Chapter 11: At the Base of Folorast

"Fallen trees and pits of ice."​

The way that you beam at Father Wilhelm must rival the sun's own rays. As you both squint at each other through the light, there's no need to explicitly answer his question. For how much you're glowing, the priest laughs immediately, but doesn't tease you any further. He knows full well of your devotion to the Goddess.

Your host— outfitted in clothes far more befitting of extended travel than any form of rest— closes the distance between you both. It may only be to pat you firmly on the back, but you appreciate his shadow cast over you. It grants some reprieve from the unusual amount of light and heat for how early it is in the day.

"It's good to see you up! I was worried we'd have to get a late start, for how long we were both up last night. Dream seems to have looked favorably on us both."

You're doing your best to keep the conversation tasteful, so you simply let the man speak.

"You've got your work cut out for you, Father Anscham. By my best estimates, we've got a two-week hike to Wearmoor ahead of us, if we make good time."

"Two weeks—? Just how far south are we?"

"You'd think the cold would have given it away— though you don't seem phased by it in the slightest! Let's get back inside and I'll fill you in. Speaking of which, did you skip breakfast after all of that trouble we went through last night...?"

Your protests and insistence that you're fine are met with immediate dismissal. You and Father Wilhelm make it back inside without incident, and you're immediately told to sit and start eating. A far more manageable amount of food than what you had the night prior is prepared and already set out on a table beside the hearth.

It's all barley gruel. You are already beginning to hate barley gruel, even though the multiple bowls of it before you are slathered in honey, adorned with seeds and berries, and smells heavenly. All of the seeds and fruits are even arranged like a variety of smiley faces.

As you slide over the happiest looking bowl, your frown intensifies by the second. Not only do you have no indication of any hunger, you're still fairly full from the night before.

"Don't look so upset. There'll be even less later! Hopefully. I wasn't certain how often we'd be stopping, but we'll break it up. And I know you hate anything resembling a break, Father Anscham, but it's so important! You won't see much progress without any rest, even if it doesn't feel like that should be the case."

Your frown is so intense— picking apart an apple-wedge smile— that another laugh is directed at you.

"As I was saying outside, it's a two week-hike to Wearmoor if we take the straightest path possible through the woods. Barring any delays, unexpected detours, or a visit from Storm, of course."

A flagon of weak beer is pressed towards you, as you force down a particularly painful mouthful. You're unsure if the seeds are still in your throat, or if Agriculture is personally ensuring that Her bounty is hard to swallow. The drink does help enough to ask a little in return. "E-even with all of our supplies? Do you not have a stable— or any other alternatives?"

"I assumed you would want to carry everything. I can move quite quickly unburdened, and Father Friedrich seems to think you capable of shouldering— well, anything!" A sheepish grin is directed your way.

You try to not choke. "By all rights, Father Wilhelm— we should be using a pack mule."

"It could take several days to requisition one, this far south."

Frustrated, you clear a space between all of the half-eaten dishes before you, and lay out your own map. A whistle is given to you immediately in return, but you ignore the notice of how rare the item is to point to your best estimate of your location. Your finger lands far south of Somerilde, to the west, closer to the Doorway. Father Wilhelm immediately corrects you, pointing to the mountain directly southeast of Somerilde. You're baffled. "We've been this close to the Church of Dream this entire time?"

"Two days travel at the most, yes. I prefer to stay close to home."

You know that you aren't being judged or belittled, but it's difficult to not be hard on yourself for your own absence from the Church of Mercy for such a long time. "What might be our fastest course to Wearmoor, if we cut through the woods? We'll have to cross Eventide several times, won't we?"

"Yes. The safest course would pass straight through the wilderness to the north of here, once across Eventide proper, and twice more along two of its branches. We could avoid every major city, and would never come within sight of Eadric. It would make travel with horses quite impossible, but with two days rest for each week of travel, we should arrive at the beginning of the Setting Moon, before the worst of the snow."

"Ray would appreciate not having to keep up with a beast of burden— but if we were to take a horse, or even a mule—"

"A week and a half, if I can get word to the Church of Dream. A spare would take even less time, but would attract even more attention. We would likely have to abandon them as soon as we reach Eventide, as well. It would only save us a few days at most."

"If we cut through Bryning—"

"You were very clear before about wanting to avoid detection at all costs, Father Anscham. It would take us less than a week to reach Wearmoor if we cut straight through the forest with a spare horse, true. Barring any demons, or interlopers. But Bryning is within earshot of Eadric and Calunoth. If anyone were to discover you traveling abroad, I strongly doubt our ability to get you to Wearmoor. Not without far more difficulty than need be."

A terribly apologetic look is directed towards you. "I had hoped you would want the additional Time to work on yourself as well, Father Anscham. I mean absolutely no offense, but your mother would be worried sick to see you. Some additional time in the countryside, the sun, and ample rest would do you good."

"I will rest as often as I need. I promise. The Church of Mercy is not going anywhere, but—"

"You're hung up on the horse, aren't you?"

"It would be prudent to give— to give myself a few days to prepare for the journey, at the very least."

He seems unconvinced.

"I could not walk out of the ruins unassisted, Father Wilhelm."

His smile wavers. "You have a point."

"It will— surely, this will be a form of rest in and of itself."

"Mmhmm."

"If we are to leave— to leave the horses before we cross Eventide, I'll shoulder everything that we have yet to use, as well."

"That's what I thought!"

A series of puffs, a cloud of aromatic smoke, and a glance down to your map accompanies Father Wilhelm's further deliberation. The woody tones and spice don't compliment the last of the breakfast you suffer through, but you wordlessly work at it, determined beyond all measure to do something with yourself (no matter what your host decides on).

