The Pilgrim's Way

[Oros]

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Name: The Pilgrim’s Way
Rank: "C"
IIC Length: 2 Days
Difficulty: Unknown
Objective: Seek out evidence of a group of lost pilgrims
Description: A local priest based out Seisui seeks aid from shinobi of Takigakure is searching for pilgrims who have not returned from their pilgrimage to the Land of Wind. The shinobi are expected to escort the priest to the country and assist him in learning the fate of the missing people. The shinobi is only expected to investigate and report back, due to the currently neutrality held with the nation and its shinobi. Besides directly protecting themselves and their charge, retaliation is prohibited.
Reward: 38,500 Ryo

Oros stood on the edge of the road, watching the foot traffic and the cargo-laden wagons pass to and fro while he waited for the priest to appear. He had not been briefed about the man's appearance, so the giant was firing blind, so to speak, as his eyes flicked from face to face. More than likely, the man would find him first, given Oros' striking presence, even amidst such commercial chaos. Blitz laid down at his feet, patiently waiting for his master to move.

The giant was in his standard uniform for missions, with his Tactical Chest Rig and Utility Belt holding the majority of his gear that he would need. Stored in the former, Oros had a map of Waterfall Country tucked away in one of his scroll pockets, along with thirty-two caltrops divided between a pair of quick-loading pouches on his right half of his body. His compass and three sticks of flint were together in one utility pouch closest to his belt buckle, while his two kunai knives were within arm's reach in the half-pouches, one on each hip.

When he shifted his footing, the creak of leather could be heard from the straps holding his new katana and fullblade to his body. The former sat on his right hip, ready to be drawn across his body should it be deemed necessary, while the larger sword was strapped to his back, the entirety of the foot long hilt protruding out from his left shoulder. It was fortunate that Oros was comfortable with both hands, allowing him to distribute the blades in such a manner. He was not yet versed in their usages beyond a clumsy swing here and there, but they were certainly intimidating, especially the fullblade, when wielded by the giant.

A figure broke from the stream, with obvious intentions of drawing up opposite the giant. Oros did not speak as the man closed the distance, taking the moments of silence to study him. He wore the long, billowing robes that priests were known for, a profession that was lethargic to the point that it could still function with such restricting uniforms. He appeared middle-aged, plagued with balding on the top of his scalp, although his well-groomed beard had not yet suffered the mark of graying streaks in the dark, brunette locks. His age, was deceptive.

The priest stopped short of Oros, greeting him with a flourishing bow. A necklace fell into sight that Oros noted with interest; a clam shell that looked almost stone like hanging on a leather knot chain. "Theoric Alabaster, Head Priest of Anenn and your charge for the mission ahead, shinobi."

Oros crossed his arms, grunting in response. "Oros." He had no additional titles to broadcast to the man, and did not bother to offer the priest the same courtesies. "Do you have everything you will need then?" The giant added, his eyes passing over the man from head to to. Oros thought he traveled lightly, but the priest only had a single satchel hanging on his left hip, and it looked rather light from here.

"What I do not carry, Anenn will provide," the priest intoned, reaching up and tucking the necklace away in the same moment. "By the hand of the faithful from Seisui to the Land of Wind. We will not lack much from this point on, Sir Oros."

Another grunt as Oros snapped his fingers; Blitz, who had not moved from his position since Theoric arrived, pushed himself to his feet and started heading south. Shifting the swords again, Oros followed behind the war dog without another word towards the priest, who fell in a moment later. The priest had to take two steps for every one of the giants, and it was set to be a long trip.

Perhaps by the end of it, the priest won't have as much to say.

[Travel to Kusa no Kuni]

[Cadoc]

Moved to grass

[Oros]

Oros hovered by the little wooden gate that separated the little farmstead from the dirt road cutting through the countryside. Blitz rested beside him on the low-stone wall, head resting on paws within reach of his master. The priest, Theoric, was speaking to the farmer and his small family on the doorstep, out of earshot of the shinobi. Not that Oros minded, of course; he cared little for these detours as they made their way south, praying over the locals who honored the priest's chosen deity. From where the giant stood, both at this gate and at the half-dozen others just like it over the last few days, it looked like a well-disguised con to pry food and supplies out of the hands of the men and women who actually worked to acquire it.

Theoric finally broke from his conversation to head back towards Oros, but not before bending in front of farmer's young son for a moment, taking the necklace off of his own body and bestowing it upon the child. That was the scene left behind the priest--the parents admiring their son's glee at his new gift, a shell on a glorified string--while Theoric walked away, arms laden with fresh fruits and warm bread. Not once had Oros offered the carry the bounties the man received from every stop, but that did not seem to bother the priest. Besides, their last stop had been at the home of a leather-worker, who gifted Theoric with a brand new backpack, straight from the tanning rack, to carry his goods around in.

