Hiding and Thinking

Wanderer ducked and swerved past the thousands of festival goers, bright colours and strange forms of intricate costumes blurring as the Golem went past.

Yet the Vessel couldn't focus on them, could hardly focus on anything but the ground in front of them and they wanted to find a place away from the claustrophobic mass.

The love of sights and smells and sounds that formed the basis of Wanderer’s being, was tainted by the realisation that this whole festival was a celebration of something that could not be tolerated, and was commanded by something that produced nothing but pain.

Wanderer grew more and more frustrated as they found that every street and alley they ducked down and sprinted into was filled with people, the unending hordes never providing reprieve.

More and more the need to get away, to work out their feelings and thoughts in solitude as they had always done, grew, and more and more they found that the hope was futile.

No corner was free from the hordes, from yelling merchants and crying children, and it helped little that the Golem was completely lost in the winding city.

In desperation, they turned their eyes upwards, and in doing so, realised their salvation.

Why did they let themselves be constrained by the walls and streets of the citadel when they could scale the walls at any time and escape the crowd?

Using all their strength, Wanderer leapt into the air, catching the edge of a nearby wall and vaulting over, not caring for its purpose or what was on the other side.

Ignoring the protests of those on the other side, indeed not even hearing what was said, the Vessel landed in a verdant green bush, stumbling from the unexpected terrain.

Instantly, despite their position on the ground, Wanderer felt like they could exist again, the crushing crowds safely behind them.

Sitting up, the Golem looked around the property they had fallen into, facing a scene unexpected to them.

Unconsciously, Wanderer had begun to expect everything in the city to be a reflection of the cruelty of its god, yet, in contrast to all they had seen, the garden the Golem currently found themself in was devoid of practically everything they had come to associate with oppression.

In exception to the golden walls, which were ordained similarly to those that surrounded the city, everything within the garden rejected the vibrancy and shine of the colours outside, taking much softer hues instead.

Delicate flowers of blue and purple combined with the lightly coloured cobblestones that formed a winding path which toured the decorations the yard had to offer.

Intricately carved statues of wide-bodied humans lay speckled around a central fountain, their decadent expressions speaking of a life akin to paradise, even when carved in white stone.

The fountain itself spewed clear water into small streams, which crossed and intertwined all over the grounds, causing small bridges to become necessary.

The streams eventually meandered their way to a central pavilion, where a set of curved stone benches faced the main attraction of the garden.

Where the water converged, a shimmering dark blue rune, maintained by a whirling ritual, vibrated in the air, pulling water into it.

Ejected from the rune, water shot into the air before spiralling downwards in a gravity-defying descent, before reentering the loop.

The water twisted and turned, and soon, Wanderer realised, began to form familiar shapes and forms.

One instant the liquid took the shape of a human, then a tree the next then a sword the moment after that.

Yet despite its rapid chaos, one form appeared more than any other in the magic display.

A single line split into two, with further lines angled downwards, resembling thorns or barbs of some kind.

The shape was familiar to the Golem, and after a long moment of contemplation, they realised the source.

Digging into their ever-present satchel, Wanderer fished out one of the ancient coins they had found under the earth, and, upon gazing at its silvery-white face, found their match.

The symbol engraved upon the coin was identical to that which was formed by the fountain.

“It must be a symbol of some kind”, the Vessel concluded, surely the pictogram represented some group or nation of man.

For a time far longer than Wanderer would have liked to admit, they sat upon one of the benches, mesmerised by the water feature, and were only snapped out of their trance by a succulent tendril interfering in one of the many streams of water.

Emio had, at some point, snuck out of their hold in the Golem’s scarf, and, similarly mesmerised by the water, decided to investigate.

The Vessel moved to scoop the verdestry back up and place them back in safety, before catching themself in the process and deciding otherwise.

It was a near miracle that Emio had stayed in place until this point, and Wanderer supposed they deserved some time to be free.

It was at this moment that the Golem belatedly realised their original purpose in coming to the garden, having forgotten it in their curiosity.

They had come here to acquire some space for which they could use to think, to recover from the confusion and panic caused by the cruelty of the city and its god.

Yet, to Wanderer’s surprise, those emotions seemed somehow far away, like a distant memory.

The Vessel expected and waited for them to come rushing back like they had so many times before when Wanderer felt the peace before the storm, yet it never came.

It all just felt a little empty.

“But why should I feel these things?”, Wanderer thought, after all, nothing had truly changed.

Their goal was the same, now only increased in its urgency after seeing the pain inflicted upon the undeserving, and their view of the people in the desert had changed little, only a difference in the magnitude of their complacency with slavery having changed.

In their soul, they knew all that the trials had exposed to them, all they did was force Wanderer to accept it.

With an unusual sense of calm, the Vessel stood up, they had a job to do.

Foolishly, in the way events had unfolded, Wanderer had never really thought about how to complete their rebel-given quest, it was a mistake they sought to rectify.

Pacing around the garden, the Golem considered just how they were to verify the rumour that Keshte spoke of.

“I could mingle with the crowds and listen.”, Wanderer thought, and indeed, with their blessing-enhanced hearing, they may be able to do such a thing, yet the crowds were many and their voices even greater, the chance of picking out the conversation they were looking for amongst the rabble was slim to none.

“What can I do to heighten my chances of finding the right conversation?”, it was a question that stumped Wanderer, their knowledge of the situation was just too little, and so they asked their Spirit.

Yet their Spirit was unresponsive, having entered the dormant state they so often did when they underwent a lot of stress, doing little more than staring at Wanderer with their singular eye.

The Vessel supposed they could have guessed that from their general lack of commentary on recent events.

Nonetheless, Wanderer would have to figure out this issue themself.

For a long while they sat in front of the fountain, surrounded by splendour and indulgence, watching Emio investigate the garden while they turned the question over in their mind until they came to a conclusion.

“If someone intends to fight a group as large as Keshte’s organisation…” Wander began, on the verge of epiphany “Then they must have an equally large force to quell them.”

“If a force of this size resides in the city, there must be a place they all gather. So all I have to do is find this place, and I will be more likely to hear if Keshte has been found!”.

Wanderer was rather proud of their accomplishment, a warm feeling welling in their chest at having worked out the answer without the usual help of their Spirit, yet this emotion faded a little as they realised their problem.

“But how will I find this place?”, the Vessel troubled, yet unlike before the answer came quickly, as Wanderer's mind fell back to Keshte’s office.

Within was a piece of paper, marked with places and things, a map.

“Surely, if you find a map of this city, the place the warriors reside will be marked”, the Golem schemed, and there was no doubt in their mind about where to find such a guide.

Wanderer turned their sights to the manor connected to the garden (which they had largely ignored in favour of the yard's distractions), its inhabitants doubtless having abandoned it to join the festival.

With all the excitement provided by a plan placed into action, the Golem started toward the residence, eager to find their prize.