The First Assignment, Aftermath
One Week Later
Zell read the reports again and again, hoping they would make more sense. What exactly 'The Harvester' was sounded impossible. But then, so did wights praying. It just got worse from there. Jackson's hand was unmade. Svetlana summoned Cold Step by asking nicely. Elora used necromantic magic in public. His leaned back in his chair and groaned. Was undeath really worth it?
He decided to go through the reports again. He picked up the first report, and started reading. Within a minute, he was rubbing his nose. He put it back down, and looked through the next one, sighing loudly.
"Are these even about the same event?"
He glanced at Jackson's forty five page report and wondered if it was even worth the effort. Svetlana's read like she was cataloguing beetles in the local garden and Elora kept apologising for an unforgivable sin.
"No. No. I better."
He managed to get through seven pages before putting it down. This wasn't just a panic attack. It wasn't even one of Jackson's usual rambling reports. This was genuine fear of the divine.
What had happened out there? Only one way to find out.
"Davidson!" Zell barked.
A thin man appeared at his office entry within seconds and snapped to parade rest.
"Send out a clean up detachment to Duncaster. Find out what actually happened. This is incomprehensible."
---
Zell found Svetlana in the fountain as he walked through the courtyard, and paused. She was just standing there, staring at the cloudy sky. She was muttering something under her breath, far too low for him to hear it.
"Optio?
She turned. "Ah. Praetor. Apology. Was praying."
"Oh? To who?"
"To any who will listen. That it will not come back. Pardon."
She knelt in the water, splashing it over herself, and resumed her muttering. When her hands went to her shirt laces, Zell decided she could have her privacy and kept walking.
---
Of course Elora would be in the library. The amount of books stacked around her was new, though. She was the tidy type not prone to massive stacks. She seemed lost in thought and didn't even notice his approach.
"Herydark."
His voice caused her to jump, and she looked like she'd just seen a ghost. "Praetor! You scared me!"
"So what's the subject?" He gestured at the books, but then looked closer. Old Rozen. Ancient Elven. Was that Imperial Orcish?
Her eyes flicked around. "Trying to confirm something." She waved a hand over the books and the titled blacked themselves out. "If I'm wrong I'd rather nobody know."
"And if you're right?"
"I hope I'm not."
---
Jackson smiled uneasily as Zell stepped into the infirmary, but still saluted him.
"Jackson, how do you feel?"
"This was our punishment, Sir." Jackson stared down at his missing hand. The sleeve was roughly torn and ended at his elbow.
"The nurses tell me you keep ripping the bandages off."
Jackson looked straight at him. "It's not gone."
"What?"
"I feel it. When they push the bandages over top of it, I..." He trailed off, walking to the window. He stared out of it for a long moment. "We meddled in the divine. There are things man was not meant to know. Not meant to see."
"What did you see, Optio?" Zell pressed.
Jackson turned, voice steady. "The Divine Engine."
---
One Month Later
The clean-up detachment returned 4 days ahead of schedule. The Commanding Officer handed Zell a 2 page report but said nothing. Reading the report, Zell felt afraid for the first time in a very long time.
County officials refused to discuss 'Duncaster', insisting repeatedly that there is no such town and never has been. Statement was delivered with visible fear. Clerk of the Peace refused to even look at the county rolls, insisting the town didn't exist.
Returned to the capital and retrieved survey maps, following to approximate location. Found only ruins, at least fifty years abandoned.
After that day, the Spiritual Garrison never spoke of Duncaster again.