Oros waited while Theoric put the food away in his bag, a question hanging on the tip of his tongue despite himself. He had avoided talking about the priest's beliefs for two days now, and the man hadn't tried to press the matter, but the giant needed to know more. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of the mission. Even if he did not believe in the tenets of the faith, there was still a chance that they could be vital to completing the task at hand. Maybe explain why a whole group of pilgrims went missing.

“Who is Anenn?” Oros finally asked, the words forced out through gritted teeth

Theoric did not answer at first, as he rummaged through the bag to retrieve an apple and a flask of water from the inner pockets. He held them both up for a moment before turning his eyes onto the giant.

“In the beginning, which do you believe came first, Oros? The water, or the land?”

Oros stayed silent.

If this bothered the priest, he didn’t show it. He unscrewed the lid of the flask and then dumped some of its contents onto the apple, washing it clean of dirt that clung to the green skin. Then, taking a bite of it, he continued his answer while still chewing the morsel. “Oceans once covered this world, friend, from corner to corner, ruled by figures like Anenn. Spirits that current the currents and tides, rainfall and sustenance. Land came later, eating away at the territory of the spirits, until our world became what we knew it today.”

Oros was not well-educated in the realm of ancient history, so he had no way to verify the priest’s claims as truth or total fabrication. Not that it rightfully mattered, at the end of the day, though. Theoric, and others like him, believed it, acted on it even, so in a way that made it real in its own way.

“So why are we heading south, then?” Oros asked, watching the man screw the lid back on the flask and tuck it away. “Why not north or east, where oceans still remain?”

“To honor the oceans that do not,” Theoric said softly, hand reaching for a necklace that wasn’t there. “Where do you think that shell came from, the one that I gave the child just now. Paleontologists have been finding them for centuries in the desert, now. A rare and breathtaking find.” The priest reached into his satchel hanging at his hip.

And pulled out a new necklace, with a similar seashell hanging from a leather cord. He pulled it over his head and tucked it beneath his robe.

“But not rare enough to hoard for ourselves; its meant to be shared with the world.” With heave, Theoric pulled the backpack over his shoulder, glancing at his companion. “Best head out now. Its still a ways to the border.”

Oros grunted, falling in beside the priest as they headed down the dirt path, his mind frantically processing the new information he had just received. With a yawn, Blitz pushed off the stone wall and fell into step behind the pair as they continued heading south.

[Travel to Rain]

[Cadoc]

Moved to rain

[Oros]

“Do only the poor believe in this Anenn, then?”

The trio were barely out of earshot of their hosts, who had opened their homes to them the night before here in the Land of Rain. Well, opened it specifically for the priest; Oros and Blitz slept in the barn, bayed at by the sows in the next stall over. Others would’ve taken it as a slight, but the giant appreciated the space out there more than he would’ve enjoyed curling up in the cramped living quarters of the family’s two room cottage. It was cramped and shoddily built, but it provided a roof overhead against the incessant precipitation. The homesteads were blurring together by now, not one standing out above the others as opulent, but Theoric was very capable of reaping a full bounty from each and every shack he stepped into.

“Poor is not the word I would use to describe them, no.” The priest replied, brushing the crumbs left over from his breakfast off of his robe as they walked. The sky was dark gray overhead, a blanket of clouds overhead with no breaks in its shape, but they were blessed with a brief respite from their contents. “Rich in experience and hospitality, generous with what little wealth they have accumulated, and most of all faithful. And they are but one typeset of the followers of our god.”

Oros scoffed, shifting the weight of the fullblade on his shoulder. It was a weight he was still getting used to.

“It’s true, my friend,” Theoric continued, gesturing to the greenery around them. “The rural class find faith in a provider easier than most, because they face the necessity of it more than most. But I, and many other of the faithful, were born and raised in cities, but our souls long for the restoration of the old memories, the sight of water from horizon to horizon. Several of the pilgrims we’re looking to find, even, are engineers from Seisui, known experts in their field in all matter of architectural achievement.”

“They’re just men lost in a desert to me,” Oros countered, glancing at the priest.

“A very literal interpretation, Oros, that is best left for the baseless creatures of nature. The men and women we seek are much more than individuals. They are expertise and ideas, answers to the world’s questions yet unknown. If we cannot find them, then we have put the world behind by who knows how long. And I believe the world deserves to receive the contributions they can provide.”

