NIcholai turns sober.
"I fear for what will become of the well, now that it is found. Not what the monks will do with it, but of the church itself. The inquisition I mean. I wonder if we shouldn't tell the monks that we could find no trace of the well. And let the Abbott decide what to do with it?" Nicholai sounds like he is trying to convince himself, more than anyone else.
NIcholai turns sober.
"I fear for what will become of the well, now that it is found. Not what the monks will do with it, but of the church itself. The inquisition I mean. I wonder if we shouldn't tell the monks that we could find no trace of the well. And let the Abbott decide what to do with it?" Nicholai sounds like he is trying to convince himself, more than anyone else.
Keildrithe nods in agreement. "Yes, the Inquisition does have a way of fouling all good things, doesn't it? And Alton is right -- we've lingered long enough. Let's cover up the well, then see what the abbott can tell us of Padre Stefan's next destination... and then let us be off..."
Though the bard escaped injury during the battle, he empties the water from his waterskin and then fills it with well water. "Maybe this will make Pharris feel better," he mumbles to himself. "Although I'm sure the wilds and the open road will do even more to lift her spirits."
The, in afterthought, he adds: "I wonder where the monks will bury Ana's body?"
Keildrithe nods in agreement. "Yes, the Inquisition does have a way of fouling all good things, doesn't it? And Alton is right -- we've lingered long enough. Let's cover up the well, then see what the abbott can tell us of Padre Stefan's next destination... and then let us be off..."Though the bard escaped injury during the battle, he empties the water from his waterskin and then fills it with well water. "Maybe this will make Pharris feel better," he mumbles to himself. "Although I'm sure the wilds and the open road will do even more to lift her spirits."
The, in afterthought, he adds: "I wonder where the monks will bury Ana's body?"
Laithe drinks from the water greatfully, closing his eyes as its restorative effects wash over him.
When talk turns to covering the well though, he stands and shakes his head, speaking with more force than is usual for the generally softly spoken druid.
"No! This is a gift and should not be denied people. Yes, it could be abused by the Inquisition, but it could also be a symbol of a better, uncorrupted form of Arton. Like it or not, Arton is the god that the majority of people in these lands follow. I would much rather them follow this version of Arton who reveals wonders of healing to his followers, than the corrupted version preached by the Inquisition. By concealing the well, we concede to this evil version."
He looks at the others to gage their thoughts before speaking again, more softly this time.
"The abbott seems a reasonable person, with his heart in the right place. We should speak with him, beseech him to open this well, but extract a promise that all will be welcome, regardless of their race or faith. And we should warn him of the potential arrival of the Inquisition. He can tell them we stayed for a night and moved on, and needn't be told about the well. We might even persuade him to give them false instructions as to our intended direction. What do you think?"
It doesn't unfortunately. And contrary to my post above, it doesn't restore ability drain either (only ability damage) - though I don't think any of you have suffered any ability drain anyway. That reminds me though, anyone who is on level 4 currently rather than 5, take an extra 40 experience points after that last fight.
Nicolai nods slowly.
"Your wisdom eclipses mine, as usual. Thank you Laithe." Nicholai says with a small bow to the druid.
"I concur. I feel that if Stephan trusted the Abbott, so shall I. We will reveal only to him the well's location and allow him to use it to the people's best interest. And to keep it out of the Inquisition's hands if at all possible."
Nicholai gathers his dignity and his now tattered robe around him with solemn dignity. He gazes at the small, damp patch of earth thoughtfully.
"Perhaps,... I might ask the Abbott to bury Ana here. It is obviously already consecrated ground. I think she would be,... pleased, to have the honor of guarding it in the afterlife."
Moth
Alton kneels next to the small hole and cups some of the water in his hands and drinks, feeling the tension and exhaustion of a night with little sleep drain away. He smiles, the first in a while. 'Not bad, not bad at all.'
Straightening up he looks at his companions. 'It is time. Let us go and see the abbott.'
"No! This is a gift and should not be denied people. Yes, it could be abused by the Inquisition, but it could also be a symbol of a better, uncorrupted form of Arton. Like it or not, Arton is the god that the majority of people in these lands follow. I would much rather them follow this version of Arton who reveals wonders of healing to his followers, than the corrupted version preached by the Inquisition. By concealing the well, we concede to this evil version."
He looks at the others to gage their thoughts before speaking again, more softly this time.
"The abbott seems a reasonable person, with his heart in the right place. We should speak with him, beseech him to open this well, but extract a promise that all will be welcome, regardless of their race or faith. And we should warn him of the potential arrival of the Inquisition. He can tell them we stayed for a night and moved on, and needn't be told about the well. We might even persuade him to give them false instructions as to our intended direction. What do you think?"
Keildrithe is initially surprised by Laithe's protest, but quickly sees the wisdom in the druid's words. "Wisely spoken, brother, as always..."
Kajetan, although uninjured, feels the need to sample the healing waters himself and is pleasantly surprised by the effects on a none believer like himself.
He gets out his journal and makes a rough outline sketch of the cave and waters to be filled in at a later date. Lost in his own thoughts he takes no part in the decision to inform the Abbot.
The abbot meets you back in his office in the Chapter House, Sitting behind his desk he looks old, tired and somewhat sad.
“Did you find the place?” he asks without preamble when you enter.
Keildrithe is initially surprised by Laithe's protest, but quickly sees the wisdom in the druid's words. "Wisely spoken, brother, as always..."
As they head back to the Abbey, Laithe walks next to his kinsman, and speaks softly to him.
"This well is as much a gift of Ehlonna as it is of Arton. He may have revealed it to Abel, but she has helped guide us here, and so led us to it. I know you have little love for Arton, and nor do I. But I have seen glimpses of him that I have some respect for. I think we fight a losing battle if we seek to rid the world of Arton completely, so instead I we should limit our fight to that aspect of him that is ugly, jealous, intolerant and evil, so that his gentler side may propser to the benefit of those who follow him and those who do not. If the well can aid in this battle, then I am happy to see it dedicated to Arton."
The abbot meets you back in his office in the Chapter House, Sitting behind his desk he looks old, tired and somewhat sad.
“Did you find the place?” he asks without preamble when you enter.
Noticing the sad look on the Abbot's face, Laithe glances around the room and then studies him, trying to determine if his sadness are for the events that have just taken place, or for some that are about to. Despite his sentiments at the well, he finds it hard to shake his mistrust in Artonites, especially with Vorn still possibly on their tail.
Keildrithe stands towards the back of the group, silent, pensive. It seems that, for the time being, he will let others do the talking.
Nicholai steps forward, bowing his head briefly to the abbot.
"That depends." He starts, carefully noncommittal.
"We did find a lovely spot, sheltered by the cliffs from the worst of the ravages of winter. It was positively fall-like in there. I think that perhaps some of the monks might like to investigate it. Perhaps dig a well? You know, after the worst of the storm has passed?" He says with a warm smile, trying his best to make it plain what he is trying NOT to say aloud.
"I think perhaps we should leave. Soon. Today maybe. After all, you have been most gracious, and I would hate to get you into any trouble,..."
'I know he's tired, and understandably upset. But I don't want him to help us and fall victim to a truth-geas from an inquisitor. If we don't actually SAY it, he should be safe,... I hope.'
The abbot nods in apparent understanding. “After the storm has passed,” he agrees.
“Now ... I know that you said you don’t require any reward, but you have saved a life today – however unworthy, and perhaps many more – and helped to uncover a truth and vindicate a devout man.”
The abbot places a large, dusty wooden box on his desk and pulls forth several items; four old and dusty jars and bottles that slosh with liquid, and several collections of parchment and papyrus scrolls.
“These are supposedly magical potions,” the abbot says, indicating the bottles. “We have no real use for them here, and their exact purpose has been lost. On the scrolls are collections of prayers said to have miraculous properties, and also some arcane magical writings. Please, take them.”
Nicholai has a hard time not goggling at the veritable treasure trove of magic the Abbott just laid out before them. But when he speaks, it is in his normal, suave voice.
"You are indeed too kind. I only wish we could have figured it out sooner. Perhaps,... but it does no good to dwell on what might have been. We accept your gracious offer, but only on the condition that you accept our promise to put them to good use." The dandy says with a smile.
Keildrithe raises his eyes at the abbott's generosity, curious what magical and divine powers might be contained within the potions and scrolls, but remains silent. Perhaps my anger has blinded me. There may very well be some true and kind-hearted Artonites after all, and maybe it is just the god's servants that tarnish what he truly stands for...
The bard fidgets impatiently, wanting to check in on Pharris... while also not wanting to miss what Brother Anselm has to say regarding Padre Stefan's current whereabouts.
A potion of cure serious wounds, a potion of cure light wounds, a potion of heroism, and a potion of bull’s strength.
Divine scrolls of cure disease, neutralise poison, and purify food and drink.
Arcane scrolls of magic missile, shield, levitate, bull’s strength, and flame arrow.
“Now,” continues the abbot, “I promised that when this was all over I would tell you of Stefan. As you are no doubt aware by now, Padre Stefan is a member of the Order of Truth, as am I. I’m not certain exactly how much you know of the Order,” he glances sidelong at Nicolai, “so let me first give you a short lesson.
“The Order – it is really more like a secret society I suppose you would say, drawing members from amongst many of the established orders in the church – is not officially recognised or even widely known amongst the Church’s ruling hierarchy. The Inquisition know something of us, and seek to expose us and jail or burn us as heretics at every turn. For our part, the Inquisition is chief amongst what we oppose.
“We in the Order of Truth feel that the modern Church has lost its way – lost the truth as it were – in so many ways; the banning of arcane magic, the hostility to other races, the militant conversion of non-believers and the dismissal of other religions and gods amongst other things. We seek to uncover the truth, and spread it as much as we are able, although at this stage that is little – we are few and spread thin, far outnumbered by the brutal Inquisition and the forces that the orthodox Church can marshal.
“But more than being simply wrong and unethical, we believe that the revisionist history sprouted by the Church and enforced by the Inquisition – a history that ignore the old alliances with dwarves and fey, the old support of church allied mages, the days when most clerics of Arton could actually call on the power of our god – is actually dangerous.
“For example, many centuries ago an evil power awoke in the world, a power known simply as Darkness. The forces of Darkness scoured the land, destroying much and many, and the very skies blackened in the wake of the armies of Darkness, so that creatures of the night walked the land during day. Now, those of you raised within the Atuscan Empire and the Church of Arton will know that Saint Michael rose to challenge Darkness, that he established the first Order of Paladins and rode forth at the head of a great host of the devout to defeat the champion of Darkness and route his army, locking Darkness away beyond the world for good.
“However, what we have learnt is that this is not the entire truth. Michael forged an alliance with the elves, and the dwarves, and his army included wizards as well as paladins and clerics – the victory would not have been possible without them. Also, there are suggestions that Darkness was not banished for good, but only contained ... and it may one day return, perhaps sooner than we think. But thanks to the work of the Inquisition, the knowledge of how Darkness was defeated last time has been obscured.
“So part of the work of the Order of Truth is to gather this old and forbidden knowledge, not simply to reveal the truth, but to try to learn from the past and prevent future disaster...”
“But I digress ... Padre Stefan has lately worked in the library of the Cathedral of Lichford, which has given him access to tomes and scrolls long ago destroyed or confiscated in areas closer to the heart of the Empire and more firmly under the thumb of the Inquisition. Part of his official duties for the library is to range far through the region and collect copies of old books to bring back to the library ... useful to for the Order of Truth, as he was often able to collect and protect rare works that would otherwise have been destroyed if the Inquisition got their hands on them. His duties also involved liaising between the cathedral and this monastery amongst other places, which allowed him to bring books to me for further distribution amongst the Order.
