Overwhelmed, traumatized, burning from the inside out and the outside in from the exhaustion and heat, and on his last legs, Vasquez saw the beginnings of the town of Huecor. The church was the tallest and closest building to where Vasquez was when he was entering Huecor. It was big in comparison to the other buildings, but this church wouldn't stand out much amongst the white-stone buildings in Anjo. The church was made from clay bricks, with blue stained glass panels in a neat row belting around the building and a white painted cross attached to the top of the dark, wooden double doors, and barely reaching over the top of the roof. The top of the cross seemed to glow a soft orange in the evening sun, and cast a small shadow on the land in front of it.
He hadn't come across any other people since seeing the weird caravan, so when a small rat came and squeaked, Vasquez, in shock, reached for his pistol and pointed it at the rat. When he noticed what it was, he sighed and put his hand on his head and tucked the gun back into his pants. He was so tired.
He slowly walked up to the church, and very cautiously pushed open the door. He had never been in a church before. Religion wasn't something that suited Vasquez, but he had a feeling he should go inside and check it out. Maybe it was to somehow cleanse himself from the horrifying induction to whatever religion Fritz's people were a part of, or maybe the beautiful blue glass windows looked like an ocean, or maybe it was the closest source of shade. It was evening, so no one was near the church, which was on the edge of the small town, which made the church even more appealing. Carefully opening the door, Vasquez got quickly blinded by the blue-tinted light from the sun shining through the window. Rubbing his eyes, he got a good look at his surroundings. The church was small, but very beautiful. The tinted windows lining the walls gave the whole place an otherworldly atmosphere, illuminating the benches. Across from where he was at the door was a tall cross that reached the ceiling, with the glass starting under the horizontal bar and ending at about the height of the seats of the benches that faced the cross. The ceiling had a grand mural of a bearded man swimming in the sand of a desert, holding an assortment of fruits and breads in the direction of a group of small brown-skinned people wearing blue robes. Near the stone altar in front of the cross, a man was sleeping in a chair, facing the cross. It was an old man, wearing a beige robe, and he was snoring loud enough for the chair under him to shift every breath he took.
Sneaking around to the front, a small pot caught Vasquez's eyes. It was filled with offerings meant for the god of this church, who that was, Vasquez didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care much who or what it was for; there was enough gold and other valuables and money that Vasquez believed he could survive off of trading those materials to keep him alive in whatever city or town he was in. Looking once more at the old man, Vasquez knew that the man was not waking up anytime soon. So, he made his move.
Swiftly, with movements filled with years of expertise, he bound across the short distance between the church floor and his prize, taking long and silent strides. When he reached his destination, he once again checked on the old man, now less than 15 feet away from him, still snoring, so Vasquez seized his opportunity and carefully removed some of the valuables from the donation pot and put however much could fit into his bag. Once it was filled, he tied it up. This was the easy part. Now he had to leave.
Even though the man was sleeping, there was a very high chance that the noises from both Vasquez moving and the heavier load in his bag could wake him up. Holding the bag tightly to his chest, Vasquez tiptoed back to the entrance, being careful not to make any sudden movements. Even through his efforts, small rings and clanks echoed softly through the church. As he moved closer, he fought the urge to go any faster, keeping his steps in a slow rhythm, until he eventually made it.
Placing the bag on the ground, Vasquez cringed when the bag fell over itself and made a loud noise that seemed to get louder the longer it traveled in the air. Vasquez pulled the door open quickly, disregarding the careful actions he had taken before, and grabbed the bag, which yet again rang like a bell, filling the whole church building with sound.
Vasquez was already outside of the door when he heard some muffled screaming. He couldn't make out what it was, and he didn't want to find out. He ran into the town of Huecor, hoping to find some shelter in the town's streets and buildings. Before he was too far, he could hear the door of the church open, so he picked the pace up into the town. He found a small hole in the ground and tossed the bag in there, mentally noting where it was before kicking some dirt behind him.
He saw a large group was forming near the town's square, circling the dry fountain that was the centerpiece of the town itself. It was a humble fountain, layered with three pools that were supposed to flow into each other and back up to the top, and there was writing on the bottom in a language Vasquez had never seen before. Vasquez snuck his way into the crowd, staying in the back but still immersing himself in the silent sea of people. Everyone was glistening in sweat, and their shiny brown arms made it seem like there were drops of gold falling from inside of them. He didn't stand out much from the crowd, being slightly lighter-skinned and just as sweaty. The people were looking down and had solemn looks on their faces, some even had tears in their eyes, slowly merging with the sweat on their faces, creating a mask of water streaming down and falling into the cracks of the ground beneath them. Their clothes stuck to them, sealing their arms and legs within the embrace of the light linen many were wearing. A string of silent anticipation and fear was wound tight in the air, begging to be released. The crowd grew bigger, with some more people coming from all sides of the town, all with the same solemn look.
Once the growth slowed to a stop, a shorter, brown-skinned woman in a simple blue dress, soaked with sweat, walked to the front of the crowd, and stood on the edge of the fountain and took a deep breath before announcing in a full and confident voice,
'This hellish heat is a test of our resolve by the great lord Maranza. The fiends of the East have attempted to bring their false savior to us here.' She straightened her stance and declared loudly, 'We will prevail, take care of your neighbors and treat theirs as yours and yours as theirs.'
The people in the crowd started to lift their heads, and even Vasquez felt a surge of belonging and power as if he had lived here and been with these people for his whole life. However, that feeling would be gone as soon as it had arrived. The old man from the church, soaking wet and out of breath, had finally made it to the fountain. His face was white, contrasting the tan faces of the other people in the crowd, and he screamed, an airy, scared scream, 'Those greedy, conniving mother fuckers have stolen our offerings.' Vasquez's heart dropped as the old man took a second to catch his breath. 'They must be long gone now, riding away like cowards.'
If the small speech from the woman had given hope to the people, then the old man had given them anger. The mix of emotions was felt in the air, with people looking around and starting to rile themselves up, expressing their feelings for the eastern religion and their people. United, the people of Huecor quieted down to listen to the woman's response.
She frowned, as if deep in thought, her thin eyebrows turned inwards as she looked over her people before regaining her confident pose. 'This is a sin of the highest order. However, we must move in caution. It would be unwise and feeble to search for these devils right now. Thank you, Forenzo, for coming here as fast as you can and warning us. I know it was not easy leaving the sanctum of Maranza.' She addressed the last part to the old man who bowed his head, accepting the gratitude. 'These people will have to return near Huecor. It is the most logical way back to their ashen and desolate burrows. And when that time comes, we will show them the power of true divinity. And with that, I believe this hellscape we are enduring right now will return to its previous state of which we call home.'
This caused the sea of people below her to cheer loudly, as many raised their fists and pumped them in the air. Vasquez felt an inclination in himself to do the same, both to blend in more with the crowd and because he too had grown hateful towards the worshippers of Kraesa. It was a conflicting hate. They had given him food and seemed to care about his well-being. However, he felt uneasy about what followed after he received the food. They didn't seem to care about anything except for their god, and any level of devotion of the unknown being thrust upon him made Vasquez feel an inexplicable hate and distrust towards both the people devoting and the receiver of that devotion. The town's devotion to their god, Maranza, still unsettled Vasquez, but at least they were not projecting on him and making terrifying chants about his ugly soul.
Eventually, after a lot of chanting and yelling, the rowdy townspeople settled down and slowly started leaving, most heading to a bar, the one that Vasquez would call home for the night.