Oros did not reply, because he did not have anything more to say on that matter. Theoric had a much higher opinion of the pilgrims than the giant did; Oros truly only saw them as lost pilgrims. He did not picture figures, desperately searching for hope in an endless desert. He did not see faces, pleading for salvation. Until he found them, they were just lines on a mission dossier. He could sympathize for people who acted in ways that he did not, since deep down, he believed his path was the only true one to the certainty and faith these pilgrims sought.

“I pray that we find them unharmed, else I might weep for such a senseless loss.”

Unharmed? Oros squirreled that tidbit away.

They walked a few moments longer in silence before the rain clouds opened all at once, drenching them. It did not look like it would let up the rest of the way to the border.

“Save it for Wind, priest,” Oros declared, grunting to himself. “That land will need the watering more than this one.”

[Travel to Wind Country]

[Cadoc]

Moved to Land of Wind

[Oros]

The nameless border town between an outcropping of tiered plateaus, which provided shelter from the sandstorms that could pick up in the open air. It was almost entirely residential, save for the two-storied inn that provided boarding for travelers, and a temple of sorts sitting atop the tallest hill. Oros had expected Theoric to be drawn to such a sight, but instead the first thing he visited upon their arrival was the spring on the outskirts of the village. Not to drink, or to wash his hands, but to commune with his god. Silently, thankfully; the giant detested audible prayer, finding it showy and uncomfortable to those in the vicinity who were not participating. Unfortunately, the priest still took his sweet time there, knees bowed in the wet, sandy shore, taking so long that Oros very nearly hauled him up by the back of his robe. They had a long day ahead of them following the pilgrim’s path.

They had stayed in the inn for the night, and even Oros had been given a real bed to sleep in this time. It was cramped of course, since most establishments were never prepared for a man of his size to walk through the door. He had felt the stares on him and Theoric both, from the moment he had stepped foot into the town. Even with his headband tucked away out of sight, his stature and the size of his sword drew notice. Stories would be told of the giant for generations to come, he had no doubt.

Theoric, with his priestly robes and his divinely-imposed sense of importance, somehow drew even more attention. For Oros, he got the sense that the local’s reaction was one of the unknown, incapable of processing the sight of the man that defied their prior understanding of the world. For the priest, though, their distrust felt more mundane, more familiar. The giant believed that this was not the first time Theoric had visited the town, and Oros hazarded a guess that it was probably a common stopping point for the other pilgrims. Why the unease, then, if there simply men of faith? Outdated, perhaps, but not dangerous.

Oros finally broke his silence when they made their way out of the town, laden with water for the walk ahead. “Do you know the path they walked?”

Theoric nodded, his face tighter than the giant had ever seen it before. Oros had noticed the change over the course of the night. The priest had asked many of the locals about the lost pilgrims—had they been there, did they leave in the right direction, has anyone looked for them—and had received very little in response. It was a subject that no one wanted to address, and that upset the man. It seemed he was finally feeling the gravity of the situation. It also seemed like he knew more than he let on, but Oros did not press him on that suspicion yet.

“All of Anenn’s priests have walked it. We were the pioneers, the first to walk the old waterways, and now we guide the pilgrims on their journey as well. A dear friend of mine was the one heading this particular one.”

Oros grunted, the only condolence the priest would ever receive from the giant. “And what dangers lie on the path?”

Theoric gestured to the rolling hills of sand around them as they cut across the land. “Look around you, Oros. The land itself is the danger. Err from the path and you would be swallowed up. Too hot for most plants and animals to survive, nigh impossible to find water. The pilgrims knew what was expected: bring lots of water and stay on the path.”

It was strange listening to an urban-bred priest from the Waterfall country speak with such certainty about the hardships of a land that he did live in. Not that Oros was an expert, either, but all the while the priest spoke, he was looking around at the evidence that outright contradicted the priest. Scattered about the land, the giant could plainly see clumps of cacti clinging to the ground, knowing that it had to have access somehow, even if it was deep in the ground. Plus, the town behind them had access to a bountiful spring; there had to be others just like it out there, if you knew how to look. Oros was coming to realize that Theoric did not possess those skills.

But was that not faith, in a way, walking with blinders up in pursuit of your narrow truth, unwilling to see everything else around because it did not lie in your direct path forward?

“Are there people out here?” Oros asked, finding bringing himself to raising the question that he already knew the answer to.

Theoric’s hesitation only confirmed it. “No.”

That too was a lie, proven hours later when the two men stumbled upon the remains of the pilgrimage, massacred down to the last man.