The priest tosses a large fur hat atop his nightcap, and turns to leave. It looks absurd, but you keep your face as straight as ever. "Father Wilhelm?"

"I trust my sons to attend to business, but there's nothing to be done about it! Getting word out when we're the only ones here wasn't in His plan. Nothing for a bit of interpretation, though!" He holds up three fingers. "Three days, Father Anscham. I'll be back in three days, and I want you ready when I return!" He's smiling so broadly, he has to take his cigar from between his teeth. "I would hate to miss a family reunion. Don't forget to eat! We've got firewood to spare, but the axe is out back."

"Thank you, Father Wilhelm. Please, don't trouble yourself with a spare. A single horse and a few days to work on myself is more than I can ask for."

"I don't need to tell you to stay in after dark!"

"Of course not. Blessed be the night, Father Wilhelm."

"Blessed be the Dream. I'll pray for you, Father Anscham. May all the Gods be praised!"

You help him maneuver the incredibly heavy door at the front of the vacation home, watching only for a moment as his slight form carves a path through the snow. He's heading towards Somerilde, though given his sharp and straight path northwest, you doubt he's going directly to the Church of Dream.

It's a relief to not have to worry about how much trouble the man is going through on your behalf as you get back inside, and sit down for no more than a few minutes.

"My weakness is His strength."

Looking over your training regimen from Father Friedrich, you can't help but grin. It truly is befitting of a God.

Music

"My devotion will be His strength. You up, boy? Ready to go for a run?"

The next three days are a haze of so much pain, exertion, cooking, eating, exhaustion and prayer that you prefer to not dwell on the details. Practice with your mace and shield— even upwards of an hour of swinging and sparring at a time— is the highlight. The tools bestowed upon you by Yech remain infinitely easier to wield and carry than anything else. More so than the axe behind the retreat, hours of chopping firewood, or an endless struggle with fallen trees and pits of ice.

Even as you suffered through countless hours of running, jumping, lunging and cutting across the forest, the frigid air and biting wind has been such a welcome respite. Compared to the still air of the ruins or the cloying scent of blood and moss, you've taken in as much as you can. Your lungs have felt tinged with frost, and your long legs seared with agony, but your conviction has been unwavering.

You're certain you've been pushing yourself farther than any sane man should.

Nestling near the foot of the Folorast mountains, you've found the beginning of a routine by the end of the third day. Taking Ray on runs throughout the day to the base and letting him play with your stockpiles of makeshift training equipment could almost feel like play.

Finding gradually smaller and lighter logs to take purchase of seemed to be an exercise in insanity. The sheer availability of rocks— rivaling the quantity of food it's felt like you've managed to keep down— has been a far better supply of material. Were it not for the scorching heat in your limbs, the incessant diet, and endless exhaustion, you'd be seriously enjoying yourself.

The fresh air each day, the sun on your face, and the proximity to the Gods themselves has kept you running, pushing yourself, and lifting as much as you possibly can. It's nothing short of a miracle. You needed a cane to stand weeks ago, and are running now until your lungs could burst.

On the outskirts of the woods— pushing yourself to stay out as late as you safely feel you're able— you've heard rustling in the darkness each and every night. Whiling away the sunset with as much cooking and rest as you can manage— collapsing into bed with the weight of the world on you— has been more than a welcome relief. There's been ample time to pray, to show your devotion, and to spend as much time as you're able in respect to Mercy.

You know you're loved.

You've been serving all the Gods as best as you're able. The almost immediate difference in your health has come with Dream's blessing, as you've awoken without incident each and every morning. Perhaps Father Wilhelm has been praying for you, or perhaps you have been so eager to get back to the work that you've risen of your own accord.

Flesh must be looking kindly upon you, too. The ache in every wasted muscle in your body each morning that you've risen has been enormously reassuring. Today is no exception, but something gives you pause.

There's a heavy slam right outside the front door. You scramble to get dressed, throwing on a rather comfortable fur coat over your grass-stained robes, and meet Father Wilhelm in moments.

He looks as if he was personally visited by Storm, for how disheveled he is. The priest slumps down into the closest chair, grinning broadly at you as he picks a few leaves out of his hair. Dusting off his filthy, blood-streaked coat, he fishes a broken cigar out from his jacket and frowns firmly.

"Good morning! Before you say a word, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Father Anscham."

You stare wide-eyed at the evidence of an extremely rough trip, and a man who's obviously in need of respite.

"I'm going to get myself cleaned up, a few smokes, and all I would like in return is for you to allow me to uphold your earlier request. The horse is outside! Please see to it."

With as much respect as you can muster, you lower your eyes, and immediately head outside. Father Wilhelm's footsteps trail off behind you.

You're greeted by the sight a fairly small horse. The rouncey is lighter and hardier than you were expecting. They're really better suited to riding, but you're sure the breed was picked to avoid any suspicion of Father Wilhelm taking an extended absence. It matters little to you, as it will be more than sufficient for your purposes.

Ray takes to the beast of burden readily, leaping forward and politely sniffing around the creature within seconds of you calling him outside. They seem to distract each other well enough as you load up all of your supplies.

Along with the colossal sum of food goes all of the items Father Wilhelm must have swiped from the Church of Dream. There are several boxes of fine cigars, fresher produce, and a suspicious amount of fine goods for trade. Silks, pouches of coin and multiple containers of spices all catch your eye. You try your best to not question it— hiding the valuables as well as you can— and place the cane Yech gave you in the very center of everything. The wooden support is partially as an anchor, but is mostly there to conceal the demonic item from further scrutiny. For good measure, you fetch your mace and shield from your quarters.

Looking for what you suspect to be the last time in a very long while on the small room, you quickly make your bed, and say your thanks to Dream before heading out.