"Thank you, Berta." She uses one of her last remaining spells to heal herself, then taps each of the rescuees once with the wand.
She looks at the old man. "Gork, are you okay to walk? We will get you somewhere safe where you can get a hot meal and a hotter bath."
Andakos nods to Berta. "I think we need a rest before we can return. I hate to give Rolth time to rebuild his defenses but we are running on fumes."
He turns to the rescued prisoners. "Stay close and try to be quiet. We will get you out of here."
Gork doesn't look like he's able to walk on his own, but between the party, they're able to give him enough support to get him and the others out. The closest place of real safety is the Grand Cathedral. A pair of very surprised acolytes greet you when you enter the hallowed grounds, and offer to take the rescued people off your hands and clean them up.
Tati pipes up. "I ain't letting this happen again. Straight and narrow for me all the way. The way that monster manhandled us..." She shudders. "Never again. I don't have anything on me to thank you with, but I'll repay you somehow. I promise."
Andakos thanks the acolytes. He tells them about the undead and carrion golems they fought and the state in which they found the rescuees. He explains that they haven't yet found Rolth but they cannot continue until tomorrow. He asks (punctuating the request with five gold pieces) if the temple can assign a couple of people to keep an eye on the entrance but warns that it is still very dangerous and not to approach or enter.
At Tati's proclamation, he replies, "I appreciate the thought, but payment is unnecessary. We have a vested interest in stopping this necromancer; I am just glad we got to you in time." He stops and thinks for a moment. "Actually... if you are looking for 'straight and narrow' work, the Citadel is in desperate need of help right now. You aren't in any shape" -- he nods to her busted arm -- "to join the guard, but surely the Field Marshal could use a hand in the office. We are headed to the Citadel now; if you are interested, I will mention it to her."
Golloriel looks on in admiration as Andakos handles the situation. At first, he seemed unsure about taking the lead, but he adjusted to the role quite quickly.
As they walk back to the Citadel, her mind begins to wander back to the Temple of Sarenrae and Mother Fatia. She wonders if Fatia will help her in her goal of pursuing a paladinship. She wonders if she will have the time to complete the required training while also working for the Citadel. Then she begins to worry that she won't.
She looks at her father, whose face is as impassive as ever. She wishes she could get inside his head; he is so hard to read. She wonders how pursuing her goal will affect her relationship with him. She loves him, but they have lived his life for all of her twenty-eight years; it is past time for her to start living hers.
Caladaer walks through the streets, feeling the weight of the book in his pack. All he can think about is when he will get some time by himself so that he can start reading it.
He notices Lori looking at him and gives her a little smile.
Tati's face pales at the mention of the Citadel. "Uh. Let me think about it. I ain't too ashamed to say, some o' them guards know me on a first-name basis. Know what I mean? But I'll think about it." She heads to the Cathedral with the other rescuees to get food and a bed. Despite being younger and marginally healthier than the other two, she definitely does not look like a bed is a regular occurrence for her.
You arrive at Volshyenek soon after; the fact that you're unmolested on your trip speaks either to your luck or your (or at least Andakos') continued efforts to quell the chaos and rioting in the city--perhaps both.
Kroft looks up from her paperwork with mild surprise. "Back already. Were you successful?"
Andakos smiles at Tati. "Understood. We will come and check on you in the morning on our way back to the crypt. Rest up and get well."
----
Andakos shoots a glance at Berta before speaking. "Partially, Field Marshal. We found Rolth's crypt and explored a large portion of it. We encountered skeletons and carrion golems made from the body parts of many different humanoids. Among the body parts, we found Gaekhen's head and an arm." He hesitates for a moment, remembering the horrors of the golems. "We found a large library of necromantic texts but opted to collect them once we completed our task. Before we left, we found three of Rolth's living prisoners guarded by an ogrekin. We killed the ogrekin and freed the prisoners. We escorted them to the Grand Cathedral, where they are recovering. We found no sign of Rolth, other than his experiments, but there are still areas of the crypt left to explore. Our spellcasters need rest before we can return."
