Sister Hilan awoke early in the morn, as she was accustomed to doing. Life in the abbey started before dawn. The boat she was traveling with had been pushed up upon the beach for the night, in order to keep it in place and help stave off it becoming waterlogged. The merchants giving her passage for the first leg of her journey, of her mission, would be awakening soon as well, she knew. Once they did, they would eat a morning meal and set out. She had rituals to perform before her own morning meal, and she did not wish to delay things for them. So she woke up earlier and did her preparatory prayers before they stirred from their sleep.
She headed to a secluded area, away from the others, to do her contemplations. It was a private endeavor, and people around too often would only be courting with problems. The first set was the contemplation of the self, the observer. A practice for establishing being. Standing, facing the not-yet rising sun in anticipation of the soon to be, she recited the creed of the Darian Orders’ members. Then, she knelt and, hands at her sides, firmly held her face just off and facing the ground and recited the call to purpose of the House of the Bold Flame for their adherents. Finally, she straightened her kneeling poster and, facing the treeline, chanted the affirmations of the Cold Fist. Staying knelt and facing the East, she began the round, going through the aspects of each pillar in the eyes of the Bold Flame. Each aspect had it’s own set of motions, head positions, and gestures to take and make while recognizing them. As a member of the Darian order, she must always start her pillar rituals with recognition of seven aspects of the Tripartite Throne. Then she moved on to face South-West and recognize the four aspects of the Twin Flames, and finally North-East for three aspects of the Lady.
Before she had finished the morning rituals, but only just, the sun began to peek it’s bright face over the treetops in the distance and the merchants began to wake up as well. Sister Hilan settled in for the recitation of the final Aspect of the Lady to the eyes of the Bold Flame. Making a pair of fists, she began to beat the slow rhythm into the ground. “As it was once that She watched, now We must see. As it was once that She led, now We must journey. As it was once that She weighed, now We must judge. For while She Was and Is, we Are and Must Be.” As she finished the slow chant, she lifted both fists up towards the sky, opened them flat, and twisted them, angling their palms towards the rising sun. Standing up, arms still raised, she swung them back down as though pushing the sun back along its path. Seeing the captain heading towards the cooking area, she hurried to meet with him.
Captain Alistere Reggoch served himself from the morning allotment of jerky and looked at the Sister of Piety headed his way. Taking a breath, he smiled in spite of how early it was. “Sister Hilan,” he said to her as she grew near, “Good morning.”
“Is there anything I can do to help this morn?” Sister Hilan asked.
Captain Alistere shook his head. “Not this moment, Sister. Just enjoy your meal and head to the ship. Your aid will be appreciated in moving it back to sea.”
Sister Hilan nodded to the captain and headed over to the cooking area to collect a small bit of jerky for her own morning meal. It wasn’t entirely simply out of kindness that they had offered her a place on the ship. She was, through her work and protection, paying for her voyage. And, if there was any trouble, she would be expected to deal with it. That they offered her from their own board, that was not being paid for. That was out of kindness, or respect for her mission, or fervor towards the Cold Fist, or hope that the next of the abbey’s missionaries would travel with them as well. Whatever the reason, Sister Hilan appreciated the gesture. It was a good omen for things to come once they had parted company.
She seated herself on the warming sands of the beach, beside the hulking ship, now dry once again, and began to slowly consume the jerky. Savoring the flavor best she could, while still making sure to finish before the crew had finished their portions. She wanted to be sure that she was ready to work the instant she was needed, not a moment late. That was the best way to keep the Darian Orders and the Bold Flame in good graces with the minor merchants traveling to and from the Pious Nation.
She had finished the jerky and taken a moment to stretch before the first mate called for her aid. “Sister, take the left rig. Pall, take the right. Everyone, on my mark, we heave. Ready?” Mate Marena Loutoun called out to the whole crew. Those that had yet to finish their jerky stuffed the meat anywhere that would hold it and rushed over to the rear of the boat. Sister Hilan headed to the front of the boat, picking up the knotted chain on her side.
Pall, the largest of the crew, walked up the right side of the ship to its fore and looked over at Sister Hilan. Hefting the chain over his shoulder, he asked, “Ready?” and awaited confirmation.
Sister Hilan in kind brought the chain over her shoulder and wrapped it once around the waist. “Ready,” she confirmed to him.
Pall turned his head alone back towards Marena and shouted, “Set.” Then he looked back at Sister Hilan and nodded. Together the pair began pulling the relatively light ship. Not enough to move it, but keeping the chains taut.
