Senrin looks confused as the herald asks about the weekly tithing. He kneels, trying to not bleed on the floor. "Holy brother. I only just arrived here to start my training. I had little coin, but everything that I had was taken away and I haven't had time to earn any coin. Once I do I will tithe. I will do more than just the tithe, for what is coin compared to the power of Razmir. That is what I seek here, the power of Razmir, for revenge against those that have done wrong to me!"
Bohrs takes note of the mask-marked doors and the rich carpeting and appointments, but does not tarry, as he has a bad feeling that being caught alone with the suspicious priest could end badly for him.
"Then come, witness the Power of the Living God."
The man grasps Senrin's hand and quickly yanks the needle from it. The pain is swift and severe as a spray of blood coats the floor. But the man waves his hands about in a gesture of spellcasting, touching the mask on his face, and summoning positive energy to his hands. The needle clatters to the floor and the herald chants.
"Razmir, Living God of the Thirty One Steps, heal this, your acolyte, so that he may witness your glory and aspire to it."
The positive energy pulses and Senrin's wound closes completely.
---
If it's good or bad, Bohrs doesn't get a good read from the two acolytes in the room, who remain strictly at attention during the ordeal and seem to pay Bohrs no mind.
Thinking a bit more carefully...Bohrs is not necessarily a deep scholar of magics, but he has learned to identify spells and knows enough about their basic components to know a few things. The most common sorts of mind-affecting compulsion spells require the caster to be closer, and all involve verbal components. There are ways around that, but it's hard to know exactly what. there are ways around somatic components, too, but...ah, maybe something to ask Teloda or Senrin.
Still, two of the most common spells for getting people to do things were Command and Suggestion. Bohrs thinks that the phrasing was closer to the latter. And wasn't there a material component associated with it?
Beyond that, Suggestion magic is typically not practiced by the average cleric. The methods of accessing and performing such a spell are typically the purview of the arcane and occult traditions, not divine.
Then again, those pulling from divine authorities often possessed magic specifically granted them by their patrons. And what were Razmir's domains again? Charm, Evil, Law, and Trickery? Well, there it was: there were gods of all stripes whose portfolios adhered to parts of Razmir's who provided such magic to their followers.
---
Senrin is glad that the brother accepts his explanation, and even more so when he does cast a spell to heal the wound. Normally he would have considered it trivial, but wasn't sure what to expect here. He is also glad to have his mask on as a reminder not to cast any spell or try to analyze the casting....
With the healing complete and even the slightest pain gone Senrin drops to the floor, prostrate before the Brother. "Thank you Brother for that generous healing. I will work to the best of my ability to bring in a good tithe for Razmir, the Living God. All praise to Razmir, the Living God of the Thirty One Steps! All Glory to Razmir, greatest God of all Gods!" He stops there, hoping he hasn't overdone it....
Pushing up to his hands and knees he asks in a lower voice, "Brother? May I return to my work now? The healing has fully restored my capability and I still had some armor to repair." Noticing the blood on the floor he adds, "Or should I clean the floor here first? I'm sorry that my blood was spilled on it."
"You can clean in here this afternoon, after the morning service. I'm leading us this morning." The herald looks at his two same-ranked companions and tilts his head. "As for now, take a respite. Tell your brethren what you have seen here today."
"Thank you Brother I will. Such miraculous healing like I have never felt. My hand doesn't even show a scar! All Praise and Glory to Razmir the Living God!"
He leaves and goes back to the other acolytes, praising Razmir and showing the needle and his hand, now fully healed. "My hand was wounded badly, the bleeding wouldn't stop! The Brother called on Razmir's Glory to heal the wound and look! not even a scar now. All Praise and Glory to Razmir the Living God!"
After the service Senrin returns to the room to clean it. If allowed he casts Prestidigitation and uses the magic to clean the entire room.
Russiet spent her time thinking about a number of things. The proposed divinity and magics of Razmir being one, but she quickly fond herself wondering after her colleagues as well. Truth be told, she had little thought of how she could find the kind of information they were here for. Other than ingratiate herself and wean what practical knowledge she could for their benefit. To top it her attempts to ponder out Razmir's magic left her with questions she simply could not answer. Nothing infuriated her more about magic than a blockage.
She used her free time to walk about the temple. Her frustration fading as she examined the expensive tapestries and other fine works of craftsmanship littering the temple. The large silver mask, the carpeting, and then she stopped in her tracks.
She suddenly knew how she might uncover information about this cult! She began to look over these finer features in greater detail. These were expensive, and luxury goods were not widely produced. They could be sourced by a discerning eye!
