The Caravan rolled forward like a long, crawling beast through the forest before dawn.
Marvelously enough, there was a path — a path right under our noses — yet no strange or uninvited guest would've been able to find it. The people of Mishard were quite meticulous in their approach to security, which was very understandable given the Church's reputation. Hidden trails, concealed markers, the whole works.
But then it struck me: at the end of the day, these were just other people who believed in another god. What difference did it really make? Religion in and of itself wasn't the perverse concept — people perverted it. The world you found yourself in didn't matter. It happened all the same.
'Same script, different stage.'
"You lot don't look from around here… going on a short journey?"