[Oros]

Oros stepped among the mummified corpses of the pilgrims, their faces frozen in fear, brought about those final moments of their lives. Theoric had been right about one thing: it was indeed too hot for the fauna. No insects or carrion feeders had violated the bodies, leaving them to decompose slowly in the dry heat of the desert. This fact did not bother the giant, but it broke Theoric completely. He scuffled aimlessly among them, looking deep into the faces of men and women he recognized, putting names to the list of the lost before them. The giant left him to his frantic mourning; he needed to investigate.

The giant was no expert on crime scene analysis, but it didn’t take one to piece together the fray. Ambushed on all sides, the pilgrimage was cut down on all sides, mostly by arrows and slingshot rounds. No rhyme or reason, everyone struck down where they had been standing . . . except for figures at the front. They were facing in the opposite direction from everyone else, almost as if they had had time to witness the slaughter first. Plus, the wounds they bore were much larger, inflicted by a blade of sort. Their hands been lopped off, and the corpse that wore the same robe as Theoric was also missing the lower half of his face. Silenced, Oros thought to himself.

“Who are these men?” Oros shouted, gesturing to the corpses in front of him, cutting through Theoric’s stifled sobs behind him.

Theoric shook his head, backing away. “I can’t, I can’t—”

Oros was upon him in an instant, hoisting him into the air by his collar with both hands. “Speak, priest! You have lied and deflected me long enough. The man in the middle is your dear friend, so do not waste my time. Who are the others?” Oros shook the man firmly, reminding him that he had no control right now. The force knocked the satchel off of Theoric’s hip, sending its contents spilling on the sand. A dozen other seashells on leather cords scattered around them. “Speak.”

Tears rolled down Theoric’s face. “The engineers from Seisui,” he sputtered out between his sobs.

“Why?” The rest of the question was implied. Why were they executed alongside the priest instead of shot down like the rest of the pilgrims?

“A dam!” Theoric practically shouted. “They were going to help us build a dam.”

There. The pieces were coming together now. Oros released the priest, letting him drop to the ground in a heap as he turned his attention to the horizon. Somewhere out there was a river, which these priests and their highly educated converts were planning on blocking it up. Not like beavers, either, as trespassers. No, they would sell the idea in boardrooms with schematics and sales pitches, pushing their agenda through the lens of commercial gain. And that water, which now had lost its access to its original path, would flood new lands. These lands, which apparently weren’t as lifeless as Theoric pretended that it was. Why? Because they had found a few fossils of creatures dead for millennium now, and had ascribed a higher value to them than to the men and women who would be displaced, perhaps even drowned, in such a callous act. Oros was disgusted as he turned away from the priest, facing the corpses once more.

Just in time to notice the sands shifting behind them.

The figure didn’t so much as rise from the sand as grew from it, the grains forming together into the shape of a man. The man wore loose clothing that breathed easy in the heat, with a khopesh strapped to his hip. Explains the cuts, Oros thought, hand hovering his own blade. But no bow; that meant the initial ambush had been conducted by more than of these nomads, and they had just not appeared yet. Perhaps that boded well for Theoric and the giant, coming face to face with a man who wished to deliver a message, and nothing more.

“What have you done,” the priest bellowed, looking to find his feet, but Oros lunged out and shoved him back into a seated position. Regardless of the giant’s opinion of the man, he was still his charge. He did not protect him simply for him, though; Oros did it for himself. He was not willing to die out here for a cause he did not believe in. Theoric got the hint, thankfully, and didn’t try to stand again.

Oros reached down slowly, eyes never leaving the Sand man, and snatched up one of the necklaces. Gripping the shell in his hand, the giant formed a fist, squeezing the fossil until it cracked and broke within his grasp. When it opened his hand again, only dust remained, which was picked up by the wind and carried off. He let the leather fall to the ground again.

The Sand Man simply nodded. Oros returned the gesture.

“Come, priest,” Oros ordered, pulling Theoric to his feet. “We’re leaving now.”

“But what about the pilgrims?” He pleaded, glancing at them all before him.

“Let men find them a thousand years from now,” Oros replied, half-dragging the man across the ground until he finally found his feet beneath him. “And debate over the truths behind such a scene.”

Oros glanced over his shoulder, but the Sand Man had already disappeared. No doubt to trail them to whole way back to the border town, along with however many bowman he had hiding around them as well. “We return to the edge of Rain country, and then I am parting ways with you. On your way home, I recommend you stop into every single home of your believers and tell them the truth we learned today.”

A pause, for dramatic effect.

“Anenn is no longer welcome in the Land of Wind.”

[Exit]