Conspiracy of Pichea
As you walk down the salt eroded cobble paths, the people of the town seem to idly walk on by. No one turning their heads, almost as if you are invisible to them. All except one. Peeping out of a half-opened doorway staring at you. His silver eyes shine in the darkness behind the heavy wooden door. It stops you in your tracks so you can stare back in confusion.
After a couple of seconds of standing, meeting eyes from across the road, the man swings the door open. His eyes dart up and down the street, watching for other eyes before directly pointing at you.
“You there! Yes, you. Quick! Get inside before they get you too! Come. Quick!” He ushers you to step inside his home. “Faster!”
The sudden appearance of the old man catches you off guard and piques your interest. Despite logical reasoning, you feel compelled to do as he says and enter his home. As you enter the pale stone walls, your eyes adjust to the darker environment to see a disorganized room scattered with various items. In one pile, it looks like a haphazard tower of old leather books with a pan and fork balanced on top. The floor is covered in a thick layer of what you assume is dust, but has the colour of rust. And the walls are covered in patches of various pillows, blankets and thick woollen sheets.
Looking closer at the man, you notice a dark beard with flecks of white at the tips and thick hands covered in scars of a metal worker. With a mucky apron to prove your theory. He is quick and nimble in his actions. Slamming the door shut and bolting the three different locks screwed into the door. Then, dives into the pile of rubbish in the middle of the room. Popping out with a furry helm with various wires poking out of the top. You barely have time to react before he throws it onto your head and straps it on tight.
The outside world goes quiet and you are left a high-pitched wobbling sound in your earholes. Accompanied by the crackling of a small fire mixed with the movement of tiny lightning bolts which is suddenly interrupted by the voice of the old man in broken speech.
“…just need to adjust… increase the levels… forget the fuel and… there. There! Is it on? Can you hear me?” He snaps his fingers in front of your face to grab your attention. You simply nod in agreement.
“Good good. It’s working. It ‘s working! Phew! Hah. I thought it was broken again. But it isn’t. and you! I’m glad they didn’t get to you yet. I didn’t know how much time we had. How long were you out there for?” The nonsense of the dark bearded man leaves you stunned; all you can muster is a blank expression showing your confusion.
“What? Why, why are you looking at me like… Oh. The helmet. Yes. Right, no I get it. I suppose you wouldn’t know if you’re an outsider.” He gently clasps his large hands together and takes a deep breath. “Right. You probably think I’m crazy, don’t you? You were probably told I was crazy. But I’m not! I’m really not, I promise. I just… this town isn’t quite right. There’s something wrong about it. Did you notice that? The people outside, they don’t seem like themselves. Please tell me you could see that?”
The silver eyes suddenly look at you the way a child looks at their mother pleading they are telling the truth. Despite the strange interaction, you did notice something off about the town. This initial crazy man is making some sense. Perhaps he is not crazy after all. So, you relax a little and agree with what he is saying. The man raises his hands cheers.
“YES! Shhhh. Yes! Finally! Someone else who can see it. An outsider no doubt. I imagine you came here very recently, perhaps even today. And began to notice the strangeness of Pichea. Maybe you were thinking, why is the townsfolk so, dull? Why do the people look so dazed?”
He bites the knuckle of his thumb waiting for a response. You reassure him that you believe what he is saying so far.
“Good, that’s good. Well not good for the town. But good you see it too. I was beginning to think I really was losing y mind. *Ahem. It wasn’t always like this. in fact its only been a couple months. I woke up early to the sound of the bell tower, as I do every morning. But on this particular day, it didn’t sound right. It wasn’t ringing the way it usually did. It was subtle. Definitely subtle. But being a brass worker all my life, and hearing the chime of that bell all my life. I suppose I can the finer details others might not.”
The brass worker paces around the tools on the ground trying to collect his thoughts.
“I remember it sounded unusual to me. I thought I might have wax in the old ear, so I simply carried on about my day as normal. And I started to go about my routine, prepping the forge, talking to customers, greeting my neighbours. But the more people I talked to, the more I began to notice something was wrong. Almost as if they were numb to life. Was I having a bad day? Possibly. So I went home early and tried to rest. But then the bell rang again the next day. And everyone was still acting off. And next day, and the day after that. it was everyone. My neighbours, the guards. The children on the streets. The whole town just seemed to have lost the life that burned bright inside them. Like they were daydreaming, asleep. Unable to wake up properly.”
He stops himself rambling and use his light foot work to a chalkboard. Dotted with various drawings and sheets of texts connected with lines of thread creating a messy spiders web. He points at the centre of the board, continuing his attempt of an explanation.
“The Bell tower is the key. The reason all of this is happening. I know, I just know it. I, I just can’t prove it!” He slams his fist on a table and you notice tears forming in his silvery eyes.
“I have tried to get close to the bell tower. To have a look at the bell itself, to see if anything is wrong with it. But it’s always guarded. I, I tried telling people. I tried to wake them up. I even padded out my house in the hopes of drowning out the ringing of the bell. And built these helmets so I could talk to someone else who believed me, with no chance of the outside noise getting in. I can’t think of anything else I can possibly do.”
He waves a hand and addresses the stacks of household items scattered in the room.
“Pichea is my home. I hate to see it like this. I can’t leave it like this.” The end of his sentence is matched with a slight sniff.
“I know you have no reason to help me. You can no obligations to me or this town. But dear stranger, I beg of you. Please. Please help me figure this out. I don’t know what else to do…”
The crackling of fire and miniature storms wash over your ears as you process what the brass worker has told you. A town is being affected by the ringing of a bell tower. And he wants you to help. Can you even do anything to help? All of these questions and more flow through your mind as the man deflates into a chair, his head in his hands.
He seems genuine. He has shown more emotion in the past five minutes than anyone else in town has all day. How could you not help him? You finally make up your mind and place a supportive hand on his shoulder. As he looks up at you with his silver eyes you tell him you will help him save his town. A quivering sigh of relief echoes in the helmet an he wipes away the tears in his eyes. Propping himself up, trying to compose himself.
“The bell tower. We need to get into the bell tower.”
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