“As you know, Stefan came here to the monastery recently, some two weeks or so before you arrived. I was given to understand that he had taken a sabbatical from the Cathedral, but he seemed in a very agitated and dare I say even fearful state. Unusually, he would not at first talk to me beyond asking my permission to stay for a while. For two days he kept to himself in a cell, or scouring the library for something. At last he came to talk to me. Some of what he said was in confession – I cannot repeat it all, for that would be breaking a sacred vow, but know that what he told me in confession is a private matter, something you should not need to know. In truth, I think there was more that he wished to confess to me, but did not, even with some prompting, so I don’t think I know the whole story either. I can tell you the general gist of what else we spoke of outside of the confessional.
“It seems that recently – a month or two back, Stefan was on one of his book collecting journeys, and had come across some old tomes that he thought might be quite useful to the Order – as it happens, one of them dealt with the old days of Darkness. On his way back to Lichford, well, it seems that he was robbed by a band of gypsies that he met on the road. He awoke alone and bloodied in a field, his escort apparently murdered and the books – as well as his other valuables - gone. Something about this event seemed to shake him even more than might be expected. Stefan confessed to me that he thinks he may have been targeted specifically thanks to the books he carried, but I think there was also something more that he did not speak of, but that troubled him. Something about the event or something that came from it.
“Soon afterwards he returned to Lichford, but troubled by events, and unable to confide in his colleagues at the Cathedral about the import of the books that were taken, he sought a leave of absence, to come here.
“I offered him what comfort and counsel I could, but I think I did little to calm him. Over the next few days, as he continued to search the library and pray – for what in either case he did not tell me – Stefan grew increasingly agitated, and I would say even paranoid. He mentioned a few times that he feared he may have brought danger to our abbey, but grew evasive or withdrew his statement when I questioned him. After another couple of days, he came to me again and asked if he could have use of a cottage that our order owns, several days journey away through the hills. We maintain it as a retreat for those brothers who have a need for more solitude than our monastery offers. I agreed of course; Stefan is a friend, and it seemed that some time away from distractions would do him good. He begged me not to allow anyone else access to the cottage until I had heard from him, and to tell no one where he had gone. I agreed ... it pains me to break that promise, but I feel that I can trust you, and that telling you where Stefan is is the right thing for yourselves and for him.
“It is about a week since Stefan left here. He should have reached the cottage within about two days, and I have had no word from him since – not that I should expect to necessarily in that time, especially given the snow we have had for the past two days. The cottage is located in a high meadow in the hills north of here – there is a serviceable trail, and I can point you in that direction if you wish it.”
Nicholai sits as the Abbott speaks, and is soon engrossed in his tale. He stays silent a moment after the monk has finished speaking.
"I, did not know, most, of that." Nicholai says with a glance at the others.
"I had thought that the order was somewhat more, loosely organized. More a collection of like-minded individuals than an actual organization. And While I considered their work important, I had no idea,..."
Nicholai turns solemn. "Thank you Brother. I am grateful that you have gifted us with this information. And Stephen! Yes, please give me, I mean us, the directions to where he is. When I knew Stephan he was always the one who never seemed concerned about anything. Serious at times, but never worried or scared. I must find him!" He declares, making no effort to hide his concern.
----
Something the abbott said tickles the back of his mind.
"Is it normal for gypsies to murder those they purportedly rob?" He asks no one in particular. "I had always thought they were more the 'steal you blind while you were sleeping, then help you out on the road the next day' type of people? And what were the books that Stephan had that he is so upset over losing?"
The last meeting with the abbott leaves Keildrithe with a great deal of food for thought. He leaves in a hurry, leaving his companions behind to ponder unanswered questions. The bard mulls some of the things over in his mind as he walks at a brisk pace across the monastery grounds, until he at last makes into their dormitory hall. Then, all thoughts of inquisitions and Darkness and benevolent Artonites and Padre Stefan and did this really change anything for the Karands? and what would his grandfather say and... all those thoughts vanish as his pace slows over the last steps to Pharris's door.
He takes a deep breath, and tries to still his mind and thundering heart.
The bard knocks gently.
"Cympharrisong? Are you there?" he asks hesitantly through the door.
"Our task is done here. We can at last leave this prison of stone and return to the cathedral of the wide open wilderness... though I fear that winter's chill may cast a pall over our journey... Pharris?"
Keildrithe hurries off to check on Pharris, but the abbot calls after the rest of you before you leave.
“I will be conducting a funeral – a proper, if hasty one – for Brother Abel this afternoon. I had planned to bury your friend at the same ceremony, here in our graveyard – I believe she was a follower of Arton? I realise that you are in something of a hurry, but will you stay for that?”
There is no answer when Keildrithe knocks on the door to Pharris’ cell ... but she is within, sititng on her bed, her head in her hands, her long hair cascading down over her arms, her armour half on, half strewn about on her bed.
There is no answer when Keildrithe knocks on the door to Pharris’ cell ... but she is within, sititng on her bed, her head in her hands, her long hair cascading down over her arms, her armour half on, half strewn about on her bed.
Keildrithe opens the door to Pharris's room a crack, and when he sees her sitting on her bed, he lets himself in.
"Pharris... what's wrong?" he says, his voice almost a whisper.
By the way, is anyone offended by the use of that term? I’ve never known it to be a derogatory word in and of itself, though like any word I’m sure it can be used in a derogatory fashion. However I read a post recently on Paizo where someone implied that it was an inherently derogatory term.
Keildrithe hurries off to check on Pharris, but the abbot calls after the rest of you before you leave.
“I will be conducting a funeral – a proper, if hasty one – for Brother Abel this afternoon. I had planned to bury your friend at the same ceremony, here in our graveyard – I believe she was a follower of Arton? I realise that you are in something of a hurry, but will you stay for that?”
Nicholai looks at the others briefly.
"Of course we will be staying for the funeral. We will be glad to. In fact,..." Another glance at his companions.
"I wonder if, maybe you might look for a sign in the near future. Whether or not it might be Arton's will to move them later. I was thinking that Ana, and maybe Brother Abel, might like to be buried in that spot we found. It would seem, fitting. But I do not pretend to know Arton's will."
"We should go and prepare to le,... for the funeral. THank you brother." Nicholai adds softly, giving a deep and respectful bow to the older man.
“Oh Keildrithe,” whispers Pharris, looking up at the bard with a tear streaked face. “I’m sorry ... I was putting my armour on, do you still need ... need ...” She breaks off and her lip trembles.
Kajetan listens to the abbot with interest, greatly intrigued by the talk of the Order of Truth and wondering if it required one to be a follower of Arton to become a member. His reflective mood changes to one of nervousness when he hears the tale of Stephan. Deep down inside him, the story rang some alarm bell, but he could not place a finger on why.
Kajetan stays a moment longer with the Abbot, "I wonder if perhaps you would like one of your scribes to take a copy of my journal while the storm lasts? It is not poetic and much of it is clouded by my own feelings, but it does detail all that we have encountered in the past months." He tries to choose his words carefully, unable to meet the abbots eyes, "I also feel that the Inquisition will one day catch up with me, when they do the book and the information with in will be lost for ever."
Moth:
“Oh Keildrithe,” whispers Pharris, looking up at the bard with a tear streaked face. “I’m sorry ... I was putting my armour on, do you still need ... need ...” She breaks off and her lip trembles.
Keildrithe sits down on the bed beside Pharris, takes her hands in his, and looks into her eyes. "Yes, we still need you," he says. "I still need you... more than ever... I... you weren't going to leave us, were you?"
