having tasted a bit of a future he envisions, and knowing that while not being a Priest of Illiir himself, he is the leader of the Pantheon amongst men. Who then am I, but a simple man, to doubt his vision, even if I do not understand it. Is this why I was led here? Was it to hear his vision? No doubt he will speak these words, or ones akin to them, in a hundred cities, so why here? And why now?

If I am to follow my conscience, and if I am to do my own small part in the vision of the Patriarch, my first step might well be to try more to understand the strange tattooist, who has images reminiscient of the Lady of Thorns across his body? The pain of tattoos used to bring forth images of the Giver of Exquisite Agony? An interesting dichotomy. Perhaps while trying to aid him to a realization and fulfillment of himself, that I will also gain some insight into my own mission.

As for the quaint and simple Patrician girl, she seemed a nice enough sort, albeit a bit dullminded and unobservant. Her inflexible belief in her infallibility due to bloodline may well be her undoing. She would be well advised to stick with her chosen husband, wear the gaudy trinkets of his affection, and hope that she is not called to be a part of that decimus required by this generation.

So then, where is Delahk? We were about to go and make retribution against those believed to have destroyed his belongings. Ahh, there he is…