...an eye she did not, in fact, possess. She valued an arcane tome over any jewelry or rug. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she felt somewhat embarrassed about it. You would think someone of draconic blood would have an eye for the finer things. Lacking the ability to act on her idea, she began to search for someone who could tell her more about her surroundings.
At lunch, Tamin sits a little heavily on the bench, glad of the respite if not for the food. He really is not getting any younger, dammit. He eats mechanically, just tuning out the unappealing flavors as best he can and bolting down the food for the sake of fuel, and as he does so his eyes roam among the other acolytes, and who might be a good source of information. But if they've been here months and are still doing the menial tasks of the yard.... none of them are going to have insight into the temple's inner workings.
Still... perhaps they've seen more of the building than he has. Tamin gazes between the Mwangi man he'd noticed at last night's dinner and his gambling partner, gives them a little bit of a nod, and engages in some small talk with a little bit of judicious flatter before he finally gets around to slipping in some questions. For instance, where do the southern stairs lead to?
Russiet may not have an eye for the finer things, but she knows enough about craftsmanship that she recognizes artistry for what it is. Clothing and tapestries might be different, but they ultimately arose from similar skillsets. She focuses more on the tapestries than the paintings, and finds herself drawn in by the work. The tapestries in the vestibule don't show as much of the narrative detail as the murals in the sanctuary, but that's not what her eye catches.
The tapestries were either the work of a single artist or a very well-trained team with near-identical technique. It was the sort of detail that the average viewer wouldn't pick up on, or even think to consider. Looking a bit closer, Russiet sees that the murals have been signed "Othallan."
---
Tamin gets Craig and Lars chatting again during lunch.
"Oh yeah," Lars begins, "There's all sorts of secret, off-limits areas around here. My guess about those stairs? Torture chamber. I hear screams coming from beyond that door sometimes."
As lunch goes on, Tamin, Senrin, and Russiet realize that they don't see Bohrs in the mess hall...
---
As he is leaving the sanctuary following morning prayers, Bohrs is stopped and flanked by a pair of heralds. "Faltore here tells me that you were shirking your morning responsibilities," says one of the heralds, whose voice Bohrs recognizes as Egarthis. "So no lunch for you. I'll be supervising you directly. See that you don't fail to meet my expectations."
The work is back-breaking, especially without the benefit of lunch. Egarthis is a quieter tutor than Krant, but he seems much more observant. By the end of the lunch-skipping labor, Bohrs is feeling fatigued.
A fatigued character can neither run nor charge and takes a –2 penalty to Strength and Dexterity. Doing anything that would normally cause fatigue causes the fatigued character to become exhausted. After 8 hours of complete rest, fatigued characters are no longer fatigued.
---
Bohrs looks at Egarthis and replies, "As you wish, Brother Egarthis." He gives a nod of assent.
So, we know they are watching everything we do closely, at least during the day. This is not a faith. It's a cult, and they are conditioning us to obey out of fear, not loyalty or shared belief, he thinks to himself, as he waits for Egarthis to dismiss him.
Tamin gets Craig and Lars chatting again during lunch. "Oh yeah," Lars begins, "There's all sorts of secret, off-limits areas around here. My guess about those stairs? Torture chamber. I hear screams coming from beyond that door sometimes."
"What... nonbelievers?" Tamin says with a light cynical smirk. He's still trying to thread the needle of appearing a somewhat amoral and jaded soul who may not fully buy the Razmiran creed but is more than willing to pursue where profit and power lies. "Or the last idiot to piss off Krant?"
Though he tries to coax more information for a bit, Tamin is leery of appearing too curious. And he's distracted, by Bohrs' absence-- he looks around the room twice to confirm that Bohrs isn't partaking of the 'feast.'
Damnation. Surely they haven't been found out so soon? Tamin keeps his surge of worry hidden. "Hey-- where'd that fella go who was so quick with the gambling advice? I was eager to wager my chores against his, get an afternoon off!"
Senrin's mention of his wound-- and the healing received-- earns a sharp look from Tamin, with unspoken questions heavy on his tongue. He doesn't ask them in the common room, but hopefully he and the elf can steal a moment's quiet conversation later. So they do have actual divine powers? Tamin takes a thoughtful bite of terrible potato.
Craig looks at Tamin appraisingly, almost like he has more to say, but shrugs. "The last idiot, probably." When Tamin asks about Tim, Lars looks around. "You and me both. He probably got caught slacking off. It wouldn't be the first time."
Moments later, the door slams open and there stands Krant. By this point, one might be wondering what sort of face he is hiding behind his rusty mask. Is he smiling mad with power? Perpetually scowling? Some crazed mix in between? Or is he truly a passive block of stone?
