Unknowingly, three months had passed since Punk arrived in Dolez, marking the end of the Green Season. Now the people of Faerûn were about to enter the next phase—one of growth and expectation—the Evergreen Season, one of the six seasons of the year.
For most farmers, whose lives depended entirely on the land, the Evergreen Season was the least demanding. There was no need to labor beneath a burning sun, nor to struggle against freezing winds. With seedlings already tended and weeds controlled, they could finally enjoy brief moments of rare leisure.
For the common folk of Faerûn, any break from endless work was a luxury.
In the small town of Niailan, bardic poetry was a beloved pastime. Isolated and forgotten, most townsfolk would never leave the borders of Dolez. From childhood to old age they labored under nobles and professionals who barely acknowledged their existence, surviving on a handful of copper coins while enduring hardship and oppression until death.
In an age where communication meant little more than shouting across the street, wandering bards were the only window to the outside world.
Even the elderly, hardened by decades of toil, still dreamed of legendary heroes and epic adventures. Whenever they had a moment of rest, the people of Niailan would gather in the square or the taverns, eager to hear traveling poets sing their tales.
And if the performance was especially stirring, a generous listener might toss the bard a coin or two.
Today—the first day of the Evergreen Season—a small crowd of idlers stood scattered across the town square beneath the twin radiance of Mira and Chicasa. All eyes were fixed on the young bard standing in the center, reciting a heroic saga.
Yet something was strange.
Too few listeners.
The reason was a newly emerged religious sect—the "Church of Tishachar."
Over the past few days, its followers had flooded the town with sermons and gatherings, drawing many of the younger townsfolk with passionate preaching.
The sect seemed to have appeared overnight, and its expansion was disturbingly fast. Anyone who stepped into its mysterious church and drank the so-called "sacred water" soon returned utterly transformed—fanatically devoted to the "True Goddess."
Though it was common for gods and minor deities to have scattered believers across Faerûn, this sudden surge of devotion unsettled many residents.
Yet there was little anyone could do.
Most simply closed their doors and windows.
Today marked the third day of the Church of Tishachar's large-scale preaching campaign, and Bilan, who had rushed eagerly to the square to find Dicchido, found her path blocked by one of its missionaries.
"Apologies," she said politely but firmly. "I'm in a hurry. I don't have time for a sermon. And blocking the road like this will cause trouble for passing horses and carriages."
The preacher was a middle-aged man dressed in strange robes.
He ignored her words.
Instead, he pulled out a crumpled parchment and began chanting in a dull monotone.
"The True Tishachar has descended. The Supreme Power is here. Poor wandering soul, why remain in darkness? The only true god has come, and offering your faith is the greatest honor of your life…"
"I said I'm busy," Bilan interrupted, frowning. "Excuse me."
She was already losing patience. The morning was almost over, and Dicchido's performance would soon end. If she missed it today, she might not see him again.
"The Confused must not turn away from the Lord's gift," the man continued.
"Yes," another voice suddenly said.
"Believe in the one true god, and you shall be saved."
Startled, Bilan turned.
Another follower had approached—a younger man whose eyes burned with feverish madness. His pupils twitched erratically, and a disturbing grin stretched across his face.
There was nothing holy about him.
Only fanaticism.
Instinctively, Bilan stepped backward.
As a mage, she already disliked gods, and she had encountered missionaries before. Usually, after a polite refusal, they would move on.
But these two did not move.
"You reject the grace of Goddess Tishachar?" the older man demanded sharply. "Do you not understand you are turning away from salvation? Darkness is coming. You will be swallowed by it!"
"Yes!" the younger man shouted, fists clenched and eyes bloodshot. "The Great One has arrived. We, her humble lambs, must offer our faith!"
Bilan sighed.
These men were insane.
Reasoning with them was pointless.
If she wanted to escape quickly…
"Fine. I'll join," she said flatly.
If agreeing to something meaningless would make them leave her alone, so be it.
"Take this."
The older preacher shoved a small object into her hand.
It was a rough metal badge, engraved with the image of a spider.
"Carry the blessing of our Goddess. Tonight in the square you must come and pray. This will be your only chance for salvation. Let us offer our faith for the arrival of Goddess Tishachar—"
Bilan stopped listening.
She stuffed the badge into her robe pocket, pushed past the younger missionary—who still stared at her with unsettling intensity—and quickened her pace.
"Dicchido's song must be ending soon…"
She began to run toward the square.
Meanwhile, throughout the towns of Dolez, similar scenes unfolded.
Missionaries dressed in gray and red robes stood on street corners, harassing anyone who passed. Those who refused their faith were stopped, lectured, and accused of sin.
A strange tension spread quietly across the city.
Even the sky seemed darker, reflecting the unease below.
Some professionals, unwilling to involve themselves in religious affairs, quietly left Dolez.
The nobles, as always, ignored the warning signs and continued celebrating the arrival of the Evergreen Season.
The common people dismissed the missionaries as little more than eccentric zealots.
In the center of the city, Bahanger, an official-rank dwarf warrior, hammered away in his forge, more concerned with refining newly acquired metals than with the ramblings of religious fanatics.
As for Punk—
He had already departed for the Spider Cavern.
He had noticed the sudden rise of the Church of Tishachar, but aside from mild curiosity, he paid it no attention.
If trouble was coming, that was the problem of the Kingdom of Dylan.
As long as Dolez continued providing low-level professionals for his experiments, their fate meant nothing to him.
And so, whether by negligence or indifference, the growing influence of the Church of Tishachar went completely unnoticed.