The bard clenches his jaw, and fights hard to hold back tears of his own. His heart feels as though it might shatter into a thousand pieces.
Keildrithe:
She sighs sadly. “You don’t need me,” she says softly. “You like me, which I appreciate, and I can be useful, which is always good ... but you’re strong, all of you. And you know this world, you understand it, you belong here ... I don’t. It’s not just this horrible place, with its stone walls and sad men ... ever since the hill, the barrow of that old king, I’ve been realising that something is wrong with me being here. Look,” she holds up her free hand and Keildrithe can see it tremble as she tries to hold it steady. “I don’t belong here,” she says again, sadness and regret in her voice.
Moth:
Pharris tries to smile, but while holding back tears at the same time what emerges is a sort of worried pout. “Don’t you start crying Keildrithe,” she says, extracting one hand from Keildrithe’s grasp and patting his hand. “We won’t get anything said between the two of us then.”
She sighs sadly. “You don’t need me,” she says softly. “You like me, which I appreciate, and I can be useful, which is always good ... but you’re strong, all of you. And you know this world, you understand it, you belong here ... I don’t. It’s not just this horrible place, with its stone walls and sad men ... ever since the hill, the barrow of that old king, I’ve been realising that something is wrong with me being here. Look,” she holds up her free hand and Keildrithe can see it tremble as she tries to hold it steady. “I don’t belong here,” she says again, sadness and regret in her voice.
"Pharris, stop saying these things!" says Keildrithein a trembling voice. He himself begins to tremble like a leaf, torn by both sadness and rage.
"What do mean you don't belong here? Where would you go? You are of this world, as are we all! Things will get better! And we don't just like you... we need you! I... don't know that I could go on without you, Pharris! I... I... You can't leave us... you can't leave me..."
Keildrithe:
Moth:
“But I’m not of this world Keildrithe,” Pharris says, drawing back so that her face is obscured by the gloom of this small cell. Suddenly she looks very alien, staring at you with her large eyes from behind the curtain of her hair. “My home is the world behind this one. I’m a visitor here and ... Keildrithe I am sick for my home.”
Keildrithe knew what Pharris was true... that elves were fey, and came from another realm. As Pharris drew further back, he felt as though a ball were getting stuck in his throat. He could not bear the aching in his heart.
"I... I know, but... Your people also have a stake in..." He struggled to speak, and knew his words were futile. She had made up her mind.
The bard dropped to one knee, tried again to clasp her hands. "Pharris, there's something I've been wanting to tell you for so long... I... I..."
He swallowed hard and stared into her eyes again. "Pharris... I love you like I have never loved another... I could not bear to be parted from you... And if you will not stay here with me, then please, let me come with you..."
Kajetan listens to the abbot with interest, greatly intrigued by the talk of the Order of Truth and wondering if it required one to be a follower of Arton to become a member. His reflective mood changes to one of nervousness when he hears the tale of Stephan. Deep down inside him, the story rang some alarm bell, but he could not place a finger on why.
Kajetan stays a moment longer with the Abbot, "I wonder if perhaps you would like one of your scribes to take a copy of my journal while the storm lasts? It is not poetic and much of it is clouded by my own feelings, but it does detail all that we have encountered in the past months." He tries to choose his words carefully, unable to meet the abbots eyes, "I also feel that the Inquisition will one day catch up with me, when they do the book and the information with in will be lost for ever."
Nicholai fidgets with frustration, making it obvious that he wishes to pursue his friend immediately, or sooner. But concedes that waiting till morning has several advantages, allowing the monks to make a hasty copy of Kajetan's journal one of them.
"I have no eye for weather, but it almost seems like a pall has been lifted from over the abbey. And I confess that I do not look forward to traveling at night. Better to start well-rested after today. Agreed?" Nicholai asks his companions.