Kroft nods. "I figured finishing this task in a day would be a long shot. If Rolth is down there, it sounds like this is a pretty well-established operation, so hopefully he'll stick around. If nothing else, the rest of Gaekhen's body will likely still be there in the morning, and that is priority one. Good work, all of you. Go get some rest, and return to the Warrens in the morning. Dismissed."
She immediately goes back to her paperwork. The thought enters your mind that you've never actually seen Kroft outside this office. When does she sleep? Does she sleep? The bags under her eyes suggests maybe not.
Andakos nods, then leads the others out of the room. "It is still pretty early, so I'm going to spend some time experimenting with my hybridization funnel. Do you want to meet for dinner?"
Golloriel shakes her head. "Thank you, but we have already accepted a dinner invitation at the Temple of Sarenrae. Perhaps tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow it is, then. Knowing me, I will probably get distracted and work straight through dinner anyway." He turns to head to his bunk; he has enough materials to work with because of what they found in the crypt, so he doesn't need to risk heading home. "We will meet here tomorrow at dawn, have breakfast in the mess, then go finish the job."
Golloriel leads her father back to the temple. She tries to talk to him, but he is in one of his introspective moods; she knows better than to continue to frustrate herself trying to get two words out of him.
Besides, she will have plenty of new people to speak with tonight at dinner! What should she wear?
Caladaer walks in silence, the book in his pack dominating his every thought. He isn't sure why but he suspects he is simply eager to learn about a school of magic that is oddly missing from his current expertise. He doesn't remember his training so he doesn't know why, but he intends to remedy the gap. Surely if he'd found a book on enchantment magic, he'd be every bit as excited to learn it; enchantments are as conspicuously missing from his knowledge as necromancy is.
In any case, he intends to plead weariness as an excuse to skip dinner (not that he would enjoy a meal with these religious types anyway) and begin his study.
Andakos heads to the Citadel's alchemy lab to play with his new toy equipment. Though woefully understocked, he grabbed enough components to try a few basic experiments and put the hybridization funnel through its paces.
An acolyte greets the Eglens upon their return to the House of Dawn, a twitchy, talkative young halfling woman named Etune. She natters nonstop as she leads you toward the kitchens. "You are early for dinner miss, sir. We will not be gathering for some hours. You are free to make yourselves something to tide you over in the interim! Surprisingly good cutlet of ham still left over. Proper meat's been hard to come by the last few weeks, but the merchant embargoes are slowly lifting. Brother Xavier just found a hog yesterday and we surprisingly had leftovers after visiting the Shingles! Might want to sneak in a sandwich before it's gone. Initiate Stefano is a fabulous cook, he'll be making tonight's dinner. He makes a stone soup that frankly should not be possible, it's so good. And it's just potatoes and a couple veggies. Crazy! You can sit by me if you like, nobody seems to want to. I guess it's cause I talk so much. I just really like talking to people! They have so many stories and weird stuff like scars and scroll tubes and funny-shaped floating rocks that I can't pronounce the names of. And they find them on adventures! I've always wanted to go on an adventure. Well, I sort of had one this one time, though not really. I fell down a well, and there was a cave at the bottom and I went in and"
It does not stop. At all.
Golloriel is delighted by Etune. She spends the next few hours chatting with her and finding out everything she can about the temple and the people who work and live there.
Caladaer grabs a few things to eat (without really even paying attention to what he is taking) and takes advantage of Lori's distraction to slip away to his room. Once there, he pulls out the book and, heart thumping in his chest, begins to read.
Andakos sits down and pulls out the funnel. He read about these at the Acadamae and had even heard that they had some available for experimentation, but he had never had the chance to use one. As far as he remembers, however, they are relatively simple to use; the magic they are infused with does most of the work, and the alchemist is just there to ensure that the mixture stays stable throughout the process. You can't just dump an alchemist's fire and a vial of acid into the thing and expect it to work. Perhaps there is magic that could make that happen, but he imagines it would cost much more than a couple hundred gold.
