Story 7: the path of prosperity leads to...
It's such a day of good weather as the bitter cold of the ever harsh winter finally yielded to the more gentle touch of spring. The snows have melted, the buds growing, the sounds of birds in the air announcing their return.
... and in the picturesque village of Bayville (on the planet formerly known as Reetonian, though its current inhabitants has settled on the name of Pearl), the inhabitants watched in concern and fear as a handful of figures cloaked in black entered the town, at the head of them an older looking man riding a mule. He could have ridden a mighty steed as befitting of someone of his status, but it matters little as it would take the same time regardless, and vanity isn't worth the hassle.
First Inquisitor Revel, Hammer of the Church, veteran of a hundred wars, and a bunch of other ultimately meaningless superlatives, doesn't blame the chilly reception. The arrival of higher authorities seldom meant anything good, especially those whose job is to find the more hidden sinister evils.
Not that he's incompetent at his missions, quite the contrary. However he knew that there are in fact many things that the innocent have to fear.
"Good day- sir." A somewhat chubby middle aged man, who in happier would have been one of those jovial fellows, presumably the town mayor or something of that nature, stuttered a greeting.
"And a good day to you too." Revel replied with an almost formality as he dismounted his mule. "It is good to see that the village is in good health."
"Ah- um, yes. Yes we are-" The words continued to stumble out of the jittery man as he tried to assure himself that things are alright, will be alright.
"It must have been the blessing of God almighty, in his divine providence, who have provided to the faithful. It is not?" Revel said the string of platitudes with barely a trace of sarcasm, though as he narrowed his eyes on the last bit he has made it clear that he does not believe those words himself.
The mayor gulped in nervousness as he looked around, now with most of the villager's adult population having gathered around them. Looking for moral and emotional support that isn't there.
They are afraid, all of them. The day of reckoning has come. The toll must be paid.
"People like to talk." Revel began, seemingly switching the topic. "Especially envious people. Instead of bettering themselves they seek to tear others down with their rumors and slander." He paused, surveying the crowd around them. He and his flunkies all have a half dozen wheellock pistols strapped on each of them, but that won't save them from a mob who feels they have nothing to lose, though it would never come to that.
No. It is the fear of what he represents that will keep the villagers in line. The temporal and the very real worldly powers that the Church can marshall that will protect its agents. It's all good and all to foster goodwill through charity, but the gratitude from those are as transient as the leaves of the trees. Force and discipline is what the generations remember, and even those need to be refreshed from time to time.
Those who are more perceptive would have noticed that Revel and his handful of flunkies were far too few in numbers to conduct the task of snuffing out an entire village, nor do they have the necessary tools to do so. But simple villagers don't often think of those things, and certainly not in any detached manner.
"Uh, wood nymphs are fairy tales. No one here had ever made any compact with them." The mayor finally stammered out a coherent sentence. Revel simply narrowed his eyes again.
"No one has mentioned any such wood nymphs until now." He remarked in an almost casual tone. "Surely you are not implying any credence to those wild flights of fancy?"
The mayor gulped again, looking almost as if he's about to break down at any moment.
Revel sighed. The inadvertent admission of something so unnatural from the mayor has put a slight inconvenience in his mission. His original assumption, that there's probably some mundane, probably silly reason for this particular village's sudden prosperity, could be handled easily enough. Secular matters could be handed off to the Emperor's traveling bailiffs, and matters of faith nothing a stern lecture couldn't handle.
But this? Well, that's something else. A mystery, something that requires a bit more labor and expertise than he has on hand. Getting others involved, where the egos of men will make mountains out of molehills-
"They're not at fault. We're who you're looking for." A feminine voice suddenly interrupted Revel's musings, and he his head turned towards the sound of the voice he saw a trio of figures clad in faded dark rust red hooded cloaks making their way towards his group, the crowd of villagers awkwardly shuffling to clear a space to let them pass through, like a drop of poisoned blood from some wounded creature.
"And so you are." Revel remarked in an even voice, masking his surprise with the ease of someone who's used to the unexpected. "And who might you folks be?"
"In simple words that even you can understand-" The woman began before Revel held up a hand.
"Do not take us for simpletons." He said curtly. "We might not have some of the finer wonders that you have-" He narrowed his eyes, he seems to be doing a lot of that recently. "-whatever they might be, but our minds are as good as those of our ancestors."
"All your ancestors?" The woman asked, cocking her head slightly to one side, as if expressing her skepticism.
"All of our ancestors." Revel restated the statement with an easy conviction that carries harder than any bold declaration. "Especially the ancient ones that their descendents have discarded."
"Well then." The woman scoffed, dismissing what seems to be the ramblings of a religious nutjob. "What do you know of the glories of interstellar travel, the endless bounties of nanotechnologies, the liberation of automation?" She declared, as she threw off her hooded cloak with a dramatic flourish.
The beautiful body of a naked maiden emerged from under the cover of the cloak. Soft and fair skin without a single blemish, perky breasts of modest size that seemed to ignore the tyranny of time, long locks of wavy auburn hair that reached down to her waist, and a body shape that suggested a lifetime of ease & luxury. All bundled in an air of inexplicable glow and the aura of youth in the face of the harshness of the world. Only the dirt on her bare feet dented the illusion in any way, and not that much in the grand scheme of things.
No wonder the locals thought they saw wood nymphs.
