Category: Journal of Old Pieter

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Entry 46

Today, Deacon Willmat introduced me to a young lady. Valentine. She is full of energy and said very kind things about today’s reading and sermon.

She comes, she says, from the south, where too many have not heard the gospel of San Nicholas. She shared that this idea that we all have an obligation to help each other, that there is more to life than the wolf-eats-wolf grimness that is all so many know, has awakened something inside of her. That the word of San Nicholas has generated a sense of hope and purpose that her life has lacked.

What could I say, but to encourage her to read the texts and to help to spread the word?

She is lovely, I must acknowledge, this Valentine. Lovely, indeed.

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Entry 43

This evening I met with Lord Dahlen, at his request. He shared a concern that there have been… disturbances at the cemetery. His family, of course, have long made use of the Royal Mausoleum. The Caretaker, as is custom, answers to the ruler of Darkmoor. Dahlen, it seems, fears that someone else, or some other force, holds sway there.

I visited the site, though it was late. The gate was locked, but I had no difficulty in letting myself in. Cemeteries are not prisons for the dead.

Walking through those rows of graves, some tracing back two thousand years, I was reminded of the great legacy of Darkmoor and the Grey family who has ever ruled here. I know that many feel dread finding themselves amongst the deceased, especially after dark. That has never been my experience.

There was a light, I discovered, at the Caretaker’s shed, which sits atop the mausoleum. I made for it.

The shed was locked. That provided no more barrier than did the chains at the cemetery entrance.

Inside, the Caretaker sat at his desk, a lantern flaring. His throat slit.

The door, I reiterate, was locked from the inside. Amongst the ornate tombs and sarcophagi, I found no one, living or otherwise.

What this all means, I have nothing material to add.

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Entry 41

Amongst all other matters, I am encouraged by our activities, here at the shrine of San Nicholas in Elder Pool. My sermons draw significant numbers. More, in truth, than I have ever faced before. There is a positivity in those sessions. I am thrilled by the energy of those who attend, especially the young.

Deacon Willmat introduced me to several of those who attended for the first time, this morning. Such enthusiasm and eagerness to learn and to good things.

We sat about, after the ceremony, making our way through the streets of Elder Pool, sweeping the trash from the streets and offering assistance to those poor and indigent as we might.

Our site, here in Elder Pool will never possess the grandeur of the great cathedral we are constructing in the west. But these days, amongst these assembled, lighten my heart.

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Entry 39

I am quickly scribbling these notes before I forget any of the detail of this morning’s activities.

I met after breakfast with Barnabus Rey. Aldmaar had asked that I check in with the man while I was in town. Rey, as competent as ever, provided only good news. He has his men well-drilled and they have gone through the Lord’s Manor with, as he says, a fine-toothed comb, ensuring that every lock is in good repair and every barrier inspected, and where necessary, mended.

Later I had an encounter, in the square, with a men who I did not recognize. He was dressed well-enough. Likely a tradesman of some sort. Tall and rangy, with a rough patch of beard. He seemed to be watching the guards on their rounds a bit too attentively. I approached the man, pleasantly, introducing myself and asking him his business in Elder Pool.

"My business is my own," he replied, curtly.

"Perhaps," I responded. "And yet I will ask again what it is. I do not know you, fellow, and I note your attention to matters that may have impact on the business of myself and those I name my friends."

The man uttered a low oath, then claimed that he was a treewright and was simply come here to see for himself the quality of woodwork done in Elder Pool. "Nothing so special," he deemed it.

The man made away without another word. I allowed him to depart. Later, when I happened to mention to Rey this encounter, he was quick to dismiss it.

And yet, I wonder.

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Entry #35

Today, Aldmaar and I met with a Captain of the Darkmoor Navy, here at the Moat House. He and a few of his men came to shore to reprovision and provide a printed report to the Castillian to be couriered to His Highness.

I sailed here to Darkmoor as a child, though I scarce recall it. I remember the voyage as several days in the cold and damp in the hold of a cargo vessel. Most around me were sick much of the time, and the captain was a heartless rogue, laughing at their misery.

Aldmaar has never been aboard a ship, and despite my encouragements, he was utterly unwilling to step foot even onto the small boat that ferried the naval men to shore. He did not take my jests at his expense well. Perhaps I took the wrong lessons from that ship’s captain as a child.

Tomorrow we set out again. I do enjoy our respites here at the Moat House. While the terrain is wild and dangerous, Aldmaar is an unerring guide. And there is a beauty to all of this unspoilt nature. Despite the insects and the swelter, I feel drawn to this place.

Nonetheless, I have a flock to which I must attend, back in Elder Pool. And my investigations into this Elemental Church must continue. I fear how this belief system is spreading; in the dark and without showing itself. It feels like a weed, just beneath the surface, proliferating and extending its tendrils…

As well, I have work in the south. The Royal Architect has plans I must review to extend the apse and the chancelry. The glaziers have a sample for the great rose window that I saw in my dream so many years ago. This work is foreign to me and exhausting and it is hard at times to justify pulling myself away from my work with the people. Yet I know, in my heart, that this what San Nicholas compels.