Thankfully, he has a bit of a surplus of acid flasks on hand. He only has two alchemist's fires and two liquid ice vials, though, so he doesn't have much of an opportunity to screw up. Although... he supposes he could run out and pick up some more; even with the unrest in the city, simple alchemical items like this should be available. They may even have some in the armory here.
He has also heard that it is possible to mix a holy water in with more traditional alchemical weapons. It is a more delicate process, so he thinks he will try it after he has a bit more experience with the funnel; that being said, an alchemist's holy fire sure sounds like it would be useful against a necromancer...
Bah. Gotta run before you can walk.
He grabs an acid flask and an alchemist's fire and gets to work. He momentarily wishes he had prepared different extracts today; he has one that focuses his mind specifically on crafting. It really is quite the experience.
Stop stalling!
Okay. Let's go.
Andakos holds up his new creation and admires it: The Firacid! The... Acire! Um. We'll work on the name.
Andakos wakes up from a fugue state wearing jogging shorts and sweatbands, his hair in a mullet and vague recollections of power ballads drifting in and out of his conscious and unconscious memory, holding a strange new alchemical mixture.
Shady wizard is shady.
Golloriel is welcomed to the table with a great deal of enthusiasm from nearly all the clergy. Aside from Mother Fatia, you learn the names of several other people. It turns out Initiate Stefano is an immigrant from Ustalav, where he grew up studying taxidermy under his father. Having no interest in that line of work, he felt a calling to the church and found Pharasma's folk (very commonplace in Ustalav) too dour, so he went on a pilgrimage and found himself here last month.
True to Etune's word, Initiate Stefano's stone soup is shockingly tasty, and accompanied by fresh-baked bread (however, there are no spreads for the bread, even butter). There are some twenty-two people at the table aside from Golloriel, with two absent (Brother Loch and Sister Laney are currently on patrol in the neighborhood, keeping an eye out for looters and tending to any wounded they find).
At the head of the table sits Mother Fatia herself. She places you at her left hand as a guest of honor and to welcome you to the church; across from you to Fatia's right is the austere paladin, whom Fatia introduces as Captain Talia Brokenev, captain of the local Sarenite militant branch, who are colloquially referred to as the "Dawnbreakers."
You get a lot of names thrown at you throughout the dinner, but you try to remember as many as you can.
You do become familiar with a few of them, including Brother Valdur who sits to your left; everyone continually jokingly refers to him as "m'lord"; you soon learn it's in fact his proper honorific, as he is head of House Bromathan, a relatively minor noble house in Korvosa.
Across from Valdur is a roguish looking tiefling who is almost as chatty as Etune, but with a significantly better flair for storytelling. He spends a good deal of the meal regaling you with tall tales about his youth in the local thieves' guild, the Cerulean Society, most of which end with, "--and then I found five gold pieces!" to which half the table erupts with laughter. What inside meaning the phrase must have, you can't quite suss out.
There are over a dozen others, but the more important names you do your best to remember are Father Albain (the elderly human church administrator who handles land taxes, tithes, and the like), Sister Rihanith (a stunning half-orc cleric who leads the soup kitchen efforts in the city, primarily in the Shingles), and the other Dawnbreakers who, aside from Brother Loch, are all present: Brother Ephraim , Sister Caliban , Sister Morrigan , Brother Krok , and surprisingly, a very quiet svirfneblin named Brother Sicks .
Golloriel has the time of her life. There is no doubt in her mind that these are her people; traveling with her father is fine, and she loves him completely, but ... this. This is where she belongs.
There is probably a difficult conversation with dear old dad coming up.
She starts to let her mind wander to that inevitability, but tears herself back to the present moment. She listens, and laughs, and tries desperately to remember everyone's names. The paladins' stories in particular are fascinating to her.
She finally works up the courage to tell a story of her own, and speaks up as soon as there is a rare lull in conversation. She talks about the horrors they saw (and fought!) in the crypt, focusing as much as she can on her personal contributions to the fights and trying to catch the eyes of the paladins to see if they are listening. She talks about the nasty disease that Berta contracted fro... oh shit! We needed to get Berta to a temple! She makes a mental note to make sure they take care of that before they go back tomorrow.
As the meal continues, she wonders what her father is doing. She knows he would hate this and so a part of her is glad he didn't come; she would have been worried about him the whole time and probably would have left before she wanted to just to appease him. She feels that familiar guilt start to creep in, but something about these people helps her suppress it. There is nothing wrong with her doing what she wants to do, and her father is a grown adult.
She puts it out of her mind for good and gets herself another glass of wine.
Cal only realizes that it must be dinner time by his growling stomach. He has absolutely no interest in leaving his room, so he chokes down a trail ration from his pack.
This book is ... different. Curiously, he finds that he has to reread passages several times. His memory is normally near-eidetic, so the fact that he can't even remember what he just read is troublesome to him. The individual words make sense to him, but something about the whole makes his normal laser focus fuzzy and blurred. He waves a hand over the book, looking for a magical aura that could explain this effect on him, but the book is mundane.
There is an itch in the back of his mind, something that he feels he learned long ago to explain what is happening. He hates that he can't remember his training.
After over eight hours with the book, he still hasn't even gotten through a quarter of it. He slams it shut in frustration and returns it to his pack, then pulls out his spellbook and thinks about which spells may be helpful for tomorrow. They will likely be facing a necromancer who almost certainly will have had time to prepare for them. Not much is more dangerous than a prepared wizard; luckily for his companions, he will also be a prepared wizard.
Without having slept, he even has a bit of trouble focusing on his own spells, but he spends the time to think about what could be useful. There are still two charges on the magic missile wand; not much is more annoying to a wizard than a couple of unerring missile of pure force to the face. Protection from evil could be useful if the necromancer has minions... which he almost certainly will. Ah... glitterdust. A blind wizard is a neutered wizard.
He starts to feel the headache creep across the back of his skull and knows that it won't be long until it is a full blown migraine if he continues. He reluctantly puts his spellbook away and falls asleep immediately.
Andakos pulls out another acid flask. The fire-acid mixture was surprisingly easy to make; this funnel really is something. He has a surplus of holy water and acid. It really wouldn't be disastrous if he failed at this, but the possible reward could be huge.
Screw it.
He cleans out the funnel and sets up to try again, knowing that the holy water must be perfectly decanted into the funnel. There is no room for error.
The holy water reacts with the acid too strongly and emits a cloud of toxic smoke out of the top of the funnel. Andakos has to get everyone out of the barracks until the cloud dissipates.
He got too cocky. He should save the harder mixtures for when he has time to prepare the correct extracts.... like tomorrow morning! It only takes ten minutes to use the funnel.
Mind made up, he stows all of his gear, apologizes profusely to everyone he made vomit, and heads off to bed.
Andakos sends everyone stumbling out of the barracks dry-heaving, with the exception of one brave--or, more likely, masochistic--gnome who has never vomited before and is positively enthusiastic about the experience; she manages to barf four times in the fumes before her coworkers drag her unconscious body out. Once she comes to, they give her a real earful; Kroft puts her on Wall Duty for the next week as punishment, to which she groans dramatically. For Andakos, the commander simply sighs exasperatedly and shakes her head.
***
Caladaer's migraine creeps into his sleep. Visions of cold hands, blue and clammy from death, tearing off the top of his skull and grasping his exposed brain, and just... squeezing... A voice, a woman's voice, whispers, "She will leave you," and the squeezing intensifies, to the point where it wakes him up, his heart racing and his palms sweaty. Eventually he manages to drift back off into blessedly dreamless sleep.
***
As the dinner begins to wind down, Fatia clears her throat, "Talia, Miss Eglen has expressed an interest in training to become a paladin. She certainly has an interesting skillset already, one that I daresay might harmonize well with the paladin's. What say you?"
Captain Brokenev gives Golloriel a long, appraising glance. She gets the distinct impression the captain is less than impressed with what she sees. After an uncomfortable silence, she says in a thick Ustalavic accent, "Being a paladin is not about our abilities. It is not 'neat tricks' that look especially fancy together. It is a lifestyle. It is a code that must be strictly adhered to. The vow to uphold the code is not a bargain; the gifts Sarenrae give us in return are secondary to the task for which we dedicate our lives and deaths. Her life upon taking up the Code will never be an easy one; all others will come before herself from that point on. It is not a choice for the faint of heart."
Mother Fatia looks somewhat exasperated. "Yes, Captain, she is aware of the solemnity of the paladin's vows, I am sure."
Captain Brokenev doesn't look away from Golloriel; her eyes are fixed on hers. "No, she does not. She cannot. The true weight of the vows is lost on every one of us until well into our vigil. But that is part of the sacrifice."
Mother Fatia is clearly doing her best not to roll her eyes. Thankfully Talia isn't looking at her. "Yes, fine, Talia, but that does not answer my original question."
Talia finally turns to look at Fatia. "You want to know what I think? I think I see a young pup with something to prove to her father. I think I see a fey influence in her eyes. Fey do not become paladins; they are too fickle to uphold a Code. I think she is doing this to prove to her father that she is not him, not because she actually believes it is the right path for her."
She turns her stern gaze back to Golloriel, and finally addresses the oracle directly. "But at the end of the day, girl, what I think does not matter. I do not decide if you are worthy of the mantle of 'paladin.' The Dawnflower decides. Speak to Brother Ephraim if you wish to begin training." She nods at the halfling near the other end of the table. "I must return to my duties. Goodnight." She stands from the table and walks away.
Fatia sighs at her receding form. "Please excuse Captain Brokenev, Golloriel. She is under a great deal of pressure. Her family was... less than enthusiastic about her choice in deities. The Dragomirs are a fairly important family in Ustalav and particularly in the Pharasmin church there. Her sister also spurned the family and went with Caiden Caylean. Something of a brawler, so I hear. Anyway, Talia married a missionary from a local Sarenite church and left her family behind. He died protecting their village from an undead outbreak. Talia never quite healed from the tragedy, but she is a devout follower of the Dawnflower, and a spectacular soldier. She trained Brother Ephraim, and he will train you. She will warm to you eventually." She smiles and pats Golloriel's hand.
It takes all of Golloriel's willpower not to show how upset she is by Talia's words. She knows that what Talia says is true, but it is still difficult to hear them spoken aloud, especially so condescendingly. As the paladin leaves the table, Golloriel manages to squeak out a "Thank you, Captain." She nods at Fatia's reassurance, but doesn't trust herself to speak again until she is able to calm herself.
You shouldn't have had that third glass of wine. Stupid!
She tries to finish eating, but finds that her appetite has gone. Instead, she drinks a couple glasses of water while listening to the waning conversation. When it seems appropriate, she approaches Ephraim.
"Brother Ephraim? I am sure that you heard what the Captain said about me. It is mostly true, but I intend to demonstrate that my motives are pure. I am devoted to Sarenrae and wish to be a protector in Her light."
The halfling looks to be mid- to late sixties--well into middle-aged for a halfling--with streaks of gray in his nut-brown hair. He also looks well into his cups. Ephraim snorts and slaps your leg amiably. "Ah, don't listen to that ol' stick in the mud! Cap's a great leader, but her table manners leave something to be desired." It's an odd statement, considering he's spilled wine and several other questionable items on his robe; you're pretty sure there was nothing green on the table tonight. "Look. You seem like a good person. And while that isn't all it takes to be a paladin, it's a damn good start!" He chuckles. "I know you got something going on with the Guard right now, but come down to the cellar next time you have the opportunity. That's where we store the armory, such as it is. We'll do a little sparring, see where your martial skills are at." He turns to go, then stops and takes your hand. There is something fatherly about the crinkle of his crow's-feet around his large brown eyes, which are currently squinting almost comically as he squeezes your hand gently.
"I have a pretty good eye for recruits. It's why Talia gave me the task of training new blood. I haven't been a paladin as long as her--somethin' of a late bloomer, you might say--but even when I was working for the Milliner's Guild in Kaer Maga, I had a nose for talent. You got it, and no mistake. But let me give ya some advice, dear." The crinkle around his eyes smooths a little, and his face becomes somber.
"I can see how Talia's words hurt you, and you're gonna have to address that. You are going to be attacked with more than harsh language as a paladin. You are going to face moral quandaries that will test the bounds of your vow to the Code. You are going to face foes of such hideous nature that the very notion of redemption is lost from their alien minds and you will have to face such unfathomable monstrosities in battle. You will be attacked in ways you never expected that have nothing to do with your body. You must learn when to steel your heart and when to open it to others. Too much steel and your love for the Dawnflower will become corrupted. Too much openness and a dagger will eventually slip in. It is not an easy balance to maintain. Sometimes you will stumble. Sometimes you will fall. But if you gird yourself, and trust in Her, I reckon you'll do alright." At that, his paternal smile comes back. He pats your hand and walks--the term being used somewhat loosely; he had almost as much wine as you and is roughly a third your size--down the hall to the dormitories.
As Golloriel listens to Ephraim's admonishment, she feels her resolve deepen. He is right -- of course he is! She is ashamed of her reaction to Talia's words, and she makes herself a promise that she will not show that weakness again. "Thank you, Brother Ephraim. I understand. I look forward to sparring with you; perhaps tomorrow afternoon after my guard duty?"
As she watches the halfling stumble away, she suddenly feels the wine's affect on her own head and decides it is time to turn in before she makes more of a fool of herself than she already has. She says goodnight to the remaining guests, repeating each one's name in her head while studying their faces, then she heads to her room.
17 Days Since Eodred II's Death
Caladaer awakens feeling ill-rested; the visions of his dream fade quickly, but the voice continues to whisper in the back of his head.
She will leave you.
***
Golloriel awakens feeling somewhat somber. Today is the Sunwrought Festival, the day of the summer solstice and one of Sarenrae's most important holidays. Normally the streets would be filled with dancing revelers all day, wearing masks and ribbons of bright golds, reds, and oranges to honor the Everlight at the waxing of Her power.
But the city is not in a position for revels. There will be no fireworks today. No street vendors or parades, no bands playing festive jigs on every corner, no giving of gifts and blessings. Sister Rihanith will take a few clergy out to the Shingles and Midland to hand out food and spare clothing to the poor, but it will not be the festive affair it usually is. The streets are far less chaotic than they were two weeks ago when Eodred II's death was pronounced, but even those not causing trouble still mourn.
As Golloriel finishes her morning preparations and goes to meet her father downstairs, the jovial mood from last night is somewhat fouled by the knowledge of Korvosa's precarious position. Even still, a few of the acolytes and initiates hang decorations in the temple, painted linen streamers and a careworn but beautifully sewn silk tapestry displaying Sarenrae's holy symbol, the angelic ankh, rising into the sky behind a magnificently detailed rising sun, its rays bursting out in all directions over a surprisingly detailed miniature of the city of Korvosa.
Several acolytes and initiates smile at both Golloriel and Caladaer, bidding them good morning as they pass. Mother Fatia stops the pair at the front doors to place a hand on their shoulders and mutter a quick prayer over them. "May you do the Dawnflower's work today, and may She bless your endeavors with Her healing light." She bows her head slightly. "Good luck, and be safe."
***
Andakos is awoken with the sounding of the Horns of Change, signaling the changing of the guard. Breakfast in the mess is oatmeal and stale bread; the restrictions on rations have lessened the past few days as merchants finally begin entering the city again, but it's by no means a picnic yet. At least it's not hardtack this time...
