Skana rode like she'd stolen the devil's horse, and from the look of the mount under her, she might as well have, her hair flew high behind her, and her heart pounded in her chest as her band of scouts ate up ground. The carts they pulled from the ruined village made a horrible racket as they rolled and bumped along the road, but there was no time for any of the usual subtlety. But despite the grim sense of purpose that surrounded her mission, Skana found that she revelled in the feel of the mount beneath her, it could move at incredible speed, far more swift than any horse she'd ever ridden. It responded flawlessly to her every command. In cavalry training, the horse must be taught as much as the rider, horses are not naturally prone to aggression and must be taught to respond to the violence of war, they must learn the will of their rider and how to defend itself with kicks and even bites. This however, was a whole other animal, and Skana had the distinct sense that if she had to take it into battle, it would inflict more casualties than she could.

Every now and then she stopped and checked the dusty road for tracks, and verified that the large group was still maintaining their current course, but these were only the briefest of interludes before moving on again, grimly she contemplated what her options were if it came to a fight, with only ten against over a hundred, there were few options available to her. Luck however, was on her side and they soon arrived at the first village, as soon as she approached there were cheers, it had a small, low wall made of wood, it was slightly better than the fence the previous village had, but nothing that an experience paladin couldn't get over with nothing more than a hand to stand up on, and on the gate facing the road there was a painted symbol of Black Justice, clearly it was full of converts, it made sense when she thought about it, people from the capital had been converted in large numbers, and many of those had gone out to repopulate villages to grow food, it stood to reason that a number of villages, especially those near Prart where the Sorcerer King had been popular, would have considerable numbers of Black Justice settlers.

Skana did not waste a moment's time, even as the cheers stilled to awed silence at her mount as it became more and more clear that these were not just horses, she called out for the gate to be open and the mayor to come out, prompting a man to emerge from the crowd as they rode into open ground within the village, she leapt from her hell horse and said, "I haven't a moment to lose, listen, a force is out there targeting villages hosting Black Justice members, converts, and sympathizers of the Sorcerer King, we just saw a village not too long ago where everybody had been butchered, evidence was left behind showing that they were targeting us specifically. We don't have the forces to protect you, so your best bet is to remove yourselves from the area, we'll get your weak and infirm and very young to Prart, while the remainder move overland themselves. So waste not a moment and get ready to go!" Skana said as swiftly as she could prompting whispers and gossip of horror from among the village.

"What does the Pope say?" The mayor asked, stroking a long white beard.

"I was sent by the Pope." Skana said, "I'm one of the scouts serving under her on her current mission, it was she who requested these mounts to speed our journey and give warning to those we encountered who call us friends."

The stroking of his beard paused and his deep brown eyes went bright as he went deep into thought. "I understand, we'll evacuate, there aren't many of us, and one cart will hold our elderly and young, the remainder can ride plow horses which can pull carts full of more people and supplies. Will the journey to Prart be safe?" He asked with concern in his voice.

"You're on Pope Neia's line of march as she escorts Tinamoc, you'll encounter her very soon, we believe this force is marching ahead and striking in the early hours of the morning, that means you should be out of reach before she knows you're gone. The villain may still burn your homes, but you'll save your lives." Skana said softly.

"Who is this villain?" The elderly mayor asked, "Are we dealing with demihumans, bandits, what?"

Skana sighed heavily, "The Pope believes this is the work of the former commander of the Paladin Order, Remedios Custodio."

This prompted a flurry of shocked discussion, both from not knowing that the Paladin commander had been deposed, and from not fathoming her targeting of humans.

"I know, it seems impossible, but she's fallen far from who she was. She is however, just as deadly as she was during the war, so this is not a small matter." Skana said sadly. "Now quickly, prepare yourselves, gather what you'll need, I'll wait one hour and then I want to have the elderly and very young ready to move out, the rest can leave in their own time, but I intend to be gone with the rest of my people and on to the next village at that time." She said in a voice that was all business.

There was no further debate as the peasants went about the process of preparing for their departure, the youngest children being put into the arms of grandparents and elders as they got into one of the hell horse pulled carts, and an hour later one of the scouts took off with a load of elderly people, infants, and the weak or sick, riding like the wind on the road to Prart.