"Cleaning time," Krant says, pointing his thumb backwards.
All of the newest acolytes are taken up to the first floor of the temple, masks worn obviously, and made to clean the entire floor. The brushes in use are small and the soap harsh, making the skin itch after too long.
Tim/Bohrs grumbles under his breath as he scrubs the floors. As he contemplates how they saw through his ruse, his eyes keep catching on the various tapestries and murals in the chamber.
Tamin bends to the cleaning with an internal groan. It really is like being a squire again-- endless drills and endless chores. The scrubbing is complicated by the fact that he has to watch his hands-- the disguise paste that covers his distinctive hand tattoos is strong stuff and it won't wash off easily, but acrid soap and the brush handling might well do it. He tries to handle the brush gingerly yet at the same time not give Krant any reason to see him 'shirking.' Dael would laugh to see him in this situation, he thinks, and he tries to hold that thought in mind-- Dael finding it humorous, Dael alive, Dael smirking at the trouble his cover is landing him in...
He's relieved that Bohrs joins them at least. One less worry to consider.
The task itself is tedious and his back is grumbling throughout. In between furtive glances at his palms to make sure the paste is holding, Westiron throws sharp looks around, especially in the armory.
But the need to keep his eyes on his hands stops him seeing as much as he'd like, and he grits his teeth on some frustration. Time is passing them by and the intelligence gathering is slower than he'd like. He wishes he could talk more freely with the others but they have few opportunities for it. He tries to take one now-- working near to Senrin, muttering from the corner of his mouth, "Did they really heal you, then?"
Senrin is very focused on his cleaning efforts, which he finds are actually needed beyond his blood. If this was something that the acolytes supposedly did every day, then either they weren't doing a very good job or there was a lot of grime generated each day. The dark elf finds all sorts of messes, especially lingering in corners. Beyond his own, there are scattered brown flakes that he recognizes as dried blood rather than dirt.
---
Neither Cayden Cailean nor Erastil were gods particularly invested in the arts. But of his own sense, whether as a result of his gambling history or some other venue, Bohrs had developed an appreciation for the finer things. And this extended, to whatever degree, to art. The murals are well done pieces, showcasing the beats of the story of Razmir's ascension in panels stretching around every wall in the sanctuary.
Murals depicting the life and ascension of Razmir decorate the walls of the sanctuary. These murals start on the north wall and go around the room. The first of them illustrates him as a young, ambitious man, garnering great riches and power while helping the poor and the weak and encouraging them to flock to his banner. The next set of murals shows him entering the Starstone Cathedral in Absalom to undertake the test to become a god. Those following show him emerging victorious, with a mask shrouding his face, so that all could worship him without fear of looking upon his ascended countenance. Finally, he is seen founding the nation of Razmiran and spreading his faith all around the world; the last sequence represents events not yet come to pass, but certainly in motion from the rumors you have heard.
The murals generally seem to portray Razmir as a powerful but merciful deity, but Bohrs notices something...off. Some of the murals show ordinary villagers looking upon Razmir with fear and terror. Those that do show happy, nay complacent villagers, have a barely noticeable additional layer or two of paint over them. It looks to Bohrs like someone came in after the original artist and made some subtle alterations. But the censorial work remains unfinished. It feels like the artist, Othallan, was not a true believer, and had left doubt in the faces of fearful villagers.
---
Tamin is indeed too distracted by making sure that he doesn't give up his disguise to notice much else. At least it seems to him like Senrin was actually healed, and that he's not brainwashed. Yet. Hopefully.
---
Hearing Tamin's quiet question Senrin glances around and replies, quietly, "Sort of. Not like Bohrs but similar. Pity I couldn't cast Detect Magic to study the aura while he pretended. But I saw him touch his mask right before I felt the healing magic. Maybe it's enchanted with healing magic? It's a pretty good con though!"
Russiet was glad to have Bohrs returned, and she lingered near him in a protective manner. Eventually, as the hours dragged on, she would drift away. No danger present and her feeling foolish.
She was, however, continuously self amused while they were here. Her disguise was so easy to pull off. She was currently given the very smallest pretense of polishing a mirror, preferring to use a cantrip to do the cleaning for her. Inspecting herself in a mask in robe didn't leave much room for preening, but she could take a moment to appreciate that even as she was it was apparent she was feminine.
She did worry that she was turning all her thoughts inward. Was she being any help at all to the others?
Thankfully the faux wizard in the group wasn't worn down by dusty chores. She did have to keep her adopted father's library in good order after all, and her siblings were not always the cleanest. Russiet pokes around the meeting chamber during her exploration. Letting her magic work to clean before she touches anything. Her slender fingers lazily exploring.
Hearing the others speak she will make her way back to the group. Senrin speaking about something that caught her attention. "What did you notice about the mask and the spell?" she asks. her tone is soft, placid. Not her normally terse or clipped manner of speaking.
Senrin glances over to Teloda as he asks the question. He glances around to be sure nobody is paying too much attention.... "Keep your voice down. Don't want anyone to know we are talking about it! It was the brother that lead the morning service. He waved his hand around and prayed, but then it was when he touched his mask that there was a pulse of healing magic. Completely healed my hand. Maybe the mask is enchanted and one of the words in the prayer was the activation? Can't imagine it would just be the touch. Too easy to activate that accidentally. But three brothers were there so I couldn't cast anything myself. I can't just see the auras with my regular sight."
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Teloda had taken a moment in the room where Senrin had cleaned his own blood off the floor. It wasn't so much that she doubted her new companion's cleaning capabilities, but she held herself to a high standard, no doubt influenced by her adoptive father. It's during this, down on her hands and knees under the table, that she lifts up a slightly bent-up carpet edge and finds a piece of parchment. On the left side of the parchment is a list of locations in Tamran--neighborhoods, intersections, and prominent buildings. On the right side is a list of times. Several of the times are circled, but there are no other notations.
---
As cleaning comes to an end, about half an hour past the third afternoon bell, the doors to the sanctuary swing open wide to invite in the masked congregation. Every acolyte is present, and at least half of the gray-robed priests are here as well. A black-robed herald, one whose voice you haven't heard before, leads the service. As with the morning service, there are litanies and psalms to the living god, repeated "All hail!" calls, and a few hymns. The sermon is full of pomp and circumstance, or perhaps more pomposity than pomp.
Cayden help me, but this is dull! Makes the Erastilians look like Calistrians in comparison. Tim/Bohrs thinks to himself as he endures the ponderous ceremony.
He considers what he saw today. There is something phony about this whole thing. The priests don't seem very devout, and do not seem to exhibit any discernible code of ethics beyond obedience to one's superiors.
Senrin feels the boredom start to take hold but shakes it off by pinching himself, several times. He pays attention, but wonders if there is a purpose to this nonsense?
Behind his own mask Tamin flicks glances at the priesthood during what feels like an interminable ceremony. The faithful.... don't seem very faithful at certain points. At least behind the masks it's harder to tell who is letting their eyes slide surreptitiously shut.
The droning repetition of the ALL HAILs do put him at risk of nodding off... but Westiron has no desire to find out what the punishment for that is. He keeps himself awake by shouting especially vigorous "All Hails!" at the appropriate spots in the litany.
While it would be stretching the truth to say that he's never seen a young Iomedan or Abadaran nodding off during a long speech, Tamin still can't help but feel how.... meaningless this all feels.
Russiet briefly considered how the mask could be enchanted. If the priests here had such tools at their disposal it might pay to know their capabilities. Or to swipe some of them.
"Thank you brother." she responds quietly.
Finally finding something useful, her brow rose behind her mask. She instinctually went to throw her arms up in celebration, only to knock her head on the table she was under. Wincing in pain and rubbing the back of her hooded head she turned and carefully read over the parchment. She didn't dare take it, so she did her best to quickly memorize what she could.
Looking around carefully...
...for anyone watching her, she would try to call Bob out under the table. Giving her familiar a little wave, she tugged her mask up to show an excited smile. Plucking one of his ioun stones, her smile turned rueful. Carefully, she pulled up a sleeve and pressed the most jagged part of the cracked stone to her tender flesh. Cutting her skin so she could make a copy of the information on the parchment.
Once that was done, she cleaned the gem with a cantrip and returned the stone to Bob. "Back into hiding sweet one." she bid it. Her familiar soon after evaporating into sand like particles, and then a fine powder that was pulled to her arm. The familiar tattoo returning. Her sleeve back down to conceal her notes, Russiet would rejoin the others. Passing on the details if she could in secrecy.
Maybe it was her earlier discovery being so more entertaining than the ceremony, or just that she was growing tired of acting the fanatic. Whatever the case, Russiet didn't just nod off. She started to slump to the side, and promptly fell out of her chair. Making a surprised sound as she was woken by the floor!
Bohrs, Senrin, and Tamin do their best to pay attention during the interminable afternoon prayer. There were three of these every day? And they had to go to all three? What was going to break them first--Krant's cooking, his fists, or the boredom?
But Senrