Finding the Forest Bounty isn't a difficult prospect. A dozen minute's walk around the periphery of the ramshackle capitol - avoiding the twistiest and most confusing streets - puts the long hall in sight, and another half dozen spent negotiating the bridges and platforms keeping much of the town out of the wetlands gets the party to it without needing to wade or swim.
The building itself is a long hall made of enormous timbers, open to the front and the back and packed with tables and benches. Dozens of patrons are here even at this early hour, though some look as though they may have been here straight through the night. One table carries on a bawdy song, which seems to be met with approval by the rest of the establishment.
A serving maid in an overly flattering dress approaches the group, giggling in a manner suitable for a girl half her age. "You'd be the ones Reginar's looking for," she says in a slightly nasally voice. She directs you to a table on the far side, facing out towards the relatively high and dry road that leads into the forest beyond.
The table is occupied by a single, stout man, wearing brown leathers and a green cloak. A bearskin coat is draped on the chair he sits in and a longbow rests just beside him, propped against the table. He's seated such that he isn't facing the group as they approach, but he turns as soon as he hears them.
His hair is brown and short, though bundled into a small knot at the back of his head. Though he isn't old, his face is quite wrinkled and he has a prominent widows peak. Two scars mar the left side of his face, one cutting deeply into the trim beard he wears and one cutting across his lip. This makes the wide, toothy smile he gives the group a bit unsettling.
"Welcome, friends!" he says, turning his chair to face the table rather than the road. He sweeps his arms out, gesturing to the table, which has a large haunch of roast boar and several dishes of forest vegetables, all more inviting than Puglas' fare. "Please, sit, and eat if you haven't. Our business isn't the kind that should be discussed on an empty stomach!"
With that, the man reaches out to carve a piece of boar for himself and sits back. Before he takes his first bite, he says, "Feel free to ask me anything. I know you seek knowledge of the Living God, but I'm unsure why or to what end. Sometimes the questions are as important as the answers in my line of work."
Garik's eyes go wide at the spread. "Alright! I'm famished!" Garik makes himself at home and grabs a plateful of everything.
Morthos grins broadly.
"This day is getting better and better! I could not agree more - business is always better discussed on a full stomach."
He then pulls up a chair, and starts doing his best to work his way through the mountain of food on the table...
Raven smiled when they walked into the Forest Bounty, taking it all in. This is the kind of tavern Margus and them talk about! With stories and feasts late into the night... the dwarves will like this! Her eyes lit up as they were invited to enjoy their host's lunch selection. She looked at her mates to see if they were as relieved to get some decent food as she was, and caught Telperion's consternation. "Hope you didn't fill up on that awful soup, Telp!" She takes a seat on the opposite side of Reginar and starts loading a plate with small samples of each vegetable, waiting her turn to get a slice of the boar.
Having skipped out on the chance to taste what was apparently a memorable soup at the inn, Amadea sits down and begins eating heartily.
Drosk joins his companions at the table and helps himself to the sumptuous meal. "Our thanks, Reginar. Like Raven said, our breakfast weren't none too good."
"I'll cut t' th' chase," the dwarf priest says in a lowered voice around a mouthful of roast boar. "A band o' th' Livin' God's followers desecrated a crypt near our home an' caused undead t' rise an' kill sev'ral o' our friends. From what we can tell they was lookin' fer an' found somethin' in th' crypt that they took with 'em. Their trail led here. We want t' see 'em brought t' justice an' the items they stole returned."
Garik listens as he chomps down on some boar leg. "Yah! Tuh jushtish!" He says, nodding in agreement with Drosk while he continues to eat.
Garik notices Telperion looking his way. He smiles as he shows him the boar leg he's nearly finished off. A gesture that tells Telperion how he's missing out on some really good food. He then goes back to eating.
Reginar chews thoughtfully for a moment as he considers Drosk's explanation. He swallows, chases it with a quick pull from a skin he produces from under the table, and leans forward.
"As I thought. I knew they sent a sizable band up your way a few months back, and Cygar confirmed it. They arrived back in town 'bout a month ago, scurried straight back to the temple. They weren't all there, though, and I 'magine you probably met those." He spears a tuber of some sort with his fork and regards it thoughtfully. "The temple's probably your best bet, but you aren't likely to find whatever it is they took. About a week ago, another group left, with a tall, blue-robed woman. I can't say I know for sure, but she looked like she might've been the local cult leader. I've only ever seen gray, white, and black before."
He takes a moment to inhale the item on his fork, a fair impression of the ravenous dwarves' feasting. "If you're looking to learn more about the cult - and trust me, you'll need all you can get - you'll find nobody outside it who knows it better'n I do." He gives a surreptitious glance around the room, covered by a grab for a roll. "They've only been here a couple of years and have grown very, very quickly. I know for a fact that a lot of what they call 'proselytizing' is just a cover. They pick pockets, blackmail folk, extortion. It's disgusting." His voice has gotten softer and softer until he's speaking just loud enough to be heard at the far end of the table. "I don't know if they've got somebody in the guard or if the guard's forgot how to do anything but repel Molthuni invasions, but I've personally seem a group of cultists beat this cobbler within an inch of his life, claiming he stole from the temple. The guards on patrol watched it happen." He frowns deeply and stares at his plate.
"I say I know more about them than anybody else, but I still don't know much," he admits, looking back up. "I think our interests are all served if you try to infiltrate the cult. They've got guards - their own and the city's - so sneaking in's too risky, and they don't do public services. They recruit new members out of the Ranger's Lament. The next meeting's tomorrow, if you're game." He appraises the group, waiting for their reaction, the slab of pork on his plate forgotten.
Morthos shrugs.
"Is there any reason we should not simply roll in, and systematically raze their 'temple' to the ground? Removing all of the living members of the cult would seem simpler than infiltrating it. I dare say Dwarves are not common members, after all..."
"Infiltrate? That sounds as though it would require a great deal of deceit. I do not like he sound of that plan. While I don't care much for the idea of just attacking them either, as Morthos suggests, there must be other options as well."
"Um, yeah...", Raven glances over at Telperion. "I'm not sure we can pull off something so deceptive..." She answers Morthos, "... and if they've got the guard, which seems to be the case," she looks to Drosk to back her up, considering the glowing endorsement that the Marshall had given the cult the night before, "we'll just end up in jail, and probably executed, if we assault them." She turns back to Reginar: "Do you have any guess where the blue-robed woman was headed? Do they have any temples or churches in any towns in that direction?"
Reginar stares at Morthos as the group discusses alternate ideas. Once they're done, he gives a hearty laugh. "I like your style, master dwarf!" His face again contorts into that slightly-offputting scarred smile. "I think everybody'd be better off if we could do just that, but as this miss says, it'd be a suicide mission."
He shakes his head at Raven's query. "They left on a boat, so they could be headed for anywhere on Lake Encarthan. The whole thing was sudden and quiet, and their group was much smaller than the one that went to Kassen. For all I know, it's completely unrelated," he says with a shrug. "Could just be a delegation going back to Razmiran. The timing's got me suspicious, though."
Reginar regards Amalthea. "I won't lie, this is a risky plan." He looks at each member of the group in turn, his brow furrowed. "And no offense, but I do hate to put such young folks in harm's way. But I can't really think of much else you can do. You need inside information, and you sure as hell won't be getting help from the guard or by asking them nicely. If you're lucky, you might even get damning proof of their misdeeds."
He leans back, a tone of disappointment creeping into his voice. "I understand if you don't think you can do it. But if you can't, I'm afraid I've been all the help I can."
As Garik finishes off the last of his meal, "I think we can do it. Why not? Do any o' us have a better idea? Not me. And what better way ta find those responsible, than ta become one o' them. Think o' how fantastic it'd be once we pop up and say, 'Gotcha!'" He nods enthusiastically at the thought. "Now how's that sayin' go?" Garik scratches the back of his head. "'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer', I think? Wise sayin' is all I be sayin'." He shrugs.
"I do not like lying. And what if they ask us to do something evil to prove our loyalty?"
"We could always crack their skulls," Morthos says hopefully.
"Besides, I doubt that they would let me keep me axe, or me stout; and only death gets between this Dwarf, and either of those!"
"I do not like lying. And what if they ask us to do something evil to prove our loyalty?"
"Well, they're pretending to be a positive influence in the community, so I'd think it'd be a while before they show off their evil colors to new recruits. If we do try to join, we'd be claiming that we'd like to find out more about the Living God because we admire the church's good works. You can be honest about wanting to 'work with an organization that does good works in the community', right?"
"But maybe we don't all have to join. Those of us who are more... flexible can join first. Especially if they're actively recruiting... maybe the way to advance early is to bring in more new recruits. The first recruits can 'introduce' the others as their recruits later to gain some more trust and maybe more access to the real workings."
Reginar gives Amadea a quizzical look and then flashes the sincerest smile he can given his slight disfigurement. "That's admirable, miss, but you'll find it hard to get by in this world if you don't bend the truth a bit." He takes a moment to mull over Raven's commentary and adds, "I don't know how they treat new recruits, and I'm reluctant to make any assumptions with these bastards. If they ask you to do somethin' you can't, then don't - so long as they don't kick you out outright, you'll eventually get a chance to gather information even if you're on their s~~@-list."
"A good deception is built on the truth, and this is the best damn chance you'll get to end their evil and maybe even find out just why the city guard's turning a blind eye. Isn't that worth it?"
Settling back with a sigh, he regards Raven. "If you really don't wanna do it, her idea's a good one," he says with a nod to the sorceress. "If the recruits have enough freedom, having someone close but outside might help to pass on information."
"We could always crack their skulls," Morthos says hopefully.
Garik laughs, 'Crack their skulls', that's a good one! And it sounds like a bit o' fun, too!"
Reginar gives Amadea a quizzical look and then flashes the sincerest smile he can given his slight disfigurement. "That's admirable, miss, but you'll find it hard to get by in this world if you don't bend the truth a bit." He takes a moment to mull over Raven's commentary and adds, "I don't know how they treat new recruits, and I'm reluctant to make any assumptions with these bastards. If they ask you to do somethin' you can't, then don't - so long as they don't kick you out outright, you'll eventually get a chance to gather information even if you're on their s*#$-list."
"A good deception is built on the truth, and this is the best damn chance you'll get to end their evil and maybe even find out just why the city guard's turning a blind eye. Isn't that worth it?"
Settling back with a sigh, he regards Raven. "If you really don't wanna do it, her idea's a good one," he says with a nod to the sorceress. "If the recruits have enough freedom, having someone close but outside might help to pass on information."
"Aye!" Garik agrees wholeheartedly, a big smile on his disfigured face. "It's worth it ta me! I'm in. I'll do it. I got no problem with lyin' if it'll help bring this lot ta justice." He winks as he crosses his arms and sits back against his chair quite proudly.
Drosk listens quietly but intently as his companions and Reginar discuss their options for infiltrating the Razmirans.
"I'm thinkin' I'm likin' Raven's plan," the dwarf priest announces after careful consideration. "At th' least we can approach 'em an' tell 'em we'd like t' learn more about 'em since we've heard o' all th' good they've been doin'. Not sure if Amadea or I could pretend t' join 'em, though - feels like we'd be betrayin' our own gods if we tried. An' t' be honest, I can't see 'em acceptin' us if they knew we was devoted t' other gods."
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Raven has a good view on where non-honesty can be used in service of the good., Telperion began, showing the strange confidence that presaged a dissertation.
As the legal scholar Elepho Celebrindas argued: there is an inherent difference between the lies of criminals and the well-meaning deceit of those who would uphold law and the good. As long as the righteous neither entrap their prey, nor use their deceit to exploit for their own gain, then their actions must be described as moral. "For to do otherwise is to deny the fact that the world is full of those who would hide their evil from justice. And denying facts is to perpetrate a greater insult to truth and honesty than a few temporary, inquisitive deceits."
