------------- Carellonian Knights – Sister Megan

There was something about Avandor that kept out powerful magics, part of the same damage to the magius field that affected Hesterland. There, different Gods took hold. Avandorians had a monotheistic belief. To them, there was only one true God and His name was Jehovah. By the time the world had slid happily into the sixth century of the nineteenth millennium, they were still living without running water and street lights. From all accounts, they were a feudal society ruled by a King, but the real power lay with the Church. Their repressed attitudes about sex, nudity and vice were well known. Their penchant for forcibly converting those they encountered was a lot like the cruelty of the First Symballan Empire. Fortunately, they were half a world away from Carellon. Few people took their insanity seriously.

Then we started noticing their people showing up in ports across the west. A few, here and there. Not much to worry about. Then an Avandorian convent cropped up in Pawldur. Now their damned missionaries are in every major city, preaching and ranting. They don’t bother me so much. It’s the underside of their religion that concerns me. Just like Hades serves as the Lord of the Underworld as one of the Pantheon, Asmodeus and the Lords of Hell are claimed by the Avandorian Church. And I’m just as happy to leave the religion that spawned devil worship right where it started.

Then the horror stories started to come out of the convents. Nobody knew if the nuns were the victims or the villains. Were they here doing what they claimed? Or did they come with some hidden purpose, perhaps to spread the evil of their devils? Were they victims? If so, of whom, their own devils or locals trying to drive them out? I followed the reports, but there seemed little information outside of a very tight circle of investigators. Most of those were Inquisitors of the Church of Carellon, and I wasn’t exactly on good terms with that lot. So, naturally, when I noticed an Avandorian nun in the crowd at the ceremony, I was interested on several levels.

This particular nun was like all the other’s I’d seen, or rather, not seen. She was covered head to toe in what they called a habit, a dress harkening back to ancient peasant outfits in the high mountains of the north. But when I finally did see her face, it was a bit of a shock. I had to remind myself this wasn’t one of the Sisters of the Pearl wearing some elaborate Mantari’s Eve costume.

“Sister, I was wondering if you had any information for me regarding recent events in several of your convents?”

She got a pained expression, “I’m sorry? How is this related?”

“To the ceremony? Not at all. Separate matter entirely. I was just,…”

“I’m afraid I have nothing to say on the matter, my son. Good day.”

She turned and started to leave, then stopped as if suddenly remembering she’d left the door open to her hotel room.

“My apologies, Mr Drummond. I would like to speak with you regarding certain church matters. You will be contacted regarding where and when.”

As she left, I was wondering how everybody in this crowd seemed to know my name.

When all hell broke lose later in the morning, I saw her come charging in wearing what might have been under her habit all along, form fitting armor that was anything but modest. Guess the Avandorian nuns aren’t all snooty gargoyles after all.

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