Ham spends his days at the Moat House helping out, but spending his idle time with Old Pieter’s journal and in brief visits to his apartments. The Silencers and the Gauntlet did not, seemingly, have a passion for history or for the finer things. You and Kog and Lucretia unearth dishes and silverware, artful tapestries and expensive rugs discarded or unused by the most recent inhabitants of the fortress of the fens. Restored, just these small touches, combined with good food and the tireless cleaning of the Caretakers has made in a mere pair of days, some difference in pushing away the dark.
Ralluk visits rather more frequently than expected. He has arrived with increasingly contrived justifications for his attendance. He has brought Lucretia swamp flowers, which she accepts with grace. And a bit of grimace. She, clearly, has some unpleasant history with the Murgathen.
Ralluk, if he notices this, is undeterred. He speaks enthusiastically to Kog about his people’s willingness to help guide those Kog has summoned to the House unmolested. He brings food for the Thalgruun, a grisly collection of grey and purple organs and gallons of red-purple blood. You do not possess the tact to even begin to question the source of this fodder.
But, most of all, Ralluk wants to meet with you. You sense that he lives a lonely life, one where his intelligence is wasted on his Murgathen cohort. He is an excellent mimic. He uses his skill to mock the Gauntlet. His impersonation is perfect, including his ability, bulging his throat grotesquely like a great swamp toad, to amplify his words. Ralluk has a rich internal life, you feel, deprived of much opportunity to share it. In a more perfect world, one such as Ralluk would entertain at court, rather than parlay with monsters such as the Gauntlet.
Ralluk has brought you an item you could not, at first, even fathom. It is a fine mace, well-turned and of finest materials. Certainly one hundred years old, perhaps twice that. Pressed into the sturdy ironwood of the handle: a circle of steel. Embossed, it only dawns after a moment, with the family crest of the Lorimers. How has he come into possession of such an item?
“Many crusades have entered the swamp,” he retorts with what you have grown to recognize as a sly smile on his wide mouth, “only to disappear into the mire.”
Seeing your expression, he says with a hint of recrimination, but also of compassion, “Do not judge us, Hammond of San Nicholas, differently than you would judge the manner your people would respond against invaders of any foreign power. We Murgathen are a sovereign people. Your Lords of Darkmoor have never invited us to join their table.”
As a result of the many visits of Ralluk, you have began to determine that he is not the master of the Thalgruun. If anything, he views the great moat beast as a ruler might view a dragon who, for its own reason, deters invaders. Or a fierce wolf pack that helps keep the frontier free of threat.
Furthermore, you have begun to wonder whether Ralluk actually leads these Murgathen. He certainly commands, within a certain scope. But you have witnessed discussions between Ralluk and other Murgathen, where they have evidenced an obvious lack of deference. Either Ralluk is a monumentally open-minded leader, or he does not rule with absolute authority. If he rules at all.
And, of course, you have fidgeted, worked at and harassed the lock that secures Old Pieter’s lockbox. And finally, somehow, without realizing how you have done it, the lock gives way and the box springs open.
Inside you found a molded bit of wood, velvet-lined. Some sort of ward — not intended for a cleric of San Nicholas, the hope, perhaps of a generation– diffuses around you. Harmless. Nestled inside is an amulet at the end of a brass and steel and bronze chain. The amulet is sizable. Silver. And empty. It emanates mystic power. You feel something shimmer inside you. A heat spreads in your being as you behold this artifact.
But nothing else, because the heart of the amulet is empty. And then, for a second, you see the blinding gem that should reside there. It is not missing. It has not been stolen. You have not yet earned it. For Pieter, you can only assume, the gem would not be so shy. When San Nicholas wills it, this item, which some voice whispers to you is known as as a relic of the Vigilant Flame, will appear to you, here, entwined with this chain and amulet. Why would Pieter have abandoned this relic in a box at the Moat House? You know, or at least were taught, that Old Pieter served out his days at the ruin of the cathedral, teaching the children and spreading what meager joy was available to him in the aftermath of the great war. And yet this magnificent artifact awarded him by San Nicholas was left here, in a simple box, in the fens on the far edge of Darkmoor.
You stare in awe at this item. It is, in its current form, worthless to you. But there is the promise of some greater power, and perhaps, some greater truth. If only you can accrue to San Nicholas the glory and the promise that Pieter of old managed to accrue.
You give Kog and Lucretia your farewell. Lucretia, startling you and Kog both, gives you a gentle hug. You had not thought her capable of such a thing, as reserved and bitter as she has often seemed to you.
Ralluk walks with you and makes the path through the swamp as effortless as walking the streets of Elder Pool. He asks you about Gwinned, which you must have let slip you had visited. About the great hurtling carriages of the nobles on the High Way. About the fine clothing shops. He sighs and is wistful at your response. He waves, with those long, webbed fingers as you leave the fen behind.
You have borrowed a gentle roan from the Moat House and astride it you make your way to the ruins of the cathedral, far across the Barony, stopping only as you and the horse require. You are recognized at the gate and you see your brethren gathering as word of your return spreads. In the ruins of the temple nave you meet with Elder Conrad and Elder Revilar. They ask you of your exploits and the state of affairs at the Moat House. Conrad beams and Revilar glowers as you answer them. You discuss the discovery of Pieter’s apartments. They spy the mace of your ancestor at your belt. At the sight of the Stillbag, Revilar scoffs. Something about the moment — and the audience — holds your tongue regarding Pieter’s journal and the relic of the Vigilant Flame, both hidden in your bags.
You speak well into the night about events here at the cathedral. Revilar is eager to see Old Pieter’s apartment for himself, at the Moat House. You do not encourage him. As the twinkling of the stars turns to velvet and the golden sunrise announces its arrival, long after Revilar has limped to his home, Conrad looks you hard in the face. “You have changed, son,” he says, inspecting you as if looking for a hidden seam, or a trap on a door. “You are changing.”
You have no idea what he sees. You collapse into your old tent, the horse snorting nearby, your possessions close about you as the cathedral awakens around you and you sleep as if dead.