He stopped and looked around at the others with a smile, happily waiting to field any related philosophical questions.
"I ain't worried 'bout entrappin' or exploitin' th' Razmirans," Drosk says, arms crossed and clearly unswayed by Telperion's argument. "I'd feel like I was betrayin' Torag if I tried t' join up as a follower o' th' Livin' God."
Raven considers the caution from Reginar of not making assumptions, and thinks she gets the gist of Telperion's reference. Or, at least to her, it makes her think that whether lying is necessarily right or wrong depends on who you're lying to. Raven had never been beholden to honesty, but she had always figured the rightness or wrongness depended on what you're lying about. Maybe she'd have to talk to Telp about it later. But it gave her a different idea when Drosk voiced his concern.
"You're not really joining the cult, though, Drosk. Does Torag have anything against lying, in itself? He'll know you weren't honestly joining the cult, just as we all would."
She turns to Amadea, suspecting she has a similar objection. "And Erastil's the patron of hunters. I see hunters all the time using camouflage to stay hidden from their prey, so I know he doesn't object to using deceit. Think of 'joining' the cult as your camouflage."
"I do not think I am well suited to doing this. I can 'camouflage' myself perhaps, yes, but camouflage is based being overlooked, not outright falsehood. I'll take no oaths, and speak no betrayal. I might stomach telling them I wish to learn about their religion, or that I have come seeking knowledge, but if discovered I'll fight before betraying Erastil."
Bolkin listened in on the conversation as the group argued about infiltrating the cult. He eventually spoke up, "I sorta agree with Raven's plan. Even if you all force yourselves to go, it might be a problem if you're not completely committed." After a brief moment of pondering a solution, he continued, "You think the town guard might be up to something, right? Maybe our more conscientious comrades can work their way into there. As for me, I've certainly got the job experience, but really, how many more chances am I going to get to infiltrate an evil cult? I hope at the very least I get to wear an ominous robe."
Morthos sighs in resignation.
"I still be thinkin' that this be a bad idea; they will probably pick that there is somethin' a tad... off... with some of us right from the get go. However, I will not abandon Drosk and Garik; their Father would have me head if I tried."
He then grins.
"I just pity de poor fool who be trying to get between me 'n' my axe and ale!"
"If we are going to do this, we'd best be about it!"
"I do not think I am well suited to doing this. I can 'camouflage' myself perhaps, yes, but camouflage is based being overlooked, not outright falsehood. I'll take no oaths, and speak no betrayal. I might stomach telling them I wish to learn about their religion, or that I have come seeking knowledge, but if discovered I'll fight before betraying Erastil."
"Actually, now's I think about it Raven's gotta point about it bein' in Ol' Deadeye's interests t' infiltrate th' Razmirans. Father Prasst taught me that Ol' Deadeye protects th' community. Seems t' me th' Razmirans are a big threat t' th' community o' this city," Drosk says to Amadea. "Maybe Erastil sent ye here just fer this purpose - look at it as another kind o' test o' yer skills as one o' His hunters."
"Now me? I'm just a lowly mercenary with some weaponsmithin' skills. Maybe th' Razmirans would have need o' me skills? But I ain't worshippin' their god."
Reginar gives another wide, slightly unsettling smile, the scar tissue stretching along the left side of his face. "Well, then, I suppose it's settled. I, for one, will thank you, and hopefully the whole city will be better off for your efforts."
As the group finishes their meal, Reginar tells them a bit more about the layout of the city, the locals, and a few hunting stories of his own. When things are done, he advises the group to be wary in all they do.
-
The appointed time comes, shortly after the lunch hour, and the group arrives outside the Ranger's Lament. The Chosen might recognize the name from a handbill they uncovered on the plunderers of Kassen's tomb, the closest to direct proof of the cult's wrongdoing they've got, though it remains circumstantial.
The Ranger’s Lament is a simple establishment, sitting in the shadow of the Temple to Razmir (likely literally, in the evening hours). Made from solid wood timbers, the one-story building is comprised primarily of a large common room, with a bar and a kitchen off to one side. Although open for business, very few people appear to be inside, despite the fact that many of the other local establishments seem quite full.
A pudgy middle-aged man tends the bar, his face scrunched up as he polishes some glasses. Catching sight of the large group, he nods. "Take any seat in the house," he says, throwing an arm wide and smirking. The tavern is, at this juncture, completely empty. "Meetin' should be held shortly."
A few minutes after the party has seated themselves, another person comes in, a very lithe man with elven features. He looks particularly disheveled and dirty, even for the sometimes-shabby streets of Tamran. Without a word, he glowers at the party a moment before taking a seat in a corner.
Raven nods toward a couple tables in the back, thinking it wouldn't help to seem too eager, and would be more in character for the party to seem a little aloof. She recalled a rare piece of advice her father gave her: "Men don't like women who seem too eager... well, we like them, but we don't respect them..." At which point, he seemed to forget about her, which was more in his character, as he got lost in his thoughts, or maybe fond memories of eager women. Though Raven was far too young to hear such advice, it had stuck with her.
She presented no reaction to the surly elf or half-elf.
After the newcomer comes in Drosk walks over to the bar. "Barkeep? A mug o' ale fer ev'ryone here!" the dwarf says, placing five silver coins on the bar's surface. "An' pour yerself one, too. Here's t' better fortunes fer us all!"
Drosk gathers up the mugs of ale and carries them to his companions, and then offers one to the newcomer with elven features. "Join us fer a drink, lad!" the dwarf invites in a friendly tone. "Are ye lookin' t' join up with th' followers o' th' Livin' God too?" he asks.
The barkeeper gives Drosk a crooked grin, head bobbing affirmatively as he sets about filling mugs. Once it's done he retires to a stool to enjoy his own drink, and watches the goings-on with some interest.
The half-elf stares at Drosk for a long moment, his face locked somewhere between scowl and grimace. He swallows hard before standing up and crossing to Drosk's table, pulling up a chair.
"Yuh," he replies to the cleric. He reaches a hand out for the unattended mug, slowly but surely, and pulling it to himself quickly once it's in his grasp. The half-elf takes a long pull, then sighs briefly before taking another swig. He seems to be enjoying the rather cheap brew far more than he should, though the dwarves know full well there's no accounting for taste.
Realizing that maybe Drosk expected more than a one-word answer, he looks aside, carefully avoiding eye contact, before offering a brief explanation. "Could use a good roof over my head." He takes a moment to look at everyone, eyes lingering on some of the party's finer possessions, before adding, "What're you doing joining 'em?" His tone makes the words seem almost accusatory, and his face is still scrunched up into that unpleasant scowl-grimace.
Garik smiles. "Thanks, Drosk!" He takes his mug and drinks it heartily as he listens to the conversation.
Raven tries to channel Amadea's optimistic naivete. She opens her bag, and digs into it briefly as she answers: "Well, we're not sure if we're joining them yet. But we've heard they do good works for the community, and that appeals to us." Discreetly, she lays her hand flat on the table, and lifts from her chair as she slides her hand across the table to a place in front of the apparently impoverished man. She lifts her hand to reveal a gold piece beneath, and sits back down on her chair. "I don't want to discourage you from staying and hearing about the church - the more people doing good, the better - but I can help you get a roof, at least for a few days." She explains their generosity with a nearly apologetic tone: "We were fortunate enough to get the better of some assailants recently, and apparently there was a sizable reward from the Marshall's office for their arrest." Her voice regains a chipper tone as she finishes, "The Marshall is the one who recommended the church to us!"
"I'm Drosk, by th' way. Drosk Ironhame" the dwarf priest says, offering his hand to shake with the half-elf. "Pleased t' meet ye!"
Bolkin casually took a seat at a different table from the others, figuring they (or at the very least, he) would draw less suspicion if they weren't obviously banded together. He pretended not to notice as the other individual came in, instead focusing on drinking his ale. The way he thought it, he wouldn't have trouble blending in if the others were as boorish-looking at this fellow was.
It wasn't until the others began engaging him in conversation that he finally looked away from his drink for more than a brief instant and spoke up, "If you wanna know, I figured this was the chance for nobodies to get together and become somebody. I was sick of toiling away in the middle of nowhere for no reason but to live, so I saved up, made my way here, and now here I am." Bolkin wasn't speaking entirely in falsehood; life in Kassen had recently started to bore him. Of course, he would almost certainly hate working here for the rest of his life as well, but he figured it at least made a convincing tale.
Amadea turns to the stranger and addresses him somewhat woodenly, "I am Amadea. I have come here, amongst other things, to learn more about the Living God. I wish to know who and what he is, and what motivates his followers to do the things we have heard about." she nods at Raven as if to add her comment to hers about 'good works.'
Amadea leave the statement at that, realizing that while completely true, it was ambiguous enough to be taken as genuine interest or even praise. She turned her head slightly this way and that, trying to take in the whole of the place and get a feel of their new companion. She held the mug of cheep ale, but after barely more than a sniff, did little more than hold it.
The half-elf, eyes Raven's gold piece warily before reaching out to palm it, examine it briefly, then thrust it into his pocket. He takes another sip of ale before eying Raven, his scowl faltering a little for a moment. "Kind of you to share your good fortune," he says by way of thanks. "I'm Evlar," he adds, nodding to Drosk and Amadea.
With Bolkin's reply he starts to animate a little more, his movements becoming less nervous. "Yeah, yeah!" he agrees. "My pa was always sayin' the Razmirans're just preachy bullies, but they're somebody, huh? Maybe a little off and odd, but they've done a damn sight more for this city than anyone else has in a long time." He takes a moment to catch his breath, and for the first time smiles, at Raven. He turns to Bolkin and raises his mug. "To bein' somebody, huh?" He drains his own mug before looking to Amadea and Raven and adding, "And, uh, good works, I guess."
The group spends a while longer chatting, and Evlar opens up. He shares that he's been on the streets for two weeks after a fight between him and his human father. As he continues, it becomes clear that he has really worked himself up about the prospect of being a part of something bigger than himself. It isn't long until six figures enter the bar, faces hidden bend stern, steel-gray masks. Three wear white robes, two gray, and the man at the fore wears black. They look about the room, confer a moment, and cross to a raised platform. The three white-clad cultists stand in front of it while the black-clad leader takes center stage, flanked on each side by a gray-robed man.
After stepping up onto the stage, the figure in the black robes turns to the audience - still consisting only of the Kassenites and Evlar - his face hidden behind an iron mask. With a strong voice, he calls out, “You have come here to seek the power and glory of Razmir, and I am here to tell you that he has found you worthy!”
At that, all of the other priests chant in one voice, “All praise the Living God!”
“He is proud of you,” the black-robed figure continues, “for taking this, the first of 31 steps to enlightenment, the path of righteousness, the stairs to power and glory. Razmir is the one true god. What other god so richly rewards those who follow him? What other god lives among his people, guiding them with his wisdom and his might? What other god can lead you to true salvation? None of them! Only Razmir can offer you the power, the fortune, and the glory that you desire. Will you join him?”
He folds his arms and waits for an answer. Evlar is quick to cheer his assent, and looks expectantly at his new companions.
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Telperion stood dumbfounded and gaping at the black-robed figure’s words. The rhetorical style triggered a massive wave of questions, hypotheses, conjectures and rebuttals in the elf’s mind.
’One true’? What does that mean? How can he know this? What could one do to prove it? But surely he can imagine that other believers feel… Is Razmir bribing potential followers....? But isn’t the daily reward of divine magical power itself a form of bribery, or perhaps another sort of behavior modification…
While most of his mental self was helpless against the rising onslaught of his own thought, a small portion remained tugging at his consciousness, trying to keep him in the moment.
Don’t. Say. Anything! it whispered to him urgently, but with kindness. It seemed to use Raven’s voice.
Garik looks around at the others and decides to jump out there. Rising from his chair, "Here, here! I'll drink to power and glory and... um... whatever else you said! Where do I sign up to take all those other steps?!" He looks to Morthos and Drosk, smiling as if he done good.
"Well now, that's all very interestin'" Drosk says in a pleasant tone. "Most o' us 're from way out in the country, an' we've only just gotten into town. We heard from th' magistrate that ye all've been doin' a lot o' good here in th' city, an' we thought we'd come t' learn more about ye - see if ye'd be interested in havin' us join up with ye. Sounds like ye are. Why don't ye gents pull up a chair and let us buy ye a drink an' ye can tell us more 'bout all th' good things we can do together fer th' people o' this fine city?"
Raven slid her bracers off under the table when the Razmirites came in, since they might be as standard issue as the masks. She slid them into the bag of holding when Evlar drew their attention.
Though initially horrified when Garik stood up, she realized that his and Evlar's words were probably exactly the kind of reaction they were looking for. Drosk's words, on the other hand, were probably not. She hoped she could save the deception.
As she stands, Raven looks at Evlar with a look of sympathy and understanding, trying to act as if she's gained some new enlightenment, before returning her gaze to the cultists. "I guess it's hard to make the world a better place without the power and resources. I will join. How about you, Telp...erion?" She realized at the last second that she didn't want to invite the cultists or Evlar to use her taunting nickname for her friend. She looked to Telperion with wide eyes, and nodded her head slowly and subtly. Just say, "yes," just say, "yes"...
The cultists reactions are difficult to read, although it's easy assumed by the bobbing of heads that Raven's initial thought is correct.
Bolkin and Morthos both manage to give a hearty cheer of "Yes!", and Amadea curtly agrees with Drosk.
The black-robed cultist steps down, and with his head angled such that the dull iron eyes of his mask look at Drosk, says "There is no need for you to spend your own coin, when it is your service we seek! I insist, the Temple will pay for your repast! Rolen, your finest wines, and your stoutest ales! And a sampling of all you have in your larder!"
"I am Egarthis," he says as he takes a seat amongst the collected PCs. "Your decision is a wise one, especially if you seek to help the fine people of Tamran. Please, eat your fill, and I will tell you of our good works..."
The other cultists quickly move to take seats amongst the companions, and are quick to share, quite animatedly, the good that has been done for the city. Alms for the poor, gathered during the daily sermons outside the temple, their involvement with the merchant's association that assures all tradesmen in the city can make the most of their labor, and their constant donations of funds and labor to the city for the repair or rebuilding of damage inflicted in the periodic Molthuni raids.
Rolen, the barkeeper, is quick to push his food and drink out, insisting each of the companions eat their fill. The dwarves are pleased to find the man does have some good ale, and Telperion notes a few of the wines are of elven vintage. There's an almost bewildering away of bread, cheeses, and forest vegetables, a pig nearly as big as Reginar's from the day before, and no shortage of roast fowl as well.
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Telperion sat watching, worriedly, as the feast was set out. No more fish stew, I hope, he thought with dread, and eyed each dish carefully.
Good, no stew. Wait, I should listen to what those cultists are saying, it might be important. Oooo, those wines look good, what's on the label? No, listen, they're talking. But they're not eating. They're paying, so they should eat first. Or maybe that's just how I was raised. Are things different in Tamran? Or within this church? Maybe they're just talking for now and they'll eat later. No, they're just picking.
These thoughts continued and he turned theories and hypotheses over and over in his head while only flicking his food around with his fork. Eventually it all bubbled over Telperion's desire to stay quiet, like forgotten soup in too small a pot.
Why did you bring so much food if you're eating so little of it?