Andakos awakens an hour before dawn and practically leaps from his bed. He sits down to prepare his extracts for the day; instead of the usual heightened awareness, he creates a crafter's fortune. He is determined to create a holy acid flask.
He looks around to the sleeping guards in the room and hopes he doesn't screw up as badly as he did yesterday.
He holds the semi-transparent vial up to the light and grins. This is going to be fun.
He heads to the Citadel gate to wait for the others, shows them to the mess and their "breakfast", then heads out.
Berta joins the party after breakfast, opting not to join in on the food. She looks tired, and her eyes are red and puffy.
The trek back to the Gray District is unimpeded by anything but the weather. Armor always seems like a terrible choice in 80 degree weather, particularly when the ocean is right next to you sending the humidity through the roof. Summers don't usually get this hot in Korvosa thanks to the northern currents, but today the weather doesn't seem to have gotten that memo. Andakos is utterly unperturbed--his daemonic heritage has always provided him with insulation against heat and fire--and oddly, so is Berta, despite being in thirty-pound armor. But Cal, and especially Golloriel, are likely feeling it. Worse yet, it's barely an hour past dawn, and it's only going to get hotter. Everything sticks to you, and the air reeks of rotting fish. It is a blessed relief when you step into the cool stone cathedral to Pharasma.
Gork and Anya are still resting at the Cathedral, but Tati is gone. According to the acolytes, the second she received a clean bill of health, she booked it. She muttered something about "repaying a debt"; the acolytes can only assume she meant the party.
Gork in particular looks significantly better, though the acolytes warn he's not out of the woods yet. He's an extremely old man and they're pleasantly surprised that he survived at all. "Today was not his day," the older acolyte notes with a small smile.
A common saying among Pharasmins as a form of goodbye is "May today not be your day," that is, may today not be your day to go to the Boneyard.
Gork is currently resting, and while he is still rail-thin, much color has been restored to his wrinkled cheeks, he has been washed and his bruises and cuts bandaged, and his filthy rags have been replaced by clean robes. His chest rises and falls erratically, but he's a far sight healthier than you found him yesterday.
Anya is awake, fidgeting nervously, her ratty brown hair washed and combed, her ripped clothes also replaced with clean linens. She looks at the party almost pleadingly. "P-please. The other girl got to go. Can't I go? I got people looking for me, I'm sure. I gotta go. Please..." She scratches absently at the inside of her forearm; you can see faint traces of old, semi-healed scars there from what appears to be a great deal of scratching. The acolytes look at each other uncertainly, then turn to the party and shrug. It's clear they're hesitant to give her a clean bill of health, but they don't seem to be certain what they're missing. They also seem to be leaving the decision up to you.
While the scratching could simply be a nervous tic, Anya's pupils are dilated, she's pale and sweaty, she's trembling as if cold (despite it being the middle of summer), and she has nervous tics like the scratching. These are all tell-tale signs of shiver withdrawal.
Andakos pulls one of the acolytes aside. "Anya is suffering from shiver withdrawal. I have seen it first-hand and there is no doubt. It's going to get worse before it gets better, but you can help her through it. I would be happy to make donations to cover the cost of her care." He pauses for a moment. "Also, my dwarven companion contracted filth fever in the crypt yesterday; we would like to have that healed if you have a capable cleric on duty."
Golloriel smiles to herself. She finds Gork oddly charming and is glad to hear he his doing well.
The acolyte blinks. "Oh? Ah. I see. Donations are always welcome, of course. I will find a priest able to see to your..." He gives the dwarf in Shoanti war paint a bewildered look before turning back to Andakos. "...friend. Excuse me." He scrurries off down a hallway.
A few minutes later, a severe, matronly woman in her late fifties strides into the room wearing neat, crisp robes. Her holy symbol is wooden, but varnished to give it shine. She nods curtly to the group.