Skana waited long enough to see that the rest were ready to move in their time, and then she remounted her steed, gave a wave to the village, shouted a wish of good fortune, and the remaining scouts rode off with her to the next location. She briefly went over what she'd learned about the area from her briefings on the line of march, villages dotted the landscape and sometimes the road would split to different ones, in a few days she'd hit likely a dozen or so friendly villages, but after that she'd be far enough south that she expected the influence of the Sorcerer King and Black Justice would start to taper off. After that, she could turn around and rejoin Pope Neia.

That time could not come soon enough, as far as she was concerned.

...Back at the caravan...

Messages flew back and forth from the caravan to the capital. Neia, the King, the priesthood, the Black Justice administration and the nobles; what was going on was news and everybody in power either wanted or needed to know what was happening. When the first wagon arrived being pulled by a hell horse, Neia sighed with relief. Stories were quickly exchanged and Neia provided them with a letter in her hand with her seal to present to the guard at Prart asking in the name of Black Justice that these people receive all possible aid.

As other wagons came along in the next few days, and people on foot began to trickle past, this gave Neia the vital information that she needed to know, that the scouts were doing their job successfully, and Skana had not fallen or failed. But the flow of travelers trickled off, until at last she encountered a group that was few in number and had with them several wounded, they sat in a cart pulled by a hell horse, dirty, worn, and in considerable pain, the cart could have held twenty, but in fact held only ten, and when it stopped, Neia was quick to approach and ask for information.

"Tell me, what happened to you all?" She asked, looking over the group, a younger man moved forward to answer, his arm was in a sling and it was soaked with blood, his face was coated in dirt and blood, his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, he was very much the worse for wear, but he managed to croak out his story.

"The village it turned on us. I was at the battle you see... the one where the Sorcerer King won, and I was in one of the prison camps that he helped liberate. When Black Justice began, I joined, with no home after the war, I and some others left the capital and settled in a new village, we practiced our religion, we practiced daily to train ourselves, we worked hard, and we didn't bother our neighbors. When a Black Justice priest arrived, we were thrilled, we constructed another small shrine in imitation of what others had for their gods, but we didn't bother anyone..." He paused and drank from his water skin, and then resumed, "and things were fine with the other villagers at first, we were neighbors after all, but then a priest named Justicar came to the village. He said we were spiritual heteromorphs, that we were servants of the undead, that we'd given up our souls to evil, that we would sacrifice the children of our neighbors on our altars to our god of death. He stirred up the village against us, and we tried to say it wasn't so, but they didn't listen to us. They tried to burn our banner and topple our altar..." He gasped as if short of breath, which he may have been, as fast as he was speaking. Neia handed him her water skin as she saw his own deflated and empty beside him, and he drank greedily.

"Thank you," he said after swallowing.

"Did you let them do that?" She asked with surprise, and she was met with a flash of anger in his eyes.

"Never." He said, and he reached into a pack and pulled out the banner. "I couldn't save the altar, but they were not going to touch this." His voice was of iron, and she could readily picture the burly young man putting up quite a struggle.

"Things got violent, the priest lead the riot, and we fought. We're better than they were, so even outnumbered, we gave them a helluva fight... what wonderful neighbors they were..." he said bitterly, "but there just weren't that many of us, and some of us have families, so some of us fought while the others got our children out. I took a pitchfork in my arm, and as you can see, we all took various wounds fending off the riot. Most of us got out OK, a few, including our priest, died buying some time, but we managed to close the gate and block it from the outside with a hay wagon... and set fire for good measure, that bought us several minutes. We were on the road for a few hours before your scouts found us, and they sent us here while they went out to search for the others who escaped."

Neia's face had grown darker and darker as the story went on. "Were there any paladins with the priest?" She asked.

"No." The man said, shaking his head. "He came alone."

Neia nodded somberly, "I see, well, for now take this letter," she reached into her pouch and pulled one out, "and when you get to Prart, give it to the guard at the gate, that should see you well provisioned and provided for, at least for the time being."

"Thank you." he said, and the hell horse took up its swift movement again, quickly leaving the caravan behind.

Neia's face was dark as her cloak for the next two days, and she said very little to anyone, when some of the other villagers were found, she quickly exchanged words with them, but with no new information, she sent them along after their preceding group. The next village they found held no bodies, but had been burned to the ground, while another was in a similar condition to the first, with bodies scattered about, and a Black Justice priest pinned through the mouth with a sword stuck into a wooden post. More burials and funerals were held, but through all that, Neia said little, not even to Tinamoc, who often worked silently beside her.

It was strange to see a merchant of wealth and renown wield a shovel in the dirt, but in her private thoughts, Neia was impressed with his work ethic. It was only after the end of a day of grave digging that it occurred to her that her fellow fighters were probably thinking the same of her as she, the Pope of their faith and the founder of their order, dug beside them. 'How strange it is to rise in others’ eyes.' She thought to herself.

When they reached another village, even from a distance, Neia felt something was off, as she looked at the growing outline, it just seemed... different somehow, in a way she couldn't quite place, it was only after they drew closer over the wide open ground that she could see what it was, there were large poles jutting up from within the walls, though what purpose they served was not immediately clear, it gradually became so, to her horror.

"HAAAAAAALT!" she called out as loudly as she could, stopping the many carts cold in their tracks as the sense of dread rose up when she realized what was on those poles. People. There were people bound to them. She quickly gave instructions for the entire caravan to assume a defensive posture and to her fighters to take position as she moved closer to investigate, with her keen eyes she verified her fears. There were men and women there, secured to the poles high off the ground, at least five meters high, they didn't appear to be secured with rope or chains, that meant it was most likely hooks or spikes holding them in place, they were obviously dead, and they wore a semblance of Black Justice clothing.

Neia felt fury well up inside her, and an urge to burn the village to the ground, it had to be the place the earlier group had fled from, and these were the ones that hadn't made it... she swallowed her anger and returned to the caravan.

"Tinamoc, we have to talk, and we need decisions made fast." She said.

"What is it?" he asked gravely, sensing her mood through her tone.

"That town has several of our followers secured to poles, that is what those shapes jutting upwards are, the bodies of Black Justice members this village managed to kill."

Tinamoc's face turned as grave as his voice.

"I see, and what do you want us to do?" He asked.

"Well... I want to burn the place... but I can't do that, not yet, this is a trade mission, if I start burning towns then we become lawless bandits, that isn't good for any of us, and I can't be sure we still don't have followers in there in secret." She said.

"Do you want to bypass it?" He asked, "Your actions have resulted in a lot of benefit to me and mine on this trip, I'm sure nobody will object if we forego one stopover as a favor to you." He said. "Plus, as you know, most of my merchants now follow your beliefs, as do all of my guards, it's dubious that they'd even want to visit the place even if it weren't being skipped for you."

"No, I need information, I need to know exactly what happened here, I can let the King's justice be carried out later, for now I want to know more about this Justicar and what he incited people to do and how. We'll continue, but we'll go in disguise, keeping our Black Justice attire stored for the time being. Then we can ask questions, sell lots of liquor, that'll loosen a few tongues, when the beer goes in, the truth comes out." She said, her voice transitioning from grave fury to cunning thoughtfulness.

The orders quickly swept through the ranks of the caravan, and Black Justice gear was stored, as a precaution against their own tongues loosening, Tinamoc and Neia both issued orders to their people that no alcohol was to be consumed, only sold. When all was completed, the caravan made its way to the village and faced a welcome party by the village mayor, an elderly but stern looking figure. Beside him stood a younger man in his thirties who wore a priestly robe of pure white, his eyes were deep set and his body clearly hardened, he looked at them with cold suspicion, and a lesser figure than Neia might have felt chills at his gaze, but behind her visor, she felt nothing but contempt, despite her inner hostility she remained silent as Tinamoc introduced himself, and Neia listened patiently as the honeyed words of an experienced merchant poured out.

"...so we're looking to trade here the same way we did before the war as part of our circuit into the South, we'll stay the night, outside the walls of course, trade for the day, take on any would be travelers here, and move on in the morning. If it's acceptable to you, we'd like to set up now and get to it, we may not be that far from the southern half of the Kingdom now, but we'd still like to see our journey through, time costs coin after all."

The mayor nodded approvingly, "Yes, setting up outside would be best, we had some unpleasantness here recently, as you can tell from the bodies." His voice was hard and had a cruel edge, a low growl of hatred came from the priest beside him.

"Unpleasantness is the least of it, they were heretics and they had to die, the worst of the worst, worshipping the undead," he spat, "the undead are good only for putting down." His green eyes and hard face bore a cruel expression, his eyes might have been beautiful if they were lit with love or joy, but Neia got the impression that they had never held such emotions, instead she saw the glint of a sadist who had never felt pleasure without another's pain.

