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In the Name of Grand Prince Stavian III,
Emperor of Taldor, Scion of Aroden, Doge of Andoran, Defender of Galt, Eternal Monarch of Cheliax, Primarch-in-waiting of Absalom to his formal agents of External Commerce and Protection in the Prefecture of Avin.
In order to further the expansion of Taldan law, order and glory and protect those things in places under Imperial protection, I grant the bearer of this note certain powers in the area known as Wheldrake and install him as Imperial Agent in the Common Law District of the Avin Prefecture.
ONE, that the bearer is empowered to uphold and administer the laws and customs of Taldor, at all costs.
TWO, that he maintain and enhance the position of trade and commerce in this district, providing aid to any caravans or other traders, as well as providing an honest accounting of wealth.
THREE, to create harmonious and peaceful relations with the natives and locals of the this district, many of them being from exotic and foreign lands.
FOUR, the bearer is given the right to obtain deputies, agents, etcetera in order to fulfill his duties.
FIVE, to report back at timely intervals on the state of affairs in the region
Few people traveled the Endless Way alone. Standing under a boiling sky, with dry shrubland spreading out in endless miles around him, Connacht Metayer could see why. The blasted landscape of the Whistling Plains was not an easy terrain to cross alone. Even for the druid, the hundreds of miles of plain open country had been a trial. Sunburned, wind whipped and with plant life best described as ‘rugged’ the land here was not forgiving. More than once Connacht had seen the ruined remains of a cart or tent, coated with dust on the side of the Way. These lonely ruins showed the fate of those who had not fared so well in this brutal landscape. He did not want to think of the bleached bones that may lay under those forgotten boards or tattered fabrics. Some things are best left to nature to mark as memorials.
Around him the low, brown Nomen Hills, a wild and forbidden stretch of mountains that are generally considered the edge of the Avistan rise and fall. Past it is empty Iobaria and then Casmaron, the strange and wild east. The Way winds through the lower valleys of the Nomen’s, avoiding the craggy hill tops, following the few watercourses. Somewhere here, close now, is Wheldrake, nestled in a remote valley. What would he find there? A boisterous town of killers and gamblers? A nervous outpost of Taldan culture in a sea of wilderness? A ghost town and a dry well? He had no idea and no one in Yanmiss has known or cared enough to find out.
The Endless Way itself of course, continued far beyond Wheldrake. The trade route arced north of the Casmaron Sea, a lonely course beyond the ken of Taldor and it’s merchants. Rumor said it stretched, in some form, all the way to Vudra or even Tian Xia beyond, fabled to be the richest places in Golarion. Lands of silk and spices, of slaves and jewels. At least, that is what the traders who made it to Yanmiss claimed. And such trade as it was that flowed into Taldor that made men rich, and created wealth even an Emperor could not ignore. Despite its small size and remoteness, Wheldrake was a potential keystone in the Imperial economy, a critical cog in the machinery of Empire and perhaps, a stepping stone to future glory.
So far Connacht had seen no signs of civilization, of other people. There had been no caravans heading either north or south, just the empty miles. That didn’t mean it was empty of course. Quite apart from any hidden bandits or strangers, the land was quite alive. Lizards and snakes hid in dark holes, waiting for the cool of evening. Several times he had startled crouching rabbits or mice out of the brush as he walked. Above, circling hawks and eagles scoured the land for prey. Vultures too most likely, although Connacht had cheated them on his trip north.
Here and there, scattered at seeming random, Connacht had seen the ancient remains of Iobarian society, raised by the cyclops in ages long forgotten, millenia before the Starstone fell. Huge blocks of worked stone, lying at odd angles, half hidden under the dust. The shapes were gigantic, some of them nearly 100 feet long of solid rock, weighing countless tonnes. While he did not have time to investigate a few even seemed to hold ancient carvings and signs, not quite weathered away by the passage of endless storms and wind. But they had nothing to do with his own goals, so the druid passed on, leaving the stones to their lonely vigils.
Rounding one last bend in a weathered hill, he spots his goal. The road falls away in an even, careful descent, cut into the hill itself, obviously made when Taldor was young and strong. At the the very center of the valley, a town sprawled out, the Endless Way a dark ribbon running through it. Connacht pauses, not only to rest his weary legs, but to get the feel of this place, his new charge.
In the center of town, nearly on top of the Endless Way, a large rambling building stood. The caravanserai itself, part tavern, part stable, part fort. In ancient times, it would have been the only structure here, a safe place to rest and escape from the perils of the road. It served that role poorly these days, and even at this distance Connacht could see crumbling walls, and cracked mortar. It had been long indeed since Taldor could afford to repair such places and apparently the locals hadn’t. Near it, in even more ruined condition is the old Taldane governor's manor home. While it once might have been a fine, multi-storyed building with walls and gardens, it was now a decaying ruin of tumbled stone and creeping vines.Arranged near the Endless Way is a small paved plaza or square, circled with low structures Connacht can’t make out.
Farther away, tucked into a hollow of the stone, was a large oasis, the first open water Connacht had seen since he had left Yanmiss. The blue water sparkled like a jewel in the crown of a king, glittering with reflected sunlight. Rows of planted trees surrounded it on all sides, vanishing into the scrubby hills and into hidden twists of the land. A fine looking wooden home sits under some massive trees, dappled in shifting shade.
On the other end of the valley, is a irregular pool, much smaller. The water is brown and stagnant, with only the smallest fringe of green plants around it much trampled. Shacks and hovels are clustered here, arranged in a erratic hodgepodge of muddy paths and ramshackle porches. Here and there small garden patches of sickly plants struggle to survive.
Closer to the Endless Way, a trim white building with the unmistakable look of a temple sits, nearly glowing in the bright sun. To his surprise, there is no roof on the building, instead revealing a empty courtyard, paved with local stone. The interior glitters and sparkles, as if the sunlight is reflecting off burnished metal or glass beads, but Connacht cannot make out any details at this range.
