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[b]Lets see to the Pharasmites first - they're the closest to wanting to heal the populace, then I suppose the Church of Sarenrae? She's a soft touch for the innocent. Then we could just see the rest after that in order of who's closest.
The Grand Cathedral of Pharasma is surrounded by a small, fenced-in plot of holy ground, and is the only structure that is home to the living within the city's graveyard district. It has imposing, black marble walls and few windows, especially on the first floor, and even the windows on the upper floors are largely arrow slits. The defensive construction of the Grand Cathedral is practical, as the church of Pharasma has had to fight numerous battles throughout its history to keep risen corpses from breaking out of the cemetery and attacking the living. Numerous extensive vaults are located beneath the Cathedral, and are used as reliquaries and ossuaries.
There are few living here, and those that are speak little. You are quietly directed to a reception chamber where a wisened old man sits and asks what your business is.
We're errrr.... concerned citizens. We've seen some stuff and want to share our findings with your clergy,
I really think that someone who sees to the sick would be best, as well as your head priest. Look? We'd have not come here if it wasn't important.
"Listen, brother... what's your name. This could turn into a very ugly situation very fast and for a lot of people. If my pal here didn't convey the necessary amount of urgency in our request, that's because he's the nice guy in our group. I'm not a guy and I'm not nice and I'm telling you, PLEASE go talk to your boss right now and tell him just these two words..."
Gwen steps closer to the priest and whispers in his ear.
"...Blood Veil."
Erik stands at the back of the group, doing his best not to be unnerved by their current location. It's hard when you're raised on the streets not to let a certain amount of superstition creep into your mind at moments like these.
Sheeeeit Gwen, Borden drawls.
Thats one way to get their attention.
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The old man is entirely un-phased by Gwen's action. Everything he does is at a glacial pace. He moves his head first, away from her as though she is invading his personal space. Then he stands, brushes down his robes and slowly walks from the room, by a door in the opposite wall.
A few minutes later he returns, accompanied by another cleric who motiones you to follow her back through the door. She is short, and a lot younger. Though still older than any of you. She leads you to a small cell, and invites you to sit.
"Hello, my name is Rose, I am one of the healers here. I am told you have some news of importance, and mentioned something called "blood veil"?
Gwen beckons to Borden, hoping his diplomacy will get the job done this time.
Look - its like this your honourship...we've been down and amongst the people for a while on missions for the Field Marshall, peacekeeping and the like - so we see more than most in a consolidated way if you get my drift. We've come across several cases of Blood Veil, including one with full symptoms that we decided to help by paying the priests of Abadar for a cure - it was a child. This bugger is as tricky as hell to contain once it gets spreading as I understand. We're making a rounds of all the temples - Yours First!, he hastens to aid, and we think that the more you are prepared for it? The more your priests can start getting the word out among your flock, and the more they can look for it before it gets full blown bad? Well, it could just save a lot of lives.
Erik nods along with Borden's words. At the end, he pipes up, "And it's no coincidence that a plague ship went down in the harbor only a few days before this disease started appearing amongst the people. I'm sure it's connected, and what's more, the Field Marshall herself asked us to alert the temples in preparation for a surge of this disease."
[dice=Diplomacy]1d20 + 9
Seriously, it might do more harm than good, given Gwen's -1 to Charisma and no skill point whatsoever in diplomacy.
Erik made it. Let's hope Basil chimes in as well.
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Rose considers Bordan's words carefully. "We are not a place many come for healing. Mostly it is after that we are required. We inter the dead and take care of the remains. We do not often help with those that live." She speaks slowly and more quietly than you would expect, but she doesn't yet have the glacial pace of the old man who received you.
"With that said, even we have seen some cases of this disease. I will take your warning to the Bishop as soon as I leave you, and urge my colleagues to prepare, that I am afraid is all I can do though."
"Are any of you showing symptoms?"
Erik starts as if shocked by the suggestion. "What? I mean, pardon me? No. No no no. We're healthy and hale. And on our way out the door, I believe, now that our message's been delivered. Thank you! Good bye!"
And unless the others top him, Erik leads a quick retreat back out to the streets.
"So. Which temple next? The closest is..?"
Erik taps his chin. "Pantheon of the Many, I believe. In South Shore? How about we stop by there to deliver the good news? By the gods, this is going to be an awfully depressing day."
Hitching his pants up, Erik sets his face and begins leading the party in that direction, unless any of the others object.
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After a few generic mutterings in parting, Pharasma's temple is left behind. Rose doesn't seem too concerned that you may be walking plague bearers, perhaps you convinced her you are clean; Perhaps she's just looking forward to seeing you on your inevitable return.
The Pantheon of the Many goes in a very similar fashion, this time, with the added complication that it isn't one faith with one command structure. You find cleric's of half a dozen religions, some seem more concerned, and take your warning more seriously than others.
Next up is the temple of Asmodeus on The Heights. Towering over the surrounding buildings, the Grand Vault of Abadar offers a vision of divine luxuriance amid a sea of mortal troubles. Radiant, as its grey-veined white marble reflects the midday sun, there’s little question that this place is the house of a god. Yet, for a deity of law, the steep stairs and ramps leading up to the temple’s great bronze doors offer a strangely discordant scene. Dozens of citizens—mostly of the working class, although the silks of a few merchants show through the crowd—throng
the entry, scarcely being held back by a group of gold-armored Abadarian clerics. All seem intent on gaining entry to the temple, but the clerics turn away nearly all comers. The clerics’ reasoning becomes clear as one desperate believer is turned away, his pitiful countenance mottled with violent red sores.
Erik almost chokes with alarm at the sight of the sores, and quickly presses to one side of the staircase, raising his kerchief to cover his mouth. He tries to get a rough estimate of the number of petitioners, and then shakes his head, heart pounding with fear.
"This is bad. This is very, very bad. Our warnings are either too late or just in time."
He turns to glance at his companions. "They clearly already know of the outbreak. Should we hurry on to the next temple? Every minute now clearly counts. And we should send a messenger to the Field Marshall!"
That said, he descends the steps quickly to the street, and tries to find a reliable messenger whom he gives a rolled up parchment with a quickly penned missive on it to the Marshall, warning her of this latest development. A silver coin should help speed the message along.
"Onto the next temple then?"
Gwen pushes ahead among the crowd, screaming at the top of her lungs towards the Abadarian clerics
Basil quickly follows in Gwen's wake, giving the man covered in plague boils as wide a berth as possible.
Borden follows Basil closely, happy to see him near.
Erik slips in right after.
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Gwen moves through the crowd like a scythe though wheat, and although a few look affronted no one is stupid enough to mess with a group of armed and armoured roughians.
As you reach the gold-armoured guards, they move to stop you, but Gwen's use of the name causes them to part and let you through. Behind them you find another relatively chaotic scene, but a young acolyte stops to ask your business and show you to Ishani.
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Within the airy halls of the temple, priests and patrons eye each other and every newcomer with suspicion, and every footfall upon the marble floor echoes through a frightened silence. Finding Ishani is no great problem. He seems to have already reserved a meeting room and waits there for you.
"Thank you for coming. I assume you already suspect my reasons for calling, having seen the crowd outside—poor lot. You recognize the symptoms too, I’m sure. I had hoped that the Soldado case was isolated, but apparently we have a bigger problem on our hands than I’d feared.
"I’m concerned for the city, but also for my brethren here. The morning after my visit to the Soldado home I came to the temple to hear that three of my brothers awoke with similar symptoms, although they had already been healed. I spoke to each, and aside from their usual duties in the temple, none have had any dealings with the sick. Later in the day, more of my brothers—vaultkeepers, guards, and acolytes—developed symptoms, and folk from throughout the city began arriving in search of healing. It’s been more than a little bit frightening. They’re calling the sickness ‘blood veil.’ An apt enough name, I suppose.
"This affliction has spread fast, yet I’m not yet sure how. Most of the patients we’re treating have come from North Point and Old Korvosa. The disease seems to spread fastest through the lower classes. Although we here at the temple can heal some of the ill, I fear that the spread of the disease will soon outpace our resources. The only way to stem the growing infection is to involve all the city’s resources. We need to organize. We need to call upon the faiths of Sarenrae, Pharasma, and even Asmodeus to face this attack. Archbanker Tuttle and several of his assistants are out pursuing alliances with these other faiths, but even that won’t be enough. We need to involve the Korvosan Guard, at the very least. And that’s where you come in—with the number of desperate souls growing, it’s not particularly safe for a priest to walk the streets of Korvosa. I hear that you have a good relationship with Field Marshal Cressida Kroft—perhaps you would be willing to escort me to Citadel Volshyenek to introduce me to her?"
Basil looks at the others, before shrugging.
"Sure, we can probably get you there... I'd recommend dressing in civilian clothes, and putting on a disguise, though; if anyone out there recognises you as a cleric, it would probably start a riot..."
Erik listens gravely, and then gives a quick nod.
"I happen to have a cunning cap that can disguise you as a bland and innocuous halfling or gnome. You'll be able to slip through the streets by our side without any problem."
So saying, he pulls the battered cap out and slips it on so as to give proof to his words, becoming for a moment a red cheeked and aged old halfling before pulling it back off.
"We've already spoken with the Marshall, so she's at least aware of the problem, if not its severity. We've also spoken with the Pharasmans and the Many Faiths. Not enough, to be sure, but it's something."
Basil frowns.
"I think the cap might be a good idea - we are a formidable group, but even we can't hold off a mob forever, and I would prefer to not have to slaughter desperate innocents; please, reconsider using it, just to be on the safe side..."
"Huh, Brother? Just to be clear, we didn't receive any notes from you. Not that it makes any difference anyway. We'll escort you, of course, and I agree that the more disguised you are, the better. Is there any way out of here other than the main entrance?"
A little crestfallen, Erik stows his cap.
"Well, I'm ready to go when you are."
Aye - lets go
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The trip to the citadel is relatively easy once you get away from the temple. There is an air of panic in the city, similar to when the riots broke out, but mostly the crowds are clustered on where they think they will get help and the rest of the streets are fairly clear.
The echoes of forcefully spoken but still just-missed words resound off the imposing granite and iron walls of Citadel Volshyenek’s outer curtain. Dozens of red-and-silver-armored guards stand in assembly upon the pitted stone mustering ground here, mumbling in hushed, somber tones. Before them, atop a weathered wooden platform, paces Field Marshal Kroft, her eyebrows arched sternly as she momentarily tolerates the crowd’s murmurs. Behind her upon the scaffold stand three grizzled veteran guardsmen at attention, as well as an ominous-looking group. These men wear cowled robes of oily-looking leather, supple gloves, and wide black hats. Some grip heavy canes, others dark satchels. Each of them, though, wears a dark-goggled mask tapering to a pointed beak. Among them stand two others. The first is a middleaged gentleman in a simple black overcoat with streaks of white gracing the sides of his short dark hair. He watches the gathered guards with a soft, concerned expression, his hands tightly clasping a heavy-looking doctor’s case. The second figure is an imposing one indeed—a woman dressed in full-plate armour, a longsword and shield at her side, and her blank-faced full helm sporting a bright red plume. The Field Marshal’s fierce tone cuts through the rumble of whispers. "You will escort Doctor Davaulus and his men in their royal duties wherever those might take them. Furthermore, you are to consider orders from any of the queen’s new order of Gray Maidens to be as binding as any superior officer in the Korvosan Guard or Sable Company. You are guardsmen of Korvosa. You will not balk. These are dire times and your city needs these healers. Your city needs you. Your patrol leaders have your assignments. Dismissed!"
Events look like they have caught up with the Field Marshall after all, Borden says with a frown waiting for the press of guards to disperse.
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As the assembly ends, the guardsmen gathered in the courtyard break up into groups, many reporting for various duties while others loiter for a few moments to quietly gripe about their new orders. The armored woman, one of the queen’s aforementioned Gray Maidens, quickly organizes the guards, silencing bickering words with harsh commands and assigning orders for the day. Kroft and her veteran attendants begin to head into the citadel with Dr. Davaulus and his Queen’s Physicians.