Neia kept her face carefully neutral, even as she contemplated how good his face would look with a sword put through it. Still, the mask held, and preparations were quickly put underway to establish a temporary market. Done with the ease born of many repetitions, the wagons were formed into a semicircle, with a few feet between each to separate one from the next, coins were traded and goods were loaded, including substantial grain supplies that would be traded at considerable profit when they moved south to the larger cities, but for now as Neia watched over the exchanges, she was making special note of the purchase of wine and beer, those were the people to stay close to, because those were the people who would think least and say most.

It was not until evening when she used a message spell to request information on a priest named 'Justicar' before going into the village with several of her people, mingling among the lot of villagers as they danced around a bonfire. Large merchant caravans were a source of great income and their coming was cause for celebration, plus... it made the wine cheap, at least temporarily so.

The central bonfire was a popular place, and men and women bounced back and forth from one foot to the other singing a rhythmic drinking song...

"Oh theeeee man he loved his drink so well,

he drank and drank until he fell

he cracked his head and then was dead

and now I'll drink his beer instead!

He turned into a skeleton

and found that it was just no fun

he tried to drink but what the hell

the beer right through his rib cage fell!

I got un-der it just in time

to waste that beer would be a crime

I dashed off to a merry lass

The beer told me to grab her ass

She slapped me cross the face so well

I fell into a cask of ale

She laughed so hard she died right there

So I drank her beer without a care

So drink and drink don't waste a drop

Fill that mug up to the top!"

Neia for her part, and those of her number, carried mugs of ale, but drank only sparingly, just for show as they moved among the crowd asking questions and listening to the story of what happened. The process was fruitful, but was interrupted when the priest named Justicar raised his voice and called for attention, gradually the voices stilled and looked to him as he stood by the fire, the shadows dancing on his face reminded Neia of the way flames burned around Jaldabaoth and cast a shadow over everything near them.

"People of the gods you have done well and rightly, the evil ones are dead or fled, and the gods are pleased at the display of piety by leaving their corpses exposed, but these spiritual heteromorphs, these evil ones in the skins of men and women, must still be purified! Now we take them down, and cast them into the fire. Let them burn in disgrace in this world and the next!" He shouted, and between his voice and the alcoholic haze, it fired up the villagers to desecrate the bodies of their former neighbors all the more eagerly, and the high poles were quickly lowered, Neia was shocked and appalled, her mask nearly slipped, she was just about to move when Tinamoc, who stood nearby, moved in front of her and grabbed her wrist and pressed himself close to her front, he leaned in close to her ear and said,

"No, don't give yourself away, it'll just be another massacre, the dead can't be hurt anymore."

Her body seemed to move of its own accord, even if her tongue could not, and she tried to push past him, and would have easily had his words not reached some part of her that pulled back. She was torn between action and inaction as the bodies were dragged off, spat on, kicked at, and one by one thrown like logs into the flames. Then she could not move because what she saw next was incongruous, the burning flesh and popping fat of rotted bodies was like something born of Jaldabaoth's whims, but around that small hellscape people danced and sang, and occasionally spat at a corpse and laughed at the sizzle. Hatred burned within Neia Baraja, but she gained control of herself by sheer will, breathing deeply several times as she straightened up.

"Thank you, Tinamoc. I might have killed them all." She said, putting one hand on his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie.

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you had, but there will be time enough to right this wrong later." He said with a sad smile.

When evening wore down and people began to drift off to their beds, Neia summoned those of her number to her place in the camp, they sat on the ground in a semicircle within her tent, with a lamp centered between themselves and Neia.

"What do we know?" She asked, pointing to the man on the far left.

"Justicar is not from here, his accent isn't right, he's better educated than the average peasant village priest, and he's zealous in the extreme." He said.

"What else?" Neia asked, pointing to the next person in line.

"The turning happened soon after he arrived, and one of his promises along the way was that the property of the dead heretics could be divided among the other villagers." She said.

"What else?" Neia asked, pointing to the next person.

"That he's not alone, Justicar had let it slip that others like him were moving around the country to purge heresy and restore the gods’ rightful place." He said.

"Anything else of note?" Neia asked.

There was little else, but it had given Neia much thought, she dismissed her people for the night, and took her rest, only to be awakened before the Sun rose by a message from Robel.

"Justicar is NOT a priest of the Northern Holy Kingdom, I can't rule out the South, but I asked Gustav's temporary replacement here in the capital, and he has never heard of him, nor have any other priests here that I have spoken with, it's possible that this 'Justicar' is from the South, the temple organization is somewhat divided geographically, but even if that were the case, he should at least be known to the ones here by reputation, or if he'd been assigned here officially, there should be a record, but there isn't." Robel said.

