He strode through the city taking in the population’s thoughts on
the newest additions to the graffiti and poster laden walls. He toured his
handiwork and realized that most of the feedback he was getting was in favor of
the artwork. He’d even heard that the monks were considering letting their
students out once again. Those who had
taken up with the forces of darkness were here, but they had chosen not to show
themselves yet. He was beginning to wonder just how much harder he’d have to
push when he approached a book store on the port.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood to keep from
laughing out loud. Painstakingly sketched over the gear graffiti in some white
phosphorescent paint was an arcane symbol. It was small sentiment, but it was a
start. This town seemed to be on the right track.
He walked back to his unfinished shop, the debacle the former Proctor had caused
by stopping payments had been slow to reverse at this point. But even that dark
cloud was chased away by the promise that all was going according to plan.
He could scarcely believe his luck as he met one of the brothers on the street.
He didn’t have to feign much ignorance of the church itself as he didn’t think
anyone knew much about it. But in the course of the conversation he discovered
that with a few well-placed words the brother was revealing what he knew of the
death of Underby’s bartender. The brother seemed to have put many of pieces
into place, enough to confirm his suspicions that the church, while grossly
negligent, was more than likely not guilty of the crime. However the brother did
have a working theory on who was responsible.
After the conversation ended and they parted ways he continued on, past his yet
unrealized store and happily descended the stairs into the dank little pub next
door. Yes, he thought, this town was certainly on the right track.