Somewhat more distant, a large round building stands, two stories tall. The second largest building after the caravanserai, it is built out of the pale, flaky stone of the Nomen hills. While it looks weathered and aged, Connacht guessed it was built long after Taldor abandoned this place. There are splashes of color on the distant walls, some form of art painted onto the stone.
Other buildings lay scattered about, with no rhyme or reason with no hint of a town plan. Some were clustered along the caravan route, while others sat in seeming isolation. It felt wrong to Connacht and then it hit him why. It was not a community, there was no sense of oneness here. It was a collection of individuals who just happened to occupy some of the same space. Not the most promising soil for a follower of Erastil.
Still, who had said it would be easy?
"Well Derwyn. The Imperial Agent of Taldor talks to the steadfast hound at his side as he looks to the town, having rounded the last bend before his destination. Cool green eyes gazed out on the town, judging and appraising it, and largely finding it wanting. "Welcome to Wehldrake.
Connacht loved the wilderness. Rain, snow, sun, heat, animals tame or feral. There was always something new to admire.
But he'd never been on the Endless Road before. He'd never seen planes so dry before. There was still wonder here... but it wasn't the same as a forest or a meadow. No less than the water, there was a drought of beauty here. He appreciated whatever signs of life he found, and prayed he'd one day be able to appreciate this part of the gods' creation.
But that was not, in all likelihood, going to be this day.
At least he had Derwyn. Faithful as ever, the two of them had traveled these miles for weeks. Luckily his magic had saved the two of them of from the worst of the heat, even if some of it got through.
He leans on the long wooden walking stick he has been using ever since he started out on this journey, taking the time to survey the town more closely. "In all likelihood the caravanserai and the manor are filled with squatters." He says as he absentmindedly scratches Derwyn behind the ears.
"Whoever lives there's gonna be important. Or at least think he's important." Connacht remarks at the large wooden house right next to the lake, covered in shade. "Comfort might be worth more than gold here."
The sight of a temple is a welcome sight, even if it's lack of a roof takes him by surprise. "Sarenites, perhaps. Could be far worse than that." He hadn't come here expecting a temple of Erastil, of course, but he was expecting to deal with the worshipers of a power far more unsavory than that.
As for the other building, two stories tall and covered in art, Connacht gives a puzzled look. Another temple, perhaps?
"Well lad, no sense in speculating when the ... amicable folks down 'ere will be able to tell us what we need to know." He says to Derwyn as he readjusts his grip on his walking stick. "Sooner we straighten this place out, sooner Wessa comes up here to join us. Come on." Derwyn's ear's perk up at the mention of his wife's name, and before long man and beast are heading down the Endless Trail and onward towards Wheldrake.
His work begins.
Would have been casting Endure Elements on myself and my wolf for the journey, and today is no exception, considering the heat and the boiling sky. Two first level spell slots would have been used.
I'll get you the rest of my spell list shortly.
Connacht and Derwyn head down the arid slope, and the druid admires the impressive road under his feet. While not a engineer by any stretch, he has walked many a road in his time, and knew how poorly they were often designed and constructed, a crime against both nature and good sense. Not the Endless Way. Whatever engineer or architect had designed it in the dim past had known his business.
The descent was easy and smooth, laid out with mathematical precision. It was wide enough for two carts to ride side by side, made of raised stones fitted tightly together. Where it cut into the hill, the dirt was coated with hewn stone, holding back any erosion. On each side, was a raised curb to handle water and prevent it from undermining the road itself, while the center of the road was bowed up slightly to allow water to run off instead of collecting in pools. Not that such things were a problem today.
The blazing noon sun nearly crackles as they reach the bottom of the grade. Connacht could see the ruins of ancient fountains, cracked and choked with dust and he guessed this land had been richer and wetter in the distant past.
He nearly makes it into the chaotic web of houses and shacks before being noticed. The druid spots a young, suntanned man sitting under a flimsy porch roof, peering out in surprise.
"Who are you?" his voice is a combination of surprise and curiosity, "Traveling alone on the Way? At noon?"
Connacht, more than a bit suntanned himself, smiles at the young man. "I can handle myself," he says in a friendly tone of voice, "and I've gotten used to the heat. My name's Connacht. And yours? Assuming the young man is friendly enough, he continues the conversation.
"It's my first time up here. Anything about the town someone new should know? I wouldn't want to cause any trouble." It's true enough: he'd prefer not to slaughter any sacred cows if he doesn't have to, and so far he's got no reason to.
Yet.
Derwyn, for his part, sticks by Connacht's side, looking over the stranger with unusually inquisitive eyes for an animal, but gives off no sign of hostility.
'There is nothing here worth knowing or staying for." His voice is thick with bitterness. "If there is a bright center to the world, you are in the town farthest from."
Connacht detects nothing untoward about the young man, and he doesn't seem aggressive, just perhaps unhappy at being stuck in Wheldrake.
"Why are you here though, and alone?" he calls out, not willing to step out of his shade into the hot sunlight.
Yep. It was a good decision not to bring Wessa here. He thinks to himself.
"I'm not quite alone. He calls out to the young man, as he leans down to pet his wolf for a moment. "But to answer your question: I'm here for government business. Do you know where I can find who's in charge around here?"
A part of him pities the young man. Ideally, when he was done with the place, folks like him would feel more of a purpose to their lives. But that wouldn't happen over night.
His work was cut out for him though. And he was starting to expect that it would be a greater task than he expected.
In for a copper, in for a gold. He was already here, he would have to work with what he had.
When Connacht mentions not being alone, the young man looks confused. He stands up and steps out into the sunlight, squinting. The druid sees his face is long and lean, with features that are hard to pin down to any nationality.
"Government business?" He says the words as if they are ancient Aztlanti, totally foreign.
For the first time Connacht sees some other people, a crowd slowly gathering in the shadowed porches and walls of the various buildings. Men, women, even a few children watching him with guarded curiosity. A few dogs are scattered among the crowd, eyeing Derwyn with obvious mistrust.
An older man with a stained gray beard says, "In charge? You could try the Sabinus place. She is the closest thing we have to government, young man." It has been quite awhile since Connacht has been called a young man. The villagers points toward the groves of shaded trees and the wooden home there.
