"Section 18: The Enigma of Cumberland"

"Cumberland is a city so comically big that one would think, surely, there could be no common denominator amongst people, something that they all agree on. But in truth there is. And in a city where you can find any item in the world, where dwarves allow humans free range through their abodes, there is nothing stranger than this fact: every single Cumberlen, from the highest noble to the lowliest urchin, twists their middle and index fingers when entering or leaving a house.
An innocent enough gesture, one would think, a mere tick of superstition, but what’s striking is how universal it is within the city. EVERYONE does it. It is a part of their life in the same way attending mass is. Men I interviewed at bars would sheepishly admit that sometimes, after a long day, they merely brush their fingers back and forth rather than fully twine them. Building inspectors and housemaids on shopping sprees can be seen wearing fingerbands to keep their fingers crossed rather than go through the trouble at each and every doorway. Teenagers loitering at fountains can be heard complaining that their mother makes them cross their fingers at every doorway, rather than just the house entrance ‘like normal people do’.
This peculiar notion is simply a natural part of Cumberlen life. So natural in fact, that no one knows how or when it began. You ask a worker why, and he’ll say, 'it’s just what my mom taught me to do.' You speak to a grandmother and she’ll say, 'It’s just how I was raised.' You find a mage to pull the oldest soul in the Maker's embrace out from the Fade who still remembers their life on this side, and they’ll say, 'Well, that’s just how things were.' But children explain it more interestingly. Like any good lesson, usually this one is conveyed to children through the means of fable. Here, I have compiled the three most common stories explaining this enigma.

The Parable of the Scholar

There once was a scholar in Cumberland, a woman who possessed a veritable library of information. Her home saw many guests: philosophers, educators, leaders, all of whom, on some occasion or another, sought the knowledge she so readily and easily offered. She shared all her mind had to offer with anyone who walked through her doors. Her residence in the city was agreed by all to be a veritable boon. All but one, that is.
The College of Magi’s First Enchanter was a jealous man. He desired to prove that he was the smartest man in Cumberland, a title he felt was owed to him thanks to his grand position. He thought knowledge was merely another thing to be coveted, to show off how much more of it you have like so much gold. He was a detestable man that few got along with.
The First Enchanter once invited the scholar over for a meeting for an academic discussion. The scholar hesitated to accept, knowing of the mage’s reputation, but ultimately agreed, as she never refused someone searching for knowledge.
She walked to the College of Magi, arriving precisely fifteen minutes ahead of time. She was escorted through the grand halls, past the study rooms, around the dormitories and to the center of the College, to a grand pair of double doors.
'Why, this can’t be right!' the scholar exclaimed, her knowledge exceptional indeed. 'This is the Central Hall; these doors are only opened to elect the new Grand Enchanter!'
'Yes, but the First Enchanter has seen fit to make an exception for such an esteemed guest,' her guide replied.
The scholar immediately steeled herself for the worst. A man so willing to break one rule might easily break others.
She was let into the room and the door was closed. The room was well-lit, illuminating a man staring at her from the opposite side of a large circular table. She eyed the sconces on the walls, all of them were slightly green-tinted.
'My apologies,' she asked, curtsying. 'But am I speaking to the First Enchanter? A strange query, but green light signifies, amongst mages, that this would be an ancient fire sourced from the fabric of the Fade — or perhaps I misunderstand something?'
The man across the table twisted his mouth into a grin no man would display. 'Your knowledge is exceptional indeed! This mage has given his body over to me, the Demon of Logic, so that I might rip this world asunder with his own mind.'
'The Demon of Logic?' she asked. 'Logic does not seem an exceptionally powerful force, how do you intend to do such a thing?'
'But of course, it is easy! When you walk into a building, you are going from one place to another, correct?'
'Certainly.'
'And the Beyond is connected to this world, is it not?'
'Naturally. We go there when we die.'
'And which do you find easier? Walking through a door or dying?'
'Walking through a door, I suppose.'
The demon’s grin only grew more horrific. 'Ergo, walking through a door to get to the Beyond would be far easier than the natural way of getting there via death, no? And so it is done.'
The scholar immediately saw her mistake. So long as this demon could logically explain something, he could perform it. And she had had enough debates to know that individual logic was a very finicky thing indeed. But she had learned through those debates the true strength of the mind, how to understand it, and how to change it.
'Now hold on,' she started. 'Your claim is that something easier than what is natural is thereby effortless — sensible in its own right — but all the doorways in town already naturally lead somewhere. Upending what is natural cannot possibly be easier.'
'Oh, but of course it is,' the demon assured her. 'Our two worlds are conjoined, like fingers on the Maker’s hand. I am not upending any nature here, merely bringing the fingers together.' And he twisted his middle and index fingers together to prove his point. 'See how easy that is?'
The scholar’s knowledge was exceptional indeed. She knew that she knew far less than a demon would on the matter of cosmology. So, she was quickly able to ignore that part of the argument, and focus on the facet that she could win. 'Hold those fingers together,' she commanded.
'Why should I?' it asked, caught off-guard by the scholar’s sudden change in demeanor. 'Why shouldn’t you?' she returned.
'Because-' And its eyes widened as it realized it’d been had.
'Because it takes effort to hold them together. And your fingers are rather small. Now, by your own logic, and you’d know better than I, could you imagine how much effort it would take to keep the Maker’s fingers like so?'
The demon’s grin contorted into an enraged frown as its magic undid itself. 'Well, how about-'
But the next tract of logic was not able to take off, for the door, now freshly restored to its natural state, burst open with Templars, and, logically, a demon is no match for a group of Templars.
And so the day was saved. The city honored the scholar, for while her knowledge was indeed exceptional, even more so than that was her calm, cool judgment, brought about countless hours of experience arguing with the most impassioned people in the word.
Ever since, the people of the city have crossed their fingers when walking through a door, to remind the demon just how flawed its logic truly was.

