Reflections of Natural Splendour (The Marrow King)
Journal of Jorm, Arisen Knight of Alorn Torgond, First of His Name, and Blessed Monk of the True Faith
Today is the tenth day of our journey of mission to spread the word of the faith to the heathen lands. Arising at dawn as God wills, we set off at a leisured pace. Our savage guide, seeming to know his bearing quite well, did not pause nor ponder once at his chosen course. In late morning we came upon a splendid vista, stretching out a wooded vale below us will all variety of trees, from mighty pine to lesser ash, elm, and maple. The vast heavens spread blue and cloudless above, broken on the horizon in the far distance by enormous snow-capped peaks. My disciples and I decided to pause to break our fast and take in the view. The heathen stayed mounted and waited passively for us to finish. Over all the time we have spent building our kingdom in the promised land it has only become more apparent that it is ours by right, made by God for His people in an ancient and lightless time. No other land has such natural splendour and beauty, while raising nothing but witless savages, mere caretakers of a land not truly meant for them. How is it that no one has yet claimed such a paradise for their own? King Torgond has his theories, but only God himself knows the true answer.
After our meal we began to wend our way down the valley on a game trail the heathen knew. Soon we were among groves of maple, golden leaves clinging lightly to the branches and blanketing the forest floor. The horses seemed at ease, snorting at the clean air, and we all felt our hearts lifted. Shafts of light filtered down through the branches, a sign of God's benevolent gaze. The quartz hanging around my neck grew warm in the sunlight and I felt strengthened by it. In my idle happiness I had not noticed the heathen become tense, and he abruptly brought us to a stop by whispering a command in his strange tongue to the horses.
I asked him what the delay was, but he ignored me, sitting still as a statue. There was a rustling among the leaves and a group of savages emerged, wild in their appearance. They had shards of black obsidian piercing their skin through nostril and earlobe, their hair running short down the middle of their scalp in the favoured native style. A webwork of warpaint was painted on their skin in the colours of the forest and they had bows slung over their shoulders, obsidian-tipped arrows in their quivers. They surrounded our party and engaged in an argument with our guide. My disciples were unnerved, having some knowledge of the savage tongue, but they were calmed when I led them in a prayer to our Lord God.
The light of God strengthened and gave our guide heart, and the other heathens seemed to back down from their quarrel. The sight of the cold steel scabbarded at mine and my disciples' sides was likely fearsome for them to behold as well, having only primitive stone weapons for their own. They melded back into the forest like ghosts, and our guide got the horses moving again with another command. We went along unmolested for the remainder of the day, though I could have sworn at times that at the edges of my sight I caught shadows moving among the leaves, and heard the call of birds not ever heard in our homeland. The true enemy of our God is the darkness and that which moves within, such that it is our divine duty to bring the light to pierce the veil. The heathen tribes will know God and be saved. By the word, or by the sword.