A Matter of Faith

Our fightery fellow runs his hand through his blonde hair, in quiet contemplation.
What is this overwhelming evidence of which you speak?

Father Gerhard exhales slowly

"Gyula had been helping Father Gunther tend to his garden regularly" he begins "Pulling weeds, carrying water. Things he could’ve done himself, but… I believe he just wanted to give the boy some coin without making him feel like a beggar. The boy’s family is very poor"

He pauses, his gaze drifting for a moment before returning to Will

"Two days ago, they were seen walking into the garden together. Gyula carried a basket of tools. Some of the townsfolk saw them from the street. They worked for a time… then they went inside." He swallows, clearly disturbed "They never came back out."

Gerhard struggles to keep the emotion out of his voice

"That evening, the boy’s mother came to the church when he hadn’t returned. She was worried. Wouldn’t stop knocking. One of the acolytes led her to his house. And when they opened the door…" his stops for a long moment "They found Gyula inside. On the floor. Dead. And Father Gunther was there too—covered in his blood."

"He kept shouting that he didn’t do it. That he’d found the boy like that. That someone had… framed him. But…" he shakes his head "It’s hard to believe anyone else could’ve done it. No sign of forced entry. No one saw anyone else go in."

That…that doesn’t sound good. Did he say how he got covered in, what I presume is the child’s blood? And did he say who he thinks is trying to frame him?

The death of another young person, adventuring was supposed to be finding treasure, hunting down monsters, laying to rest the undead. Not stories of young women and boys being cut down before they could live their life.

"This is atrocious"

Miyana watches as the child is accepted into the church. Her face betrays no hint of emotion, but inside, she feels a little sad. Once, as a younger woman, she had imagined herself a mother, and she feels that, with a girl like this, one who could be shaped and molded, she would have been a fine adventurer, perhaps even a powerful mage. The church will take that out of her, make her into a village woman, to be chained to a life of drudgery and childbearing. Or worse, they would make her into a servant of the church. Best not to even think about that.

Overhearing Will ask his question, she turns her attention to the matter at hand. "Did Gunther say where the blood that covered him came from?"

Boudica puts a protective hand on Moryana and says, "Ah, she's not joining your nunnery just yet. We ask only to determine what options the girl might have. I plan to check with Balan at the Traladaran shrine as well, and then let the girl decide for herself." Boudica was Traladaran herself and had no love for the Thyatian Church.

When the conversation turns to the death of the child, Boudica grows angry, cursing under her breath. She says, "I am no great investigator, but perhaps we should look into this? If there is even a small chance that the child's murderer is someone else, someone currently free and without punishment, then I would find them, and punish them myself. May we speak to Father Gunther, perhaps see his home?"

"I'm sorry, but I’ve told you everything I know. The rest…" he shakes his head "you’ll have to ask the Sheriff." he explains:

"He has Father Gunther in custody. If there’s any more to the story, it’s with him. I’ve not been permitted to see Father Gunther since the arrest, nor visit his house"

I can speak to the Sheriff on your behalf, Father Gerhard, but you must first examine me and see if your clergy might be able to lift a curse with which I’m afflicted. Lately, I’ve been unable to eat without feeling like I’m starving, all I eat tastes of anshes…and, at times, visions. If you can help, I feel like it might save me a long journey. Will you take some time with me please?

"A curse" Gerhard repeats after Will. He looks upon the young man, but can't see anything out of the ordinary about him. Stepping closer, he motions for Will to kneel in front of him, and to lower his head, as he recites a prayer:

"Blessed Astrid, Lady of Mercy, Shield of the Innocent, I beg you to lift the curse upon his spirit. Let your light reach where shadow lies and cleanse him of his affliction, like the purifying light of the sun"

There is a hush after he finishes his prayer. Will feels a faint warmth, as if something stirs inside him, but then it fades away, leaving the same him with the same bitter taste in his mouth

"I hope Astrid heard our prayers" The priest looks at you, a bit doubtful "But if not, I can write to our Holy Patriarch. He is wise, and his light shines brighter than any of ours. I'm sure he would be able to help you"

I appreciate your prayers Father, but alas…I felt only a divine grace, that quickly faded from me, and I still have the same bitter taste as before. I can wait and see how it goes, if I must, but any petitions your church elders can provide would be appreciated.

Boudica looks troubled by the reports of Father Gunther and the child. She says, "Perhaps we should seek to the Sheriff. I'd also like to speak to Balan at the Traladaran church as well."

You make your way through the streets to the town's garrison hall, a stone structure near the central square, not far from the market, and within sight of the Baron's residence. The structure has thicker stone walls than the surrounding houses, and a sturdy wooden gate reinforced with iron. A pair of guards stand watch at the entrance, wearing the city's banners.

The walls of the hall inside are plastered with notices of bounties, and maps of the surrounding lands. There are a couple of clerks busy scribing reports for the baron, while the sheriff, a man in his late middle age with graying hair and beard, stands behind them. He looks up at you when you enter, gauging you sharply:

"You’re the ones who returned Humphrey’s apprentice, aren’t you?" news of your return traveled fast "The ones who cleared Mistamere castle. What can I do for you this morning?"

Yes, we are those people. We would like to visit and speak with the prisoner Gunther, Sheriff, please.

"No kidding. Half the city wants to 'talk' with him" The Sheriff looks a bit annoyed, but then he looks at you, and relents "Fine. But only because you brought Stefan back alive. I'll allow it, but you keep your weapons here. And don't try anything clever, or it's over"

He nods toward one of the guards "Follow Sergeant Alrik. He’ll take you down to the cells."

Boudica thanks the Sheriff, leaves her weapons, and follows the Sergeant.

Anton once again takes off his belt with his daggers and hands it over, "I am going to need to develop a quick release latch if we keep leaving our weapons behind"

The guard leads you into the dungeons beneath the Sheriff’s hall. It's a cramped, foul-smelling corridor, the air reeking from the stench of urine, old sweat, and damp straw. Rats scurry along the edges of the corridor, vanishing into holes between the stones, and the light of the torches does little to keep the gloom at bay.

A nearby cell holds a slumped, drunken man snoring in a dried puddle of vomit. In the farthest cell, behind the iron bars, sits Father Gunther.

His once white robe is stained with blood, and his face is bruised; a split lip, a swelling around one of the eyes, and a purple contusion on his cheek. The guards, it seemed, were a little overzealous when they 'interrogated' him. He is hunched on the bench, his hands shackled, but when you approach he trembles, and slowly approaches the bars. He looks exhausted and gaunt - even though he only been in this jail for a couple of days. His dry lips part when he begins to mumble:

"Who...who are you?"

"We're friends, Father. We have come to hear your side."

For a moment it seems like he hasn’t heard you. Then, without warning, his shoulders begin to shake.

"I don’t know what happened…" his voice breaks, as he begins to sob "I don’t know—I don’t know—I didn’t do it…"

His breath starts to hitch "I got up in the morning. Got dressed. Then. I don't know...I felt tired. Like I haven't slept in weeks..."
He lowers his head, his hands begin to tremble

"When I woke, he was in my arms. He was cold. Covered in blood. I was covered in blood. blood everywhere. And his eyes, his eyes were open. Staring."

The priest begins sobbing again, unable to compose himself and tell the rest of it. If there is any more to it.

Can you think of anyone who’d want to frame you?