21, Fifth Star, 109 K.E.

Upon arriving in Sketivell, I was immediately taken aback by the sheer size. This village had for years been described as nothing more than a haven for fugitives and outlaws, where no man should ever rest even when on the verge of death.
Yet today, the high walls and ascending spires of the central cathedral had me faint of breath. Walking towards the town square on fine cobblestone streets, I gaped in wonder at the vast array of artistry displayed on various places of business; murals painted in every conceivable color spectrum had been sprawled on any flat surface in sight. Guilded roofs capped stout brick mansions, their wide arched doors warm and welcoming.
This once dilapidated city was transformed into a bustling metropolis of culture and prosperity in just under four years. I made my way past throngs of peddlers with too much merchandise towards the square proper.
Midday mass had concluded an hour prior, and I was given the chance to speak with a rather peculiar priest by the name of Reverend Himsfeld, a man of short stature, yet with an aura of tall respect.
Asking him how Sketivell's transformation was possible, he laughed and responded only with "With the word of God at the heart, anything can glow bright." As he turned and exited down a nearby hallway, I couldn't help but notice the glimmer of a holstered pistol beneath his flowing robe.
I will never fully understand the implications of religious zealots, but I do find it strange that the will of the almighty would be backed by a preacher boasting shooting irons.
With questions unanswered, I continue my exploration. Maybe the remaining town elders could shed some light on my darkened mind.