Neia was quick with the use of scrolls to conceal the nature of her communications, and replied, "That is bad, very bad, and we both know of only one source that could just dispatch priests left and right... but just as importantly, there is no way such an operation could be carried out without the temples here being in some way involved, otherwise this village would have already had its own priest from our temples, but he doesn't seem to have replaced anyone."

The next message involved an abundance of swearing. "If you have more converted paladins or converted priests who wish to join the recently founded orders, get them ready and moving out of the capital, and if you have more fighters ready for combat, start sending them out to every location where we operate. Also, it's time to accelerate operation gold farming, I know we planned to wait until my return, but have my complete proposal of undead labor leasing in its current form sent to the Sorcerer King for approval, and begin contracting skeletal labor to all the nearby villages, we need to move everything planned beyond the capital, ahead of schedule. Ask if we can contract dwarven laborers to build small village temples and solid stone walls at every village where we are the totality or vast majority of the population. Do the same for towns, and make sure we get ample speakers to the cities to win people over there. The King already knows most of what has happened here, and the priests will be getting an earful over it I'm sure. But how are things going otherwise back there?" Neia said, rushing through her words as if she would run out if she didn't speak fast enough.

"The temples are seeing a decline in both income and members as our priests administer healings for free, they're howling about it, but it was their own request, so there isn't much they can do. With the completion of reconstruction we've rented out the undead laborers we still have, and we've turned a steady profit in not only coin, but in good will towards us and the Sorcerer King. The farms and mines near the capital have rented a few laborers in exchange for a percentage of the yield increase, and we've sent a part of those payments in turn to the Sorcerer King, one of his demon maids is staying here to oversee the transfers, and except for one fanatic who tried to attack her, there have been no incidents." He replied.

"What happened to the fanatic?" Neia asked.

"He was disabled, then hanged for attempted murder, the malcontents are swearing that the King is the Sorcerer King's puppet and are calling the dead man a martyr, but we now just call him another laborer, and his skeleton was rented out to a farmer." Robel chuckled. "It's simultaneously outraged and terrified other fanatics, but most of the capital is now in some way tied to Black Justice, with more coming in all the time."

"At least that is going well. Any word from Prart?" She asked.

"The King dispatched a new governor, a Black Justice member among the nobility, and he's governing through the council you had established when you left. Rather than removing it, as it turns out, this representative system you put into place for the city is working marvelously so far, the districts are keeping the government informed about needs and progress, and the merchants there have sent requests for undead labor through the temple, we were planning to hold off until operation gold farming was ready to expand farther, but if you want it moved up and the Sorcerer King grants approval for your final draft proposal, we'll do it this week." He replied.

"Alright, keep me informed." Neia said, and cut off the link. A mix of good and bad news had her filled with very mixed feelings when she got up and began the day, she was glad when everything was swiftly done and the village was left behind her. But one thing had to be done, one thing she couldn't let go, and she gave a hushed instruction to one of her members, who as the caravan moved out, broke away from the line and circled back. She didn't see that fighter for two weeks, and when she did, he presented her with a small box, which she opened to find the green eyes of Justicar.

"Well done." She said. "Were you seen?" She asked.

"No." He said, "Not even by those eyes you now hold."

"Very well done." She replied. "Rejoin the ranks."

"As you say, Pope Neia." He said, and he moved to the back of the formation.

...One week earlier in the village...

The sun rose as it did every day, creeping over the horizon and casting its light on the village, and the people woke up and began their day the way they always did, stepping outdoors rubbing the sleep from their eyes, the crowing of the rooster announcing the time to work, but this time it was not the rooster's crowing that startled the sleep away, it was a woman's scream, people rushed out to the source of the noise, making such a ruckus that when the rooster did crow, nobody noticed.

That was not just because of the scream, but because of the cause of it. There at the gate of the village, was a severed head, it was pinned to the wood by a sword, its eyes were missing, its mouth open in a silent scream around the steel shaft of the short sword, and below it slumped a headless body, dressed in the white of a priest. There was only one figure it could be. Justicar was dead. A note was pinned to the corpse, and the aged mayor stepped forward and picked it up, when he drew it up close to see what it said, he swallowed hard before reading it out loud.

"Black Justice will not forget."