The Priest’s Log: Day 56

56th day of Service

I have finally come accustomed to the lack of moisture in the air here; it has been overlong since I’ve been home in Getenge. Praise the Queen for egging me slowly onward to explore the world at large. All I remember of home was the constant focus on taking or cheating away only what was already known to be owned, but now that I have born witness to the greatness of Inmede and the Banner I feel heartened. Weather has begun to warm and dry up since the spring is coming to a close, helping with the efforts of my Brothers and I in carrying on our duties.

On a serious note, the weather is not the only thing that is easing itself in comfort, as the people who are now my flock have begun to take their confidence in me, and approach me seeking the comfort of Our Lady’s peace and solace. I do my utmost to guide them, and the feeling that blooms in me when a poor soul in need leaves with some weight lifted from their shoulders fills me with a serene kind of joy. This is precisely what the Church is for: the people. Even those who are not pious look on me with some modicum of respect. They know we will help should the need ever arise, and no person blessed of their wits would turn away such a helping hand.

On to the business of the day. The usual 7 have asked of beds for the night, with 4 travelers from the Isles of Yon. I see them discussing matters, likely of business, near one of the lit braziers. Their attempts at politely explaining their business only yields the confusion of the others. Despite not accepting gifts of money, several small donations by the people have occurred today. I had not the heart to turn away their gifts, totaling just over quarter stone of silver. The money will be used on lumber to shore up the southeast corner of the roof, and repair some of the wear on the pews. As well as the money, a gift was made of various tubers and roots, mostly potatoes. Some of these are being prepared as I write for everyone to sup on.

There were no confessions today, at least ones of true import. A young lass came in and tried to confess the sin of hiding a sweet-roll intended for her brother, but I could not absolve her of such a silly sin, if it can be called that. She absolved herself, as she informed me halfway through that she returned it to him.

There is a bell ringing from down the hall; the evening meal is prepared. This concludes my writing for the day.

Another short story that will be updated in chunks, come the following posts.

In other news: I’m nearly finished with the adventure, and will begin play-testing it soon! Contact me if you’d be interested in helping out.


Dear Caseld: Day Four

Day four of the harvest season, year six of the Red Banner.

My Dearest Caseld,

I write to you today to commemorate the beginning of my caravan’s journey. Simply being in the presence of some of these individuals is absolutely breath-taking. I am so glad to have been a cart driver in this time. We—my horses and I—pull enough food to last the entire 87 of us for two fortnights. I couldn’t imagine why we would need so much food, even though we regularly stop for the construction team.

Oh Caseld, my love, the things I wish you could see with me! I’m not one to stick her nose where she has no business, but this project the engineers keep stopping us for intrigues me: They have been constructing a small, narrow road, with metal fencing only one hand or so tall on either side. Peculiar, isn’t it? The road is barely one cart wide! Why would we build a road of such distance if it only fits one cart?

Unfortunately, the others do not find it as strange as I do,  and I have no one to muse over the situation with. The Red Banner’s soldiers—Bannermen, they call each other, though I’ve never heard of them—told me that the project wasn’t of their concern, and neither should it be mine. To think: they have not an inkling of curiosity about their mission? The Red Banner may be efficient, but I dare say that it can be stupid, at times.

The inquisitors, on the other hand, aren’t much for conversation. Egbert tells me they’ve all gone and taken a vow of silence. Doesn’t make much sense, to me. One of them needs to talk. Otherwise how do they get orders? Are they just here because they saw us gathering and thought, “My, it looks like something important is happening! I better go up and join them” and just show up?

But enough about me, how is the family? Is your mother well? Is my little brother still helping you at the farm? Has the trade route the Red Banner promised finally been established? Is our son doing well?

With fondest regards,


The Red Banner is a council put in place to control the five nations of Feorbeund: directing their resources, controlling their markets, and keeping them from war. It values efficiency over all else, which is why it directs so much of the world’s resources towards science and infrastructure. Second to its tenement of efficiency is discretion.

Silent Inquisitors are the standing army of the Silent Church, trained to hunt mages—who make deals with spirits for supernatural power—with maximum reliability: Every piece of Inquisitor equipment, every ring of their chain mail, is consecrated with holy Silence, and makes no noise. The only thing you will hear from a Silent Inquisitor as they charge into battle is their breath.

This post was inspired by the Daily Prompt: Journey