The Parable of the Huntress

There once was a huntress on the outskirts of Cumberland, whose prowess was well-known to everyone. If there was something you wanted dead, she could hunt it down. When recommending her services, everyone would say that there was no chance of failure with her. So it was that she received pay to hunt down an apostate who had fled the city.
The apostate was forced to flee and flee and flee, constantly having to use magic to cover his trail and create fake ones, but the huntress never faltered, continuing to hunt him doggedly. The entire time, as his death loomed closer and closer, the apostate cursed his luck. If only he hadn’t been born a mage, if only he hadn’t been outed by his brother, if only the huntress had been already out on a job when he made his escape, if only, if only, if only. So it was that when the huntress caught up to him, that he was so fixated on his awful luck, that he brought forth the Demon of Luck to change it.
The Demon of Luck, much quicker and much craftier, evaded capture until it made it back into the city. The huntress informed the Duke and he promptly gathered the best trackers, finders, and Templars of the city to a central courtyard.
'Our adversary is a demon,' he informed the collected hunters. 'But even in a city as big as ours, with a group like this, there is no chance of failure!'
A cheer went up, and the men and women quickly scattered throughout the city to sniff out this demon. The huntress simply sat in the courtyard and waited.
After fifteen minutes, they heard the cries. People began to report back in, saying that the demon was blindsiding them from behind every doorway. A nearby Templar offered counsel. 'It is a Demon of Luck then,' he explained. 'It offers its prey only the greatest of misfortune, being at that current moment — that it seems it is always hiding just out of view.'
A Chantry Brother spoke up. 'If it relies on luck then, we should move in such a way that misfortune might find no purchase. I am a man of faith myself. The Maker crafts my destiny, no luck involved.'
'I am a Templar, once I get in range, luck will not be an issue for me either. Now all we need to do is to find the thing.'
And they both turned to the huntress, for it was common knowledge that she had no chance of failure on a hunt, and no chance was exactly what was needed. The huntress accepted joining them, now knowing the nature of her prey.
The three traveled for fifteen minutes, with the huntress leading the trail, informing the group of situations where they COULD be blindsided, and the Templar unleashing his power in those moment, and the priest following behind, offering morale and support as they traveled.
Eventually, they stumbled across a citizen, who, having gleaned the situation from the screams dotting the city, was simply too scared to be left alone, and the trio agreed to take him with them. The Templar, to assuage the man’s fears, kept up his aura of immutability permanently now. As the four walked, the man noticed something. The Templar didn’t notice, for he was maintaining his aura, and the priest didn’t notice, for he was singing the Chant, but the man, whose fear kept his eyes on everything at once, noticed the huntress always crossed her fingers upon turning a corner or entering a room. He deemed not to bring it up though, so as not to ruin his saviors’ focus.
The Templar was confident that his authority over anti-magical dominion would supersede the demon’s magics. However, power and strength cannot last, and where you are when they falter is a matter of luck. Just as the group weaved through another house, the Templar’s strength faltered for the briefest moment, and so the Demon of Luck just so happened to be hiding behind the doorsill of the kitchen he just walked through. The demon ripped his head off and then flew out the window as the huntress let loose an arrow into its shoulder.
The priest offered prayers and rituals while the huntress combed the corpse’s belt and pouches. Once both were satisfied, the now trio moved on.
The priest was confident that the Maker’s destiny for him left nothing to chance, but the Maker does not control. The Maker allows all dice to fall where they may, and so it was that, as the trio walked into the next house, the Demon of Luck happened to be right next to the main door to rip the priest in two. Once more, the huntress let loose an arrow. This time, however, the arrow was aimed at the demon’s head, and coated in lyrium taken from the Templar’s body. The Demon could not survive the lethal shot of its natural weakness, and withered away screaming.
As the man and huntress returned to the central courtyard to report their success and commiserate their losses, the man finally asked the huntress. 'Every time we walked through a new doorway, you would cross your fingers. Why is that? Is it some ancient demon ward, is that why it was never there when you entered the room?'
'It is my good luck charm,' the huntress answered easily. 'I always do it whenever I am on the hunt, so I don’t get ambushed or so I chance upon my prey quicker. There’s always a chance of failure, no matter how skilled I am, so I must take any precaution I can to keep that chance at bay. I suppose because I had better luck than our compatriots it had to leave me for last.'
The man was so bewildered by this truth behind the greatest hunt in Cumberland’s history that he told it to everyone he knew, and everyone else spread it to everyone they knew.
Ever since, to honor the hero and keep mindful of the joys and sorrows of luck, all the people of Cumberland twist their fingers at the door, so that what lies behind it might be joyful.