Before Connacht can reply the dogs start to growl, the sound carrying across the quiet Way very clearly.
Connacht notices the incoming crowd, and try's to appear relaxed. He wasn't looking for a quarrel with these folks, and he didn't want to give the impression that he was tense.
As the older man speaks up, Connacht turns to face him. "Thank you kindly." He says sincerely, with an added tone of respect in his voice that wasn't quite as present with the younger man from before . "Would that be the large wooden building near the oasis I saw on the way into town? Or somewhere else?"
He's about to talk to the older man a bit more when he notices the dogs growling. Better nip this in the bud. "Ya'll don't need to worry about Derwyn over there." He says as he gestures for Derwyn to sit. As if he were no more than a common house pet, he follows the Druid's instructions. "He's been well trained, I assure you."
The reassurance is meant for both the people and animals surrounding him, but he figured that he'd need to do a bit more convincing for the dogs. He pulls a bit of dry meat out of his sack, and slowly aproaches one of the nearer dogs, offering it the peace of meat. "Come on boy, I don't bite."
The fact that Derwyn did bite was best left undiscussed, at least for the moment.
Either it is the meat or Connacht himself bu the apprehension and nervousness of the dogs melt away. In a instant he is surrounded by a pack of dogs with wagging tails and playful licks. The druid looked as if he had raised each one from a pup.
"You have a way with animals, friend." The older villager allows, sounding surprised, "Old Red doesn't take to many."
He gestures to a huge red mastiff, leader of the impromptu pack, who is currently chewing on the bit of meat with contented growls. Event he fact a massive wolf watched them seemed forgotten in the moment.
A few people breath easier at the less tense scene, obviously considering the dogs a test of some sort.
The graying man walks up, and Conancht notes he walks with a slight limp, favoring his right. His skin is dark and his eyes have a trace of the strange folds and shapes of the east. His voice is noticeably warmed when he says, "If you are on 'official business', you might want to try Trenzi, in the hostel."
With long, clever fingers, he points to the semi-ruined caravansarei. "Maybe he'd be a better fit for you."
There is a long pause then, apparently emboldened by Connacht calm manner, "What are you doing it? 'Unknown strangers rarely bring welcome words', is the saying. Is it true here?"
You don’t even know the half of it. Connacht thinks to himself a smile grows over his face. ”Well, I appreciate the compliment.”
He listens as the old man gives his advice about where to go and nods his head. He was going to go to the caravansarei anyways, and now he at least had someone to talk to there.
As for the last thing the old man says, Connacht shakes his head, ”Well I suppose whether words are welcome depends on the character of the one who hears them as much as the words themselves. But to answer your question: no, I would reckon it’s not true in my case.”
Having gotten up from the gaggle of dogs that surround him, Connacht brushes off his hands before asking the older man one last question. ”While I’m here: anything I should know about this place? I’d rather not have unwitting ignorance be the cause of trouble for you folks.”
Hopefully the older man would be more receptive to the question than the younger one.
The old man shrugs, "I think Assa got the right of it. Not much happens in Wheldrake anymore, except when the caravans go through, and even that is rarer now then in my youth. I suspect whatever brings you here is bigger news then anything else."
There are a number of nods from the watching crowd as the dogs wander back to the shade of the shanties and huts. The air is hot and dry, with just the hint of the wind he often felt on the plains above. Whatever else, Wheldrake was well situated to avoid the worst of the Whispering Plains.
"Well... I suppose we'll just to have find out, won't we." Connacht says, wondering just how right the old man will turn out to be. He knew far too little about this place for now to know how right the old man would be.
Nothing can be done about speculation though. With a quick whistle Derwyn gets up and trots over towards him. "Much obliged for the tip." Connacht says to the old man as he makes his way down the Endless way, through the town and towards the caravansare.
Connacht leaves the little crowd behind, moving down the road with quick steps, Derwyn at his side. They pass a few more ruined fountains, cracked and stained. Here and there are small piles of rubble, the relics of older, grander buildings. There had once been a sizable small town here, Connacht guesses.
Just before reaching the caravanserai , he passes the paved plaza he glimpsed from above. Now closer, he can see the square is lined on all sides with small altars and shrines, many covered with various tokens and items. Some looked far more used then others, with a few looking unused and cold.
Soon he is at the caravanserai and notes it isn't quite as ruined as he saw from above. Yes, the outer walls and outbuildings have long collapsed but the central structure is still sound, a stout masonry wall fitted with a iron studded gate. The trail is kept clean and there are signs of soot at the doors, indicating recent torches. Out of sight, he can hear the gurgling of running water.
While the plan had been to go right to the hostel, Connacht pauses to examine the variety of shrines around the plaza, looking for what he recognizes (and ideally something relate directly to Erastil or the minor faiths that surrounded that of Old Deadeye) or anything else of note.
He had, after all, completed a long journey, and some deference to the gods was due. He was nothing if not a pious man, and beyond that he was curious. Learning what gods a community, or those who passed through it, favored would tell him a great deal about what the inhabitants were like.
He had time to investigate these, at least briefly.
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Connacht steps off the Endless Road, and the feeling of natural earth under his feet is strangely relieving. After hours of walking on hard stone, the soft give of dirt under his boots is like a refreshing breeze after being trapped in a small room of stale air, or drinking cold water after a long day's chores.
The plaza is quiet, flooded with dazzling sunlight. On all sides it is bounded with a simple arcade of stone arches and this, unlike everything else so far, is well maintained and kept clear. The stone work is repaired and vines torn down. Whatever else, the locals at least respect the gods.
Stepping inside, Connacht feels a deep sense of peace and tranquility, as if he can feel the thousands who must have prayed, mediated and communed here for centuries. Finding a small scrap of shade from an arch, he looks at the assembled items.
