At the edge of the encampment, our column was hailed by the sentry to identify ourselves, and once successfully accomplished, we were told to set down to camp on the outskirts of the pasture, and to give over our horses to the servants in charge of stabling and await further orders. I sat there tensely, staring into infinity, until a messenger came over and informed me that I was wanted in headquarters. I briskly proceeded to that tent and kneeled at the sight of my commander.
“Son, you are a true servant of light, and I have commended your actions to the high commander.” spoke Laisanter. I was warmed by his ambiance, but felt something else there, something sinister behind his praising speech and soothing tones. “What is you want of me, Laisanter?”
“I have been commanded to entrust you with a mission of grave importance, a mission the success of which will guarantee your final acceptance into our prestigious order!” intoned Laisanter. “Our ordained members are too fixed in their ways, and simply can not pretend otherwise. You are equal to them in faith and zeal, but still are flexible, and can masquerade as a heathen and investigate matters in the city. Our agents have been disappearing, and we have been able to find nothing in their reports to indicate the cause. We will supply you with the necessary disguise, supplies, and give you a list of contacts. The high command fears traitors within our own command structure, so your mission will be kept secret from most of our organization. Do not contact other Whitecloaks for help, if you need something, or to submit reports, talk to Jerome in the inn of the Five Spinning Blades. May the light shine upon you, and grant you success in your mission."
This is bad, I thought, such missions are given to the condemned. The church wants me to fail, they can feel that I lack the proper qualifications for a Whitecloak, and so are sending me on a suicidal quest. Am I that worthless? Can I do nothing right? Why can’t I embrace the light with my very essence, and let it guide me? Woe is Me! “I shall be glad to accept this mission, Milord!” I lied.
“Good, here is all you will need, change and proceed right away” Laisanter handed me my supplies, and turned his back while I changed into a merchant’s apparel. Meanwhile, Elvier was saddled by a groom, his barding stripped, his royal saddle replaced with that of a commoner. Thus, I rode off, on a mission that in all certainty would be my last. This thought was somewhat satisfying. Perhaps my misery would finally come to an end.
Jean Pierre Vorksagian
Whitelcoack Cloak encampment outside Caemlyn.
