I Cannot Remember [pt 7]

[My Lords, this is the journal of a young Tyrian cleric, a Lieutenant Longfoot, stationed at Vulane at Szal Veilwinter's arrival there. -Capt. Hadrick Briarwolf]

Report: Lt. Sandra Longfoot, Vulane, day 403

I'd just finished the morning sermon when Seargent Mitchell hopped into the tent to announce the arrival of the ship carrying the new Reynardian cleric, along with the return of Selthia. This ship had been delayed about a week, and I was starting to wonder! I was expecting a ship of Tyrian reinforcements as well but it, too, is probably delayed.

The construction of the house of worship for the Reynardians has finished only recently, and I'm very interested to see if this new high priest is as "creative" as Selthia in the worship of his deity. "The Crafty Vixen," Selthia's potion shop, has been operating normally under Selthia's two associates... that is to say, I believe they are still operating outside of Tyr's and Vulane's law.

I appeared at the docks with a retinue of officers. The ship itself must have been a new affair, outfitted with the latest raccoon engines, but it pulled into port badly damaged. One of the smokestacks must have fallen over, and the side of the ship had strange scorch marks.

Selthia stepped off first, still wearing her stag skull... we didn't salute her, as you can imagine, although she nodded, and I nodded back. Another fox, wearing somewhat scuffed white and sky-blue robes, slowly walked down the ramp to the dock. He had rough and tumble, windblown fur and bright blue eyes, and he affected a shy smile when he saw us. He looked to be in his early twenties.

"Are you the new Reynardian priest?" I called to him, stepping forward to take his hand.

"That I am! Ah, a Tyrian contingent to greet someone as low as I?" He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. "I am enchanted, m'lady, and am named Jack O'Savern. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

I informed him of my rank, identity, and to which regiment I belong to. I then invited him to a dinner with the officers that evening, followed by a tour of the town tomorrow morning. He accepted, and we continued talking.

We walked a bit, then he said: "How are affairs here in Vulane, Lieutenant? Are we, the Reynardians and Tyrians, getting along here?"

"Indeed, s- Well, honestly, we're having trouble with the vixen who stepped off the boat with you."

"Oh, you mean Selthia?"

We stepped off the dock into the pebble strewn streets, sounds of construction echoing around us. I informed him that Selthia is a native of Vulane from its founding, fifty years ago.

"We were, ahem, wondering if you had a chance to speak with her, with Selthia, on the journey here?"

Presently we were interrupted by a gaggle of children: badgers, dogs, hares, and pigs, begging to pet the new arrival: "Robby hood! Robby hood!" Annoyingly, like most foxes I've met, he immediately stooped among them, his ears bent submissively to receive the deepest pets. ...which the children were only too happy to give. I reminded him after a few moments, gently, that we had a schedule.

Still panting, Priest O'Savern eventually stood up - to the childrens' general dismay - said to the children that he loved them, and trod over to me. I restated my question. I want to mention that Selthia also accepted the same group of childrens' attentions soon afterward, allowing them to crawl all over her: "Maid Marion, Maid Marion!" She is depraved.

"I did speak with Selthia a little on the way over," he told me, glancing behind us at the scene. "With a weeks' delay, we had some extra time to become acquainted. Selthia seems intimidating, but she is a sister under Reynard. I'll try to guide her. My main interest is in the maintenance of our religion and the strengthening of the relationship between Reynard and all the various religions. I should ask, however, what her crimes were?"

"Well, first of all, that stag skull is from the protector of the Vulane Woods--" I pointed to the East. "Our druids have felt an emptiness ever since that crime, and we think that Selthia is using the forest for profane magicks, not to mention her wearing of that skull... No doubt to enhance her own evil powers."

"Oh... oh, dear... Well, some Reynardians have retreated to darker magicks because--"

I intended to put a check on his soft-heartedness. "Are you defending her, sir?"

"No-- no, ma'am, but perhaps it wasn't her? That skull doesn't seem particularly magical to me."

I reminded him that she committed many crimes before this, the (alleged) murder of the Spirit of the Vulane Forest to be the most heinous. He agreed with me, but not quickly.

"I'm glad that you haven't arrested her without trial, Lieutenant."

"It is good that you're here, sir O'Savern... Would you, uh, would you sign off on a formal inquiry into her crimes?"

"...If it helps to settle the general air of iniquity, then yes."

We continued talking down the sometimes-cobblestoned, and sometimes-pebbled, street. I told him about my upbringing, and asked about his. Apparently he came from [REDACTED], which has, over the past decade, become engulfed in a religious war. He reminded me of the recent horrible crimes committed by the high priest of Tyr, there, and offered his condolences.

Apparently the conflict in that once-great town has deepened into bloodshed in the streets. He hinted to me that the two religions have become segregated along species-lines there. Even basic services have stopped, and regular merchants and civilians - of many species - have begun to starve due to the disruption; Refugees strangle the thoroughfares as mages and fighters "unleash waves of destruction over the city, and building-to-building engagements have left the city a battlefield."

Mr. O'Savern apparently requested to the Reynardian Bishop to be relocated to Vulane to, as he put it, 'start someplace unspoiled, to sew the seeds of peace in that new place. ...also, modern plumbing would be a nice change of pace.'

On a personal note: The construction of the new acqueduct and sewer system is coming along nicely, my lords. No longer will we squat among our own filth, washing our clothes in, and drinking, filthy water. This project is a ringing endorsement of the partnership of Reynardian mages and Tyrian clerics, along with many unnamed laborers from many different religions, in my humble opinion, my lords.

But, sirs and ladies, what will happen to the sewer system if the Reynardians discover Tyrian troops lurking in them? I, unhappily, must question the wisdom of this course of action, my lords.

"...Along more happy lines," I interrupted, referring to the religious feuds in that faraway town, "Mr. O'Savern, have you ever met our Admiral Softbrush?"

"I've heard that he lives here: the Pirate King of the new lands."

"Admiral Softbrush worships both gods along with Quillig, the God of Mercy. His son and daughter do, as well. His daughter being the priestess of Reynard, until this morning the highest ranked Reynardian and Quilligian in our town. We've forgiven her father's piratical crimes: he is a fox, after all, and he has done much in the name of peace."

"Well, er, well then: Invite the Admiral for supper as well, if you would m'lady."

"Well... The Pirate King would be obliged to bring his wife along as well, sir."

Mr. O'Savern struggled to keep up to me in his long cleric robes. "Is- is inviting Softbrush's wife a problem? Who is she?"

"Pirate King Softbrush has been married to Selthia for forty years, and has had two children by her."