There are altars to nearly every god he has ever heard of and many he has not. There is a large, golden altar for Abadar, laden with coins, scales and not a few jewels. Next to it is a multi-colored shrine to Shelyn covered with bleached ribbons of cloth, although Connacht spots a fresh fresh ones. A solid steel symbol of Torag, driven directly into the stone of the plaza, hung with hammers, gleaming dully in the sunshine. Cayden Cailean is represented by a stone table, complete with pitchers and tankards of ale, lacquered with stains of thousands of poured out drinks. In one corner a pile of weapons is surmounted with an entire iron suit of armor, surely given to win Gorum's favor. On and on it goes, a shadowy alcove given to Norgerber, a rough driftwood altar for Gozren (Connacht can only imagine how it had gotten here), even a blood red pentacle carved into the floor for Asmodeus. Near it stands a dusty abandoned looking shrine, not as well kept as the others, cracked by wind and rain. Peering closely Connacht sees a dusty symbol of Aroden, the dead god of the Azlanti. A shiver runs through him as he realizes this altar has sat here, undisturbed for centuries, untouched.
But there are more, beyond his knowledge. Some belong to other races, judging by the strange sizes and shapes. A tiny gaming table, heaped with dice as an offering. Or a massive wardrum, heaped with shards of rough, natural looking glass. Others are simply worshiping by humans from far beyond Avistan. Shrines to the rumored thousands gods of Vudra and even altars for the distant gods of the Tian lands far, far to the East.
Connacht's mind reels as he realizes he stands at one of the great crossroads of Golarion. Despite the sun, the humble shacks, and the crumbling ruins, this had once been a turning point for the world, a connection point for cultures beyond his ken. How many souls have come to this place, asking for aid? On help to survive a bitter journey or to find a ready market? From how many backgrounds, how many homelands...how many communities are presented here?
Then, at least, he finds it. Between a table stacked with greased metal gears and a stone spiral rasied for the Grady Lady, is a humble wooden altar, old beyond reckoning. In the front is carved the stags head, weathered like the hills around it. It is heaped with bows and arrows, of many makes and designs, some longer then Connacht is tall. There are a few coins here too, humble coppers mostly, and the remains of fur pelts. The last surprises the druid and realizes this one too is fairly active. At least one in Wheldrake but worship Old Deadeye.
Connacht takes his time walking among the countless alters and shrines, looking over them all with a mix of reverence, awe... and in some cases, horror.
Norgerber... Asmodeus... Gorum... these things ought to be torn down.. He would have to research the gods here more- doubtless there were others among this collection that needed to have their shrines turned to rubble.
But there was a lot more that gave him hope. Torag’s shrine seemed resolute and steadfast, Shelyn’s vibrant, if weathered. He cannot help but stand silently at the abandoned shrine of Aroden for a few solemn moments. I’ll have to clean it off some day. This wasn’t something that ought to be forgotten. The lessons of history should never be forgotten. On this, Erastil and Ardoden would have agreed.
He’s about to give up hope of seeing a shrine to Erastil when he finally spots it. Without a word he slowly walks over to the sacred thing and then kneels before it.
Though I walked countless miles, you did not let me stray from my path. Thank you, as always. He prays in silence as he withdraws an arrow from his pack. He had been training himself to use a bow properly for some time. He was still lackluster at it, but he was glad he brought the arrows along.
Make me an instrument of your will, He places the arrow along with the countless others on the altar, careful not to disrupt the pile as a whole, and grant me the wisdom to turn this place into a community pleasing to you. May justice be done.
With his prayer complete, he stands up again and looks over the shrine. ”If things go right, I’ll have to build a temple for you in this place. Hopefully I can find the funds and willingness for it.”
He stands there in silence for a few more moments, taking in the afternoon air before moving again, heading towards the doors of the caravanserai. ”Wait here, Derwyn. Don’t want you scaring off the locals.” With that, the wolf patiently sits by the door as Connacht takes his first steps inside a building for weeks.
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Connacht feels a powerful but brief sense of peace as he rises from in from the shrine. A strength in his limbs, a freshening of the spirit. Just his imagination or an acknowledgment from the Stag God? Impossible to tell.
The door to the caravanserai opens under his hand, unlocked. With a loud creak it swings open, revealing itself to merely be a door into an inner courtyard, wrapped by a portico with many doors, leading to interior spaces. In the center of the courtyard is a large pool of water, bubbling with fountains, fresh and clear. The entire plaza is a intricate mosaic of colored stones, presumably brought from hundreds of miles away. They show scenes of wanderers and merchants of all breeds traveling side by side through all sorts of weather. A testament to the nomads who so often came here. Apart from the art, it was also a practical place however. There are posts and ringsareas to tie up beasts of burden and to assemble the wagons of a caravan. Black rings mark where cookfires have burned, but it is kept clean and neat.
One of the side doors open and a man steps through, revealing a dark shadowy room behind him. He steps into the sunlight, shading his eyes against the bright noon. He is slender and thin, quite unlike the rough and strong group of villagers Connacht met outside. His narrow face makes the druid think of books and acamdeic but how many books could there be in this place?
'Who is it?" he starts then focuses on Connacht, narrowing his eyes. "Who are you stranger, to travel alone on the Endless Way? It is not a common thing." His words are Common, with a strange archaic accent, a trace of old Taldane on his lips, oddly formal. "Do you seek the sanctuary of the caravanserai?"
Connacht is in the middle of taking in the art of the building when the slender man speaks to him. The accent is odd, but Connacht doesn’t pay it too much attention beyond choosing to speak to the man more formally than he normally would. Standing slightly more straight and walking up to the man, he introduces himself:
”My name is Connacht Metayer, sent this way on official buisness from the Crown of Taldor. I did not travel alone: my pet and assistant wolf, Derwyn, traveled with me- I simply did not know if it would be prudent for me to bring him inside. Regardless, I do seek the sanctuary of this place.”
Assuming the man doesn’t cut him off or otherwise seem inclined to interject, he continues, ”Could I have your name, or your title, should you prefer to be addressed by that? I am after all, as you say, a stranger in these lands.”
The man's face fills with a strange mixture of awe and terror when Connacht mentions 'official business'. He even mouths the words to himself and then, to Connacht's surprise, looks at his clothes in disgust.