The Parable of the Dancer

There once was a dancer within Cumberland, a woman who all sorts of people absolutely loved visiting with and talking to. Many people loved being around her so much, and she loved them in return. The dancer loved her city so dearly that she would do anything to see the city rise in prominence and wealth and beauty. So it was that one day she found herself in a conversation with a friend, a humble Enchanter from the College, about improving the city. The city was much poorer and smaller than it would soon become, so this was a monumental task, and the dancer wished it done as soon as possible, so she beseeched her friend to rely upon magic.
The mage knew that relying on magic was a great and dangerous thing, but the dancer was so beautiful and so sweet and so hard to say no to that he agreed anyway. The mage tried to summon a demon whose powers would be appropriate for the task, but was not a very strong mage, and so what crawled through was a Demon of Sloth.
The Demon of Sloth, not wishing to put any work into this matter, spent fifteen minutes contemplating what to do. Eventually, he put forth to the dancer, 'I will help, but only on a wager. I will destroy this city in one month unless you can convince every citizen to… cross their fingers every time they enter a new abode,' it decided. 'If you achieve this, then I will make the city prosperous.'
The dancer knew little of demons, and so did not know that this demon lacked the power to raze or raise the city nor the integrity to honor the deal even if it did, and so immediately set forth on this seemingly impossible task, for she loved the city so much.
The dancer was a socialite, and knew very well how to convince people of things. So it was that she came up with her ingenious plan. The dancer walked to the outskirts of town, where the people did not know her, and would walk into a shop, making a show of crossing her fingers as she did so.
If she were asked why she did that, she would ask the person, 'Oh, I’m sorry, have you not heard?' and she would ask it with such genuine innocence and surprise in her voice, and she was so beautiful and so sweet and so hard to say no to, that invariably everyone in the shop would assume that this confusion was their fault, not hers, and would assure her they had, in fact, heard.
She would then follow up with, 'Oh, the shock must come from why I did it at this doorway particularly. Well, I just thought it prudent to twist my fingers at all doorways, not just some.'
The shopkeepers and shopgoers, all good Nevarran folk, immediately accepted this response of devoted piety and some even strove to reflect themselves, thrilled with the habit of devotion even if the object of it was unknown.
Not all did though, and after days of walking about, the dancer observed that she would not get the entire city on board in time, and her wallet would not take it either. She had expended most of her budget on delights of the city she’d never seen before. The city needed to come to her, not the other way around. So, another idea hatched. Another thing people loved was an attraction. Indeed, her customers loved coming to see the many delightful and exotic things she possessed in her house.
So it was that she marched her way to the Dragon’s Den, which at the time was for the dwarves and dwarves only. She came to the dwarves with the appeal that doing business with humans would be far more convenient for them if they simply had the humans come to their place of business, rather than travel to the outside markets and bazaars. The dwarves were still at this point staunch on minimal interaction, but the dancer was so beautiful and so sweet and so hard to say no to, that they gave in and opened up the gate to their district, so that all might flow through.
The news proved too intriguing, and almost the entire city flocked in at once for a chance to glimpse the dwarven architecture and items. While everyone was focused on the insides, the dancer was focused on the outside, the gate into the Dragon’s Den, and whenever she saw someone who she knew would twist their fingers, she would ask whatever group she was speaking with if they knew the person walking in. So it was that everyone she talked to only noticed people coming in with their fingers twisted, and so it was they immediately did the same, as everyone else was clearly already doing it.
The dancer's clever plans shifted the tides in her favor. After the assimilation of the Dragon’s Den into the city proper, the twisting of fingers was considered a well-established trend, albeit one that no one knew how or when it started, but such was the nature of trends.
So it was that at the end of the month, she returned to the demon, very proud of herself, and declared it was time for it to live up to its end of the bargain. The Demon of Sloth saw the common ground all citizens now shared, saw the wealth the dancer had redistributed to the poorer parts of the city, saw the flow of goods and artisans to and from the Dragon’s Den, and said, 'It shall be done.' Then the Demon of Sloth promptly returned to the Beyond, content it would not be bothered again.
Ever since, the people of the city have twisted their fingers at the door, because that is what someone who is beautiful and sweet and hard to say no to does, and who wouldn’t want to be like that?"

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An excerpt from the book The Peculiar People of Thedas by Nathaniel Vearce, in which Vearce details the most interesting cultural facets of life across Thedas. In the chapter ‘Soul of the Sea, Secrets of the Sailor’ he goes over the most unusual things he noticed about life on the high seas.
An excerpt from the book ‘The Peculiar People of Thedas’ by Nathaniel Vearce, in which Vearce details the most interesting cultural facets of life across Thedas. In the chapter, ‘Cumberland with a Twist’, he goes over a strange phenomenon all people of Cumberland take part in. Meta-note: this article was originally written by Mr. Stableford, with light modifications following.