From the back, she hears the first mate yell out, “And… MARK!” Suddenly, the boat shifted, and became easier to move, as the whole of the rest of the crew pushed the rear of the boat up and forwards briefly. She and Pall continued to pull the ship even after it fell back to the ground, until eventually it once again settled into the sand. With that single heave, helped forward and guided by the pair of strongfolk’s chain-work, the ship had moved half the distance to the coming tide. Once again, Marena shouted her command to the crew. “And… MARK!” And once again the ship moved. By the time the vessel stopped moving, Sister Hilan was up to her shoulders in water. Even Pall was waist deep. Pall tossed his chain on deck with little effort. He then looked at Hilan and nodded again before heading towards the rear of the boat. She in turn threw her own chain up onto deck and headed back. One final push and the ship would be in the water. She and Pall joined the others near the stern and both turned towards Marena. Once the first mate nodded to them, they turned back and each placed their hands on the boat with the rest of the crew. “And…” Marena repeated one final time, with an even longer pause than the other two times, “MARK!”
All the force together pushed the ship up and into the rising water. Captain Alistere, who had, along with the cook, finished gathering up all the sleeping and cooking gear, came up behind Marena. “Good. Now everyone grab some gear and get in. We’re leaving when I finish prepping the mast, whether or not you’re on ‘er.”
Sister Hilan headed back over to her small makeshift sleeping area, a flat rock that she had moved under a short tree no one else had been near. She knew the captain was generally fairly methodic in his set-up, and he seemed the sort to exaggerate to encourage his crew. On the other hand, she did not want to delay them any. She decided to don her armor quickly before heading aboard. It wasn’t an easy process, but she was well accustomed to doing it in a hurry and she had faith it would take less time than readying the ship for travel.
She was right. By the time she had finished donning her plate and brought her allotment to the boat, the crew had finished loading it leisurely, though the captain was still putting the last lashes around the mast, keeping the sail taut. Sister Hilan climbed aboard, her fare lashed to her shield and over her shoulder. After bowing her head in respect to the first mate, she headed below decks to get her gear in proper order and into a manageable pack.
It took little time before they were once again underway. She was still packing her things away so that she might carry it with greater ease when they began to sail out from the bay and continue their journey around the Island of Lassyta towards the plantations of the Island of Yolryta. It also befits her journey as it is the Island of the betrayer state with the most ports so she would be able to progress even further out into the world. Perhaps even find purpose to her mission. Once she had finished with her packing, she swung the bag over her shoulders, slid the shield over the top of it, and headed up topside to watch the trip.
Six hours into the day abouts, the sun had crossed overhead and was on the other side of them, trailing behind them now as they pushed further east. Sister Hilan watched it falling behind. The sun is often considered an aspect of divinity, she knew that. Not in the Church of the Cold Fist, but other organizations. When priests from those organizations called upon the Sun, how did that influence affect the sun itself, she mused silently, watching the reflection of the orb’s light glittering across the face of the water. Unlike the divine aspects she called upon, the Sun was a physical thing in existence. Was it a limitless thing? Or did it have some kind of limit to the power it can give and replenish itself constantly? As things should not be able to be limitless and real simultaneously, so it should have to be the latter. And in that case, was it possible to surpass that limit and diminish the object? Or perhaps that was simply not how it works. She assumed it was the power innate in the aspects itself that were called upon in the casting, but perhaps it came from one of the other sources. The god or the priest. In the calling and belief, or by the hand of the divine itself. If that were the case, Sister Hilan is unsure which of the two sources would be the more unsettling truth. Both could be used to cause issues in the current world’s complex network, if taken to the extremes of their internal logics. She decided to think on something else, averting her gaze away from the ship’s glimmering wake.
She turned to look at what lay before them instead, out across the relatively calm sea. As she gazed out, she saw, peeking through the fog and the growing darkness, a small piercing light from a port’s lighthouse. Sister Hilan could not help but smile slightly. This was likely the ship’s destination. The port town of Inrotta. If she did recall her information on the Betrayer State correctly, it was no major port, but one of primary trade with the Pious Nation, as it was only four days travel from them, and only three from many of the local plantations, meaning the crop was generally still fresh when it was sold in the Pious Nation’s markets. She knew this was not where her mission would begin, but it was a gateway into the deeper towns of the Island of Yolryta, and hopefully she would find it on the way. Or, she would make it to a proper city and find her way from there. It was not as though she was helpless. Nor did she have a time limit for finding and completing her mission. Some people never leave their missions, doing it for decades. Some finish and find meaning in a matter of months. Most political missions last a single three-year period, but that was more due to the politicking of the Tripartite Throne’s to bring comfort to the other political bodies of the Vyrroltea and their socio-political cultures than the religious or philosophical necessity. No matter how long it would take. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself for docking.
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