The acolyte hustles after her; even with her advanced years, apparently the woman's strides are too much for the younger man. "Th...this," he huffs as he catches up, "is Bishop Keppira d'Bear." He puts his hands on his knees and wheezes a few times. The Bishop doesn't turn to look at the acolyte, but she does close her eyes and sigh with naked exasperation.
"I happened to have a break in my duties," she says with a crisp Galtan accent. "I understand there are a few diseases floating about." She looks at Berta, then rather pointedly at Anya, who immediately looks away. "Mm. Yes. Get the woman to a cell and get her some food. Broth and bread; she will be vomiting it up by this evening, most likely. No need to make the experience any more unpleasant for her than it needs to be." The two acolytes nod and lead a feebly protesting Anya away gently but firmly, speaking softly and soothingly to her as one would a newborn.
Bishop d'Bear does not mean a "cell" like a prison. A cell in a church or monastery is a private room devoid of distractions or comforts aside from a bed, a chamberpot, and sometimes a small writing desk for jotting down contemplations during one's self-isolation.
She turns back to Berta. "Let me look at you, dwarf."
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Berta's jaw instinctively clenches at being called "dwarf." She immediately dislikes this woman; she looks like she's looking down her nose at everyone. She aught to be used to it by now, in this city, but it still cuts every time.
"I do not need your magics," Berta says through clenched teeth. "I am strong. I will survive this as I have survived everything else."
Keppira snorts. "Typical of your kind. More guts than brains. You may survive, but if I am not mistaken you carry filth fever. It is potentially infectious. How many of the very old and very young will you infect before you shrug it off? Hm? A cough, a sneeze. A bit of blood. It takes little for the fever to spread to others who may not be so..." She raises an eyebrow. "... durable."
Bishop d'Bear grunts. "Perhaps there are brains left in there after all."
She turns to Andakos. "Acolyte Brevit says you were the one who spoke of donations. A casting of remove disease requires a donation of one hundred fifty gold. No donation is required for caring for Anya's addiction, though if you wish to donate something, ten gold will more than suffice. It will cover her food and shelter for the weeks ahead, as well as some new clothing."
Andakos pulls 160gp from his purse and hands it to the Bishop. He doesn't know why he feels compelled to help the people they rescued, but he supposes that it doesn't really matter. Ten gold is a paltry sum for him lately, and he knows for certain that Anya doesn't have it, so why not help?
He nods to Keppira. "Thank you for everything, Bishop."
Then he turns to the others. "Shall we?"
Keppira takes the coins into a small pouch on her belt. "Be advised, the spell does not always work. I am experienced enough that it should not matter, but these magics are fickle. I will do what I can."
She takes up the polished wooden holy symbol in one gnarled, arthritic hand and places the other on top of Berta's head, muttering a prayer in an unknown language. Warm gray light, as if reflected through the smoke of a large campfire, pours out of Keppira's hand and over Berta.
Nothing at all seems to happen, but Keppira takes the dwarf's chin in her hand and tilts her head one way then the other, feels her lymph nodes, and pulls open her mouth gently but firmly, staring at her tongue. She then tsks and nods. "Very good. You are clear of the disease. Try not to muck about with any more corpses than necessary. Filth fever is no trivial matter."
She nods to the others and strides off.
You reach the Dead Warrens again with little issue and make your way back to the last room you visited. As you go, you note a disheartening change since your last visit: all the bodies of the dead are gone. Any remaining creatures are sure to be on high alert.
Regardless, you reach the prison pits undisturbed.
Right before entering the crypt, Caladaer pulls out his mage armor wand and taps himself with it.
Andakos searches the room, not bothering to go down into the pits.
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Cal assists with the search. He doesn't go down into the pits, but he reaches out his senses into them, looking for magical auras.
The party finds nothing of value in the prison or its pits.
Andakos leads the party down the eastern path.
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Cal follows and keeps an eye out for anything Andakos misses.
The tunnel quickly narrows to the point of being physically incapable of a humanoid of any size being able to fit through it; through the narrow crack, the crevice continues for several feet before disappearing into darkness.
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