"Tell me Abbott, how do you think your monks are going to react to us once they've calmed down? With everything they saw in the church I mean? Are they more likely to think us misunderstood servants of light, or as foul necromancers and declare us to the Inquisition at first opportunity?" He asks wryly.
The dandy looks around the room, looking mildly confused.
"Hey, Where's Keildrithe?"
Alton looks unsure at the descision to stay another night, but nods his assent anyway.
'I dont suppose they would suspect we would be staying here. If they do reach us before we depart tomorrow at least we may have the advantage of surprise. Im going to get some rest, I haven't had proper sleep in days. Please wake me for the funeral, I would like to pay my respects.'
Alton moves off back to his room, and starts to catch up on some much needed sleep
"The inquisition could be here very soon. They have an interest in us, as Kajetan's diary will reveal when you read it. I think we can spare a few more hours to attend the funeral, but then should make a start rather than wait another night. It would be better for you and for us to not have them find us here, though I will stay if that is the consensus." Despite the lack of sleep the night before, Laithe feels refreshed and energetic after having drunk from the well.
"As to this...place we have uncovered, Abbott. I have one request from you if we are to pass on the exact location. It should be a place where all are welcome, regardless of race, gender or belief. I think it can be used as a weapon by your Order to help restore the church of Arton to its original path. But I think this will only be the case if all are allowed access to it. Then they will start to see Arton not as a jealous god, but one who is generous and benevolent, and preaches acceptance and tolerance."
“The Inquisition?” The abbot looks worried. “That is a concern ... and double the reason for you to take the items I have given you! I’ll not turf you out – you are welcome here as long as you would stay ... but yes, it will bring trouble upon us if you are here when the Inquisition arrives, and I would not begrudge you moving on tonight, though I do not advise traversing these paths at night.”
He nods at Laithe’s advise on the healing well. “I agree completely my good Laithe. I have every intention of letting any who will come benefit from it, so long as I have a say in that. I think at this point ... it is something that the Inquisition need not know about ...”
Moth:
"I... I would be willing to do that, for you" responds Keildrithe with utmost sincerity, not to mention naivete. "Faerie cannot be any worse than this place. I grow sick of it too, and understand why you would want to leave. And if you will not stay, then I would gladly go with you. I can't imagine another hedilye having had the honour and inspiration that come from living with you in the realm of the fey. The age difference does not concern me... and if you share the feelings for me that I do for you, then I would expect you to seek another once I have passed on... I would only wish for you to be happy. I know that every moment I spend with you will fill me with happiness. I'll compose a new ode to you every day... Please... take me with you..."
The bard looks at the elf maid pleadingly, his sincerity bordering on the pathetic.
“The Inquisition?” The abbot looks worried.
Nicholai gives a grim smile.
"Yes. While we were honest with you when first arrived, we were deliberately, vague, about some the specifics. Sorry about that."
Nicholai's face is a mixture of guilt and amusement. "But if you'll glance through Kajetan's journal, I'm sure you'll understand why we felt we had to be cautious. Time permitting you should have a copy, if you have a good hiding place for it. But there are things in there that I think you'll want to know about, so you should at least read it yourself."
"Normally, Keildrithe would sing the tale to you, I promise he's a better tale-weaver than any you've heard, but it's best enjoyed when you have an entire evening to spend. And as we seem to agree that time is the one thing we are short on right now,..." He shrugs.
"I think perhaps it might be best for all involved if we were to depart immediately after the funerals. We can camp nearby, then get an earnest start on the morrow."
Kajetan really, really dislikes the idea of leaving the warmth of the monastery and its large library. He thinks back to the cold nights sleeping under the open skies, the snow, the mud, the dangerous animals and his evil back pack. Kajetan groans out loud, then clamps his mouth shut as he realizes he has. Part of him wonders if he could take the vow and hide out here in safety until the winter passes. Shaking his head to shed the illusion of safety he trudges off to pack his nemesis the back pack and get ready for more cold nights.