He recovers quickly saying, "My name is Trenzi Cexia, Keepers of the Waystop of Wheldrake. I am Prefect and Master of Currency of Trade Routes for Avin." This sounds formal, old, a title repeated by rote for many centuries. Connacht knows the 'Prefecture of Avin' is generally considered a lost title now, dating back to the glory days of the Taldor Empire.
"What title and command do you hold, Connacht Metayer and may I see the documents proving yourself? There are many falsehoods on the road." His tone is formal, cold, but Connacht can actively see him tremble from across the open courtyard.
Connacht recalls one of the stories from the Parables of Erastil where a man who had been steeling from his fellows was eventually discovered because of the way he acted around everyone.
The man before him might not be fleeing, but he certainly looked as if he wanted to. "But of course, Prefect Cexia," Connacht says, keeping up the formal tone, as he briskly walks over to the trembling man, doing his best to pretend not to notice said trembling.
"Imperial Agent Metayer, by the grace of the gods and the Crown of Taldor, in Avin Prefecture generally and the town of Wheldrake specifically. I trust that these documents ought to be sufficient to prove I am who I claim to be." He says as he pulls out all the necessary paperwork involved. He'd kept everything meticulously away from the elements to the best of the ability, and unless everything is in order. He doesn't hand them over to the man just yet, but he holds them in such a way so that it's clear that all of the proper seals and signatures are where they ought to be.
"Might we talk inside? I haven't had a proper roof over my head in weeks. It'd be a nice change of pace." It would be, but Connacht was a bit more interested in seeing the inside of the place. In all likelihood the man was just skimming some imaginary tariff off of the
caravans as they passed through, and worried that the jig was up.
But if it was something else... well then. Who knows where things would stand by the end of the day?
Trenzi nods, as if distracted saying, 'Of course, of course, come inside." He waves inside and moves back into the cool shade. As Connacht moves to follow he gets a good look at the man. A Taldane human without the other ethnic features he noted outside. His age is hard to guess, but he guesses mid thirties, but a relatively soft life, at least compared to the weathered people outside. Connacht watches him carefully looking for signs of deception but finds none. So far the man hasn't lied to him, but he is nervous and more then a little in awe.
They pass through the door and move through a large, dim common room. It reminds Connacht of the taverns in the poorer parts of Oparra. Scrubbed wooden tables, a straw-covered floor, white-washed walls. It is clean though and well maintained, with a trace of tobacco and other more exotic smoky scents in the air. They don't stop in the room though and Trenzi leads Connacht on.
Instead they stop in a comfortable sitting room, apparently used for meetings. Much smaller, it has a cozy, lived in feeling. A window opens onto the inner courtyard, letting in a shaft of bright sunlight. One wall is covered by an old mosaic, much dimmed with age but Connacht thinks it it depicts some ancient Emperor or other. A large wooden table, a few cushioned chairs and a cabient make up the furniture. On the table is a stack of parchment, ink, quills, and a few sets of scales.
The slender man waves for Connacht to sit and says, 'Please excuse me. I shall return in but a moment. Please help yourself." He waves a hand to the cabinet, which Connact notes is half full with crystal decanters and glasses. The man vanishes out yet another door into the warren of the building.
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There are men Connacht knew who, when given the opportunity to have a drink, refused.
I'm glad I'm not one of those men. Connacht thinks to himself as he follows Trenzi's advice and helps himself, pouring himself a glass before heading over to the desk. Picks up a few of the papers and briefly looks them over before placing them back where he found them.
Im going to have to ask him to show me his papers that prove he is who he says he is. He thinks bemusedly as he takes a seat on one of the cushioned chairs and takes a sip of the drink. He waits patiently for the prefect to return while generally looking around he room.
The drinks are a mix of the strange and familiar. There is (quite) aged Chelish wine and Taldane brandy along with Shackles rum and even some Andoran whiskey. Alongside it however are strange liquors Connacht has never heard of with labels of unreadable scripts. One is a pot simply labeled 'sake' while another has bright green liquid and covered in Vudrani figures dancing. The druid wonders how far these bottles have come, carried by wagon over the endless leagues.
Sipping his chosen alcohol Connacht looks at the papers. Most of them are blank, obviously here as supplies. A few have crossed out words on them, and seem to to indicate taxes? But it is unclear.
After quite a wait, the prefect reappears. Gone are the simple brown clothes and humble robes Trenzi was wearing before. In their place are very faded but perfectly maintained set of official Taldane official's robes, complete with colored braids and decorated belt. He even has the formal wig of white curls, now centuries out of disuse. The man wears these with a certain reverence and he is careful to not let it touch the ground as he moves into the room. In his hands he carries a very heavy book and a ..picture frame?
The bookish looking man, looking even more academic is such formal clothing, sits down across from Connacht. He sets the book down with an audible but soft thump. He holds up the picture frame and Connacht sees it is the framed copy of papers quite similar to his own, although much creased and yellowed with age. Connacht's eyes widen as he sees the document was made in the name of Grand Prince Beldam II, who died nearly seven centuries ago.
"My credentials are quite in order, despite their age. They have been handed down from father to son according to both Imperial law and custom from time immemorial. Despite their advanced age, you will find them accurate and valid in every sense, Imperial Agent."
Connacht notes the massive book is titled, The Titles and Order of Precedence For the Taldane Empire the Most Antique. The heavy leather bound book seems as old as the weathered stones Connacht walked past, cracked and stained from centuries of use.
Slightly disappointed that none of what he usually drinks is present on the shelf, Connacht goes for a glass of the aged Chelish wine, finding it quite to his liking.
When the man returns, Connacht is somewhat taken aback by the almost farcical display of clothing. It takes a bit of effort to suppress the chuckle that was goin to come out of his mouth: he could tell that the man took these matters seriously.
He is astonished at the sheer ancientness of the letter, honestly expecting the man to have just been running things on his own merit. "My own credentials. He says as he hands over his documents to the man, fairy convinced he wasn't the sort to just shred them on a whim. "Not as ancient as yours, but perfectly valid."
He lets the man spend as much time as he needs looking things over. With any luck, this man could be an ally for what he had planned. He ad already given a good first impression, which Connacht could appreciate.
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Trenzi takes Connacht orders carefully and spreads them out on the table, carefully smoothing them out. Then, without a word, he opens the massive book and gets to work. In utter silence he pours over charts and tables, running his finger down dusty pages. Frequently he returns back to both his own aged papers and Connacht's much newer ones, referencing them. A few times he opens his mouth to speak, but then shakes his head, mumbles something and dives back into the tome. The moments spread to minutes and Connacht finishes two glasses of the rather excellent wine.
Finally the prefect looks up, nose smudged with dust after leaning close to the spidery pages. He looks frustrated, as if a reliable dog had failed to follow a rabbit or a dependable tree failed to bear fruit.
"I am unable to fully verify which of us is the ultimate civilian Taldan authority base don our paperwork. Our titles are incompatible and difficult to compare, dealing with different aspect of Imperial administration. My title is by far the older which would normally take precedent but your orders have several phrases which indicate primacy over other civilian departments."
He sighs, dust flying into the air, making him cough. He lunges for some wine and take a few desperate gulps. Then he goes on, clearing his throat, "The most satisfactory response would be to appeal to the Imperial Offices of Authority and Precedence, or even the Emperor himself but that is obviously quite impossible."
After a short pause he adds, "Would you be willing to submit to the judgement of the ranking military office holder, ie House Sabinus?"
Just as the man finishes talking Connacht can hear a slight noise at the door, the slight squeak of weight shifting. Someone is listening outside their little meeting room, ear probably at the keyhole.
Connacht is about to provide his own answer to the question when he overhears the noise at the door. After lifting up his finger to the prefect to indicate he’d be occupied for just a mement, the Druid gets out of his seat, quickly strides to the door.
”Can I help you?” He says briskly, at the ready to grab whoever happened to be at the door should they make a run for it... although his expression will soften should the “offender” turn out to be some overly curious child.
Trenzi looks surprised and a bit shocked at the idea someone is listening at the door. "Here? Inside the caravansari? His hisses but lets Connacht go to the door alone. Without warning Connacht flings the door open, hoping to catch whoever is on the other side by surprise. It is not a ravening monster, a sulking thug or a curious child.
Instead it is a rather pretty young woman, with long dark hair and aquiline features. She looks up in surprise and shock at the druid, a blush crossing her face. The woman straightens from her crouch, taking a step away.
From inside the room Trenzi says, "Aedia?! Really, you should know better." he stands up and waves a finger at her. Looking from one to the other, Connacht can see a family resemblance between the two. The same dark eyes flecked with green sparks. On Aedia they look playful and intelligent, Trenzi just looks overly cunning and precise.
The woman vanishes down the hallway, hair whipping behind her, dress flapping. She moves through another door and slams it. Behind Connacht Trenzi sighs, "My apologies, Master Agent. Aedia has always been overly curious and I must admit I have overindulged her through the years, as I lack any true colleagues. This has made her over bold, doubly so when involving Imperial affairs. Please, return to your seat, she will not bother us again."
"So, we were speaking of arbitrating our equivalent ranks?"
Something of a smirk grows on his face as the details of the situation reveal themselves. ”No need to apologize, Prefect.” He says as he closes the door and heads back to his seat.
He understood the importance of clear chains of command, but truth be told he wasn’t sure it was entirely called for in this case. ”Figuring out which one of us is technically a superior might have its uses, but I’m not entirely sure it’s too urgent of a matter. Truth be told- I wasn’t even aware there was another Taldan official here, and I’m not sure anyone in the beurocracy is either.”
Figuring the above might be mistakenly construed as a sort of insult or veiled threat, Connacht continues, ”I’ll be clear: the reason I was sent to this place was primarily to hunt down the bandits assulting the caravans that come through this place. Their trade is vital to Taldor’s economy, as you are no doubt aware, and the beurocracy has seen fit to send me up here to sort out the mess.”
”Beyond that, as much as can be done, I’ll do what I can to keep this place in order, and enforce Taldor’s laws up here. With all this in mind, Prefect, what precisely is your function here- in layman’s terms, if you would be so kind. I assume you maintain and run the caravansari, but what are your other official duties? Our jobs may not truely be at a crossroads: at least not in such a way as to necessitate an absolute chain of command between the two of us.”
Speaking this formally left Connacht feeling a bit off, as he goes for a sip of whiskey. He wasn’t going to risk proving any offense to this man though, so he figured it was worth it, at least for now.
The man looks as if Connacht had told him to swallow a lemon, whole. His face pinched he chokes out, "My function is to collect tariffs, taxes and other revenue duties that the Crown requires on incoming trade. I also maintain the caravensari, as you mention, in conjunction with making sure Wheldrake is a welcoming and worthy stop on the caravan route. This often means cooperating with other local merchants and artisans to create worthwhile crafts and tools for the incoming caravans."
"Ah, the bandits, yes. They have been quite the problem with the caravans. A number of them have complained about the attacks, and I know more then a few have altered routes to avoid Wheldrake because of them. But do you really think you can do something about it, alone? There are always bandits on the high roads, from here to Vudra."
Connacht decides to focus on the bandits for now, rather than continuing to discus the subject that seems particularly odious to the Prefect.
"Truth be told, I don't know. It all depends on the scale of the attacks, where they are occurring, along with other factors. If need be I would like to work with any military authorities to assist me. But again: I can't give a concrete answer on how I'll deal with them until I know more of the situation on the ground."
"Do the caravans give you any detailed reports of the raids? Anything you can tell me about them makes both of our jobs easier."
The civil servant frowns and leans back in his chair, slowly closing the huge book. "I am not a military man, you must understand. The traders speak of hit and run attacks in narrow valleys, volleys of arrows, scaring the horses. Surely that is routine for such bandit raids?"
His tone is bored, "As for the local military force, House Sabinus is the titular head, of course. All Taldor nobles, strictly speaking, hold military rank and are only second to official Imperial army officers. As this prefecture lacks those, the head of that esteemed noble house heads our forces. That said, our concerns are entirely defensive and even that is pro forma as the bandits have never bothered us, not directly."
Trenzi carefully brushes some dust off of his maintained robes, adding "What experience do you have in these sort of matters, Master Agent? Could you perhaps share why the Imperial Throne sent you to restore order in such an important region?"
Choosing to interpret the last question as an honest inquiry and not a veiled insult, Connacht goes on, "I was a member of the guard for the city of Yanmass: the right hand man of the chief of the guard for a while. I actually specialized in hunting fugitives who fled into the countryside down. I was rather good at my job. When my boss forfeited his position, I took it over for some time. Then, I was told to come up here. So here I am."
It was true enough, even if "forfeited his position" was a rather polite way of glossing over what had happened to him.
"I've got a question- do you have the latest edition of that tome?" He says gesturing to The Titles and Order of Precedence For the Taldane Empire the Most Antique. "Maybe a more up to date version would more clearly explain which one of us has supremacy here."
When Connacht discusses his previous experience Trenzi looks unimpressed saying lightly, 'Ah, a member of the guard. Quite." Raising the wine glass to his face doesn't hide the obvious condescension.
Raising an eyebrow at Connacht's next question the slender man taps the huge book, "As you should be aware, under Taldane custom,t he older precedent is considered the more valid in debates and discussions of precedence and hierarchy. Having a book this old is not a sign that I am out of touch or perhaps too poor, but instead a sign of wealth and status. At least among those with knowledge of such things, Master Agent."
No, but the wig is. Connacht thinks to himself in response to the remark about being out of touch.
”I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Connacht says after a few moments of a pause. ”I’m here to ensure that the merchants so vital to our empire’s economy remain safe, allowing you to collect the tariffs that the empire also needs. I don’t think there’s a reason for us to be at odds with one another.”
”Do you know when the next caravan is due to arrive? Or an approximation?” Connacht is doing his best to be polite, but he isn’t exactly brimming with confidence about the man. Not in the least bit because the crown hasn’t seen a copper of the “tarrifs they require” in centuries.
Trenzi frowns, "But of course. I will offer every courtesy and civility to any agent of Taldor, which is my duty as a civil servant. I only aim to serve most effectively, and to do so in honoring the memories of my ancestors."
'As for caravans, they are not as common as they once where. In my grandfather's time there would be at least one new caravan a month, both north and south." He remarks, a trace of regret in his words, "But in this day and age? We are lucky to get five or six a year, even during the good season, which is starting now. Many avoid because of the bandits and because of our reduced circumstances."
He eyes Connacht carefully, as if deciding if the druid will help reverse such affairs. "There is no schedule of course, but we usually have a day or so warning due to the dust clouds a big caravan sends up. You can see them many miles off if you know where and how to look."
"Well, gods willing, I'll be able to help fix this state of affairs." Conncaht says as he sets his wine glass aside.
"On a more practical note: is there a spare room here for me to lay down my things and get some rest come night? I've been traveling for weeks, and haven't made any accommodations here yet."
Trenzi stands up, nodding, 'Of course. This place is designed to provide comfort and rest from the road. It can hold hundreds of caravans and their wagons, it can certainly provide you with a room of your own. Come, follow me. I can give you a room with a view of the inner courtyard."
The spare man leaves his book behind as he leads Connacht through yet another dim, dank hallway. They arrive to a simple room, build into the inner wall of the caravanseri. A small window looks out onto the bubbling fountain, letting in a shaft of sunlight. A simple bed, cabinet and chair make up the furniture. Everything is slightly dusty and mildewy but quite well made, and maintained.
"I suspect this will be satisfactory for you?" the civil servant asks. "A larger room could be found if you desire it."
Connacht nods as he sees the room. "No, no, this will do quite nicely." He says as he rests his pack on a chair. "When I came here I honestly expected I'd be dealing with squatters who had just decided the place was theirs now. I really am glad there's more infrastructure here than I thought there'd be."
After looking in the courtyard for a few moments, he turns to face the prefect again. "You obviously know more about this place than I do. Who else has power- official or otherwise- in this town, beyond yourself and house Sabinus. And are their any taboos or customs I should know about? " He'd asked this question before, but he was hoping to get a less cryptic (not to mention nihilistic) answer from Trenzi.
"I do not concern myself with those who grasp power out of greed, rather then inherited out of tradition." Trenzi says stiffly, looking down his nose. But he glances around the worn room and sighs sadly, as if seeing he is not standing in an Oppara drawing room but instead in a decaying waystop on the edge of the world.
"The town is not overly large, although perhaps more then you'd guess. There are a number of miners and prospectors in the hills around us, many of them coming back into tow at nightfall or at the end of a week's work. There are some near the Slick with ties to such rough and carousing men." The academic waves a hand, "They have not interfered with my work here and I have not bothered them."
"As far as official power goes no, but the cleric in the temple of Sarenrae has wide respect among the community. Yasin, his name is, from Casmaron."
With a somewhat far away look in his eye the civil servant says, "In my grandfather's day, there would have been others of course. Proud merchants, brave rangers, engineers for the road, and a small body of local troops commanded by an officer. A thriving community." He shakes his head.
This was a good sign. So we have the same goal then after all. If this place returned to the sort of community Trenzi spoke of, he’d consider his mission a success.
”It can be that once more, gods willing.” Connacht says ”The fact that the government of Taldor is taking an interest in this place again means they might be willing to invest in it more than currently. I might not be the last person they send up this way. I just know that I’ll be doing my part to make this place better.”
He wasn’t surprised at the mention of the sarenite temple- in a place like this, one would expect the worship of a sun goddess to be a norm. ”I’ll definitely have to stop by the temple, pay my respects and what not. But you mentioned the Skick? What exactly did you mean by that?”
'I am sure you noticed the concentration of....dwellings at the other end of town? Surrounding the muddy pool of water?" Trenzi says, with that lemon eating look back on his face. "The water was found by an enterprising miner several decades ago and has been oozing to the surface every since. Due to the free water available, many of the more..dissolute members of our community have congregated there. I would not recommend much visiting on your part, there is very little of interest or note there. Unless you take a fascination in dirt or sloth."
”Noted.” Connacht remarks, with a pensive expression. Places like that weren’t something that he liked to deal with, but his job in all likelihood would entail mucking around down in that area, at some point or another.
Nothing said that would be today though. ”I won’t be using them today, but do you have any maps over the surrounding regions that I can look over? I’ll have to spend some time out on the road tracking down wherever the bandits are. Would help to know the area.”
Trenzi taps his chin, "I may have some maps that my great grandfather made, he was an amateur cartographer. I shall have to dig int he family archives but I will make the effort, of course." he bows low to Connacht, "Please excuse me. This is our busy season and I have some work to do and I imagine you'd like to rest. Shall I open the door for your pet? We are used to animals here, as many of the caravaners have both draft animals and animal companions of various types. I recall playing host once to a giant centipede."
"Yes, please do. And again, no rush on the maps- I won't need them until tommorow."
Connacht spends the next hour or so unpacking from his voyage, placing everything crucial out of his pack and into mostly organized groups. He hadn't brought too much with him, but by the time he was done the place seemed a bit more like a home than a room in a tavern.
When Derwyn finally enters the room, he walks right over to the bed and flops down on it as if he owns it. "You can have it for now, but I'll be needing it when I get back, we clear?" The wolf wines for a moment, but makes no further objection as Connacht heads out of the room and out of the hostel on his own. The boy needs rest, and I can handle myself for a little while.
He takes his time walking through the town on his way to the Sarenite temple, meandering a bit and not making a straight path to the place, and doing what he can to observe he community (or at least, what passes for community here) in it's natural state, only avoiding the bad part of town Trenzi told him about.
As Connacht steps outside, the heat is like getting hit by a hammer. The oppressive early afternoon Sun makes the air dance and shimmer above the dry ground, hot air writhing in all directions. For obvious reason most everyone is hiding inside during this part of the day,t he small crowd that gathered when Connacht arrived long dispersed.
Still, he sees signs of life as he passes in front of houses. Men and women sitting on shaded porches, talking quietly or doing some minor chore. The druid spots men whittling, women peeling potatoes, children winding cloth into fabric. Still, to Connacht's Earstilian eye it is a divided community. There are no groups, no multi-family work loads being shared. But maybe it is just the heat.
He feels many eyes on him as he walks the 'streets' (they remind him more of animal tracks) of the town, winding between houses. Everyone instantly knows he is a stranger and marks him as such, a danger until proven otherwise.
It doesn't take long to reach the temple, a white square building. Up close, he can see the cracks in the plaster, and the revealing of the mud brick beneath. The building needs some attention that is plain. Two weathered wooden doors are thrown open, revealing a inner courtyard. At the far end is an altar, topped with a large glass dish, glaringly bright in the sunlight. In front of it a small figure is kneeling, facing away from the door.
Connacht walks into the temple slowly and quietly, both to better appreciate the building (for what there is to appreciate) and to not disturb anyone praying or meditating inside. He was not a follower of the Dawnflower, but he knew enough about them to show respect to their clergy by default.
He continues to move slowly towards the figure, not trying to be covert but trying to keep away from any loud noises. He hopes the figure will address him first, rather than having to overtly interupt what may well be a man in prayer. However, if after approaching the figure he gives no response, Connacht eventually says, "Excuse me, but could I bother you for a moment of your time?"
Connacht steps inside the temple, and the heat increases even more. The massive mirror over the altar glares bright enough to wash out colors and, apparently, to heat the air to oven like levels. Followers of the Dawnflower seemed to embrace the domain of the Sun. For the druid, it didn't make him feel holy, just made his eyes water.
As he approaches the kneeling figure, he sees painted murals on the inside walls of the courtyard. There are about a dozen, spaced out evenly over the white-washed walls. Each is a widely different design, obviously done by a different artist. Some are quite old and faded, with flaking paint and washed out colors but a few look bright and fresh.
When Connacht speaks the figure straightens, as if surprised. Head cocked, the figure speaks without turning. At this distance Connacht can tell it is a older man, skin weathered and beaten by the sun, clothes a worn out white.
"Who might this be? Not an inhabitant of Wheldrake, certainly, I know them all. And not a member of a caravan, there was no sighting. A loner, a drifter on the road? A rare one indeed to come first to a temple instead of finding a drink or a soft bed." The figure pauses, obviously thinking then with obvious sarcasm, "Clearly a pious hermit come to help an old man in his advanced age?"
Connacht doesn't think the man is that old.
"Truth be told, this is my second stop. Drink and soft bed have already been acquired." He relaxes a bit as the priest seems perfectly open to conversation. "The name's Conacht- and as a matter of fact, I might well be of some help to you. I spoke with Trenzi, he told me about you. Yasin, correct?" He asks as he offers the man a hand.
"Some help to me?" Curiosity now plain in the man's tone, he half turns, still kneeling. A dark, tanned face looks up at Connacht, with the strange folded eyes of Casmaron. The eyes are liquid and quick, clever eyes that see much and see far. The priest has a short black beard, tough and wiry, cut close to his skin. He doesn't grasp Connacht's hand and rises smoothly and surely on his own.
His robes are white, bleached more by sun then by any craft. They look old and battered, but well kept. It rustles on the paved stones of the courtyard as he stands full erect, and Yasin is taller then Connacht guessed. Almost as tall as he is, although the druid detects a limp or some old wound in the man's right side.
"And how can you help me, young man? Are you wise in the ways of the divine, perhaps? Help an old priest contemplate the gods above us?"
"If anything, you would be the one assisting me in such matters." Connacht says in deference to what he presumes to be the older man's superior wisdom in these matters. "Trenzi told me about you: assuming you are Yasin, of course. I've been sent here to help keep order in this place by Taldor's, and I intend to do my job well. More to the point, I would like to do what I can to be of service to this community. What needs to be taken care of? What should I know about this place to ensure I'm not more of a hindrance to you folks than a benefit?"
Connacht does his best to keep a healthy level of respect in his voice at all times without appearing too subservient.