The Burdened Pilgrim.

The majority of religious orders that exist across the World Engine and Brine primarily concern themselves with grand theologies and entities of nebulous and, often, enigmatic natures. Then there are those, born of mortal endeavours, that grow from tales of great deeds or extraordinary feats. Though time may act as a lens that amplifies and obfuscates in equal measure, at their core, there is always a grain of truth.

One such endeavour would act as the seed that over many years would flourish into the Order of the Burdened Pilgrim. An Order that would seek to replicate the actions of an individual in a moment of great anguish. An undertaking that would see its followers bear the weight of transgression and offer forgiveness in its stead.

The following is a condensation and collation of many sources of varied natures, though not in an effort to discern fact from fiction, but simply to tell the tale.

It all began, as it often does, by chance. In a time when the Great Desert Yamfyyr was merely a nameless expanse of nothing but sand and death. Before the merchant caravans and oases punctuated the blank page of endless dunes. Those that would call such a place home, the T’Yehndai, sought refuge in the tunnels that ran beneath the surface. A remnant of a long forgotten species that burrowed beneath the sands, leaving in their wake subterranean waterways and toxic fungal growth.

For a time these small communes would dwell at the tunnel mouths only delving deeper into the noxious atmosphere to forage and draw water. Eventually learning to purify the water and neutralize most lethal toxins within the fungi. This way of life would remain largely untouched as the lands around them changed and developed, that is until the needs of commerce sought a shortcut. A number of merchant guilds pooled their resources and sent numerous expeditions into the desert in search of a passage across and anything of value along the way. All but one would fail.

A ferocious sandstorm scattered the caravan, many taking shelter within a nearby opening of a rocky outcrop. A chance meeting that would change everything, not only for those resurfacing from within the tunnel, but the entire desert and ultimately the World Engine.

But that is a tale for another time.

Over the years an agreement was reached, the T’Yehndai settlements would act as waypoint and refuge for merchant caravans and in return they would bring food, water, technology and information. With every successful crossing the following ones would double, then triple. Each branching out and discovering more value buried beneath the sands, an unclaimed treasure trove ripe for the taking. Though the greatest treasure the merchants would discover came from the most unexpected of places. The byproduct of an accident involving a faulty power source from a liquid recycler and a cauldron of distilled fungal sap boiling over a fire. The result, a truly volatile substance. Lambent, inedible and capable of generating power at a rate second to none. Suddenly the agreement seemed a little less ironclad to the merchant guilds.

Gifts and promises were replaced by quotas and restrictions. Food and water limited, just barely enough to survive. Armed representatives of the guilds supervised descent into the tunnels. Forcing all able-bodied individuals to descend for harvest and as they returned all fungal material to be accounted for as it was stored for shipment. Caravans would arrive and replace loaded crates with the next quota to be filled, guards transferring out after serving their term. The sun would rise and fall innumerable times over this tragic monotony. A painful knowledge of what awaited them beyond the rocks and in the depths of the tunnels would deter any from entertaining notions of escape.

However, the T’Yehndai had endured all that the desert could throw at them. Their time within the tunnels giving rise to an unpredictable tenacity and a sheer force of will that coursed through them. Malnourished and beaten, but not broken. They would endure and keep on enduring until they would find a way to be free once more.

And so, just as one sandstorm had delivered unto them an unforeseeable upheaval, it would be another that once again set in motion events of great change.

It began as a number of merchant vessels were preparing to collect from one of the larger communes. A call came down from a watchman on a nearby scouting craft, several major storms were coming in and they were moving fast. With all haste they abandoned collection and had yet to finish unloading the necessary supplies required to last until next collection. But this was of no concern to those soon departing. As the storms collided they seemed to multiply, growing in intensity and size. The towering walls of sand would almost swallow the entire desert whole and to this day no-one is entirely sure how long it lasted. Though airing on the side of caution, merchant guild records show no caravan crossings for six years.

With stockpiles diminished and the market destabilising, the merchant guilds needed to re-secure their ‘assets’ and reestablish production. The first wave of caravans were led by the highest ranking executor the guilds could muster, no chances taken or corners cut. Elyah K’Dan, a cold and calculating individual whose disdain for failure was matched only by her delight in correcting aberrant projections. Plotting a course for the largest commune she sought to collect what shipments had been left behind and deal with any ‘shortage’ of manpower as needed.

Upon arrival she was met by an Elder of the commune, their guards bound in rope and the majority of the shipment empty. The Elder tried to explain that they continued harvesting as normal, but as the storms brutality escalated it caused instability within the tunnels. Unwilling to sacrifice their people they tried to negotiate with the guards but were refused. Tensions rose over time and ultimately the guards were not able to maintain control on such limited supplies, unsuited for the harshness of desert life. The T’Yehndai rationed as best they could, only consuming what they needed and fully intending to return into the tunnels as soon as they could be made safe once more.

Though none of their words were able to breach the single-minded fury of Elyah, incensed and outraged at the careless disregard for the value of such a precious commodity. Ordering her subordinates to round up every adult they could find and have them brought before her, it was clear to her that an example needed to be made.

The silence was suffocating, enveloping them all as she pondered the vicious array of punishments her well-honed cruelty could devise. To her surprise the selection would be made for her as an irresistible opportunity to act upon something in a very literal way presented itself. Emerging from the hunched masses came a young man, barely into adulthood. His face not yet weathered by the adversities of life, but his eyes betrayed an old soul.

“Leave them be!” He cried out. “I will bear the weight of responsibility. Punish me, only me. Just leave them alone!”

A foolish act, one that surely wouldn’t have amounted to anything in the face of another. But with a sadistic glimmer in her eye and callous smirk curling at the corner of her lips she proceeded to speak.

“Very well.” Her agreement hung ominously in the air. “The weight of this transgression will be your burden to bear. But should you falter, their fate will be much less certain.”

Turning to the clusters of subordinates gathered behind her she began to bark her orders, all the while those who’d rounded up the commune began herding them out of the clearing. The mans ankles and wrists manacled, several lengths of heavy chain attached to a series of leather bindings across his torso.

“Dear boy, as we speak my men are filling those empty crates with a weight equal to that of the missing quantities of my shipment. Sand. Rocks. Scrap metal. It doesn’t matter what.” A carefree tone permeated her voice, almost as if unaware of the severity of the task being set. “My condition is that for every hour you can walk under the weight of what has been stolen, your people will have one more day to recoup my losses. I may be harsh, but I am also fair. I will have my guards provide just enough food and water to keep you alive. After all, this is a test of your will, not your body’s ability to avoid dying of thirst.”

With a chorus of wailing and desperate pleas echoing from his people as they fought against the guards, he set out into the desert. Unable to bring himself to say goodbye, resolute in his new purpose, looking ahead and silently he set about the task. His footfalls deep as he struggled to gain purchase in the sand, the heavy crates digging in behind as they gouged deep grooves in his wake.

For days the members of the commune anxiously toiled away, stabilising the tunnel and returning to their harvest. Each day, at sunrise and sunset, guards would return bringing word. Still he walked, against the sand and the heat he continued on. Over time they sounded as if they began to admire him, or merely enjoy the spectacle but still they would return bringing news of his solemn pilgrimage.

Whispers of concern began to circulate as a number of those no longer fit to descend into the tunnels noticed more food and water returning each day. Initially worried the guards were taking it upon themselves to break the terms, but that would prove to not be the case. Several days later, as the night drew in and the guards had been expected to return all was eerily quiet. The winds howling against the rocks whilst all but Elyah waited with bated breath. But still no-one came.

Come the following morning a small team was being assembled in preparation to track down those who’d gone missing, but more importantly to ascertain the whereabouts of the young man. Just as they were about to leave the missing guards came staggering back over the rocks, collapsing against one another and down onto the ground. In no fit state to give any sort of explanation they were carried to the infirmary of Elyah’s vessel. Bathed, given food and drink and allowed to rest for a time before being summoned before her. Still in need of recuperation, but capable of telling her what she demanded to know.

They explained that while tracking the path left by him the distance had increased exponentially beyond projections, thus taking them longer to finally catch up to him. After arriving at his new location they found he was still trudging onward as he had been the days before. Quitely, facing straight ahead, but this time his hands hung limp before him. As the drew nearer to offer food or water his was unresponsive. At first they simply thought he’d not heard them as the winds were beginning to pick up, but it was almost as if they weren’t even there. They described his eyes as being clouded, unfocused, looking into the middle distance at nothing in particular.

Still he walked.

They tried offering food or water several more times, but no response nor movement beyond that of one foot in front of the other. A sandstorm crested the horizon to the west, approaching them quickly, but his course did not deviate.

The sands whipped into a frenzy, impossible to see each other, let alone him. But they tracked the sound of the chains and the occasional glimpses of his silhouette between the clouds of dust. They fought on for hours, perpetually closing in but seemingly unable to catch up to him.

Finally the storm began to pass and the winds died down, but as visibility returned he could not be found. His tracks lost to the violent sifting of the desert surface. They tried as best they could but no sign of him could be unearthed, no tracks, no sound. Nothing.

All that remained of the nameless man were the hours he’d walked. The days he gave back to his people. A burden lifted, cast into the storm like a grain of sand.

The monks of the Order act in reverence of his actions and the pursuit of a meditative state that would close off the physical to the needs of sustenance and free the mind through a singular purpose. With this fundamental idea the monks willingly take on the burden of others and seek to travel great distances, accruing greater burdens and offering forgiveness as they do. With large weights cast of metal and clay, they act as confessor to those who seek to unburden themselves of transgression. Nailing into the weight pieces of parchment that bear confession and when no more space can be filled another weight is added.

It is believed that no monk has yet attained the goal they seek and, despite my best efforts, I’ve yet to acquire credible information as to the fates of those who shoulder too great a burden. But as the nameless man continues to wander amidst the storms of sand, I too shall continue my endeavour to learn more.

“…And though he walks, bound by chains. Shackled to the weight of transgression, his mind walks free. The body vacant. Becoming a vessel for a promise. Each step a silent prayer…”

- A quote from the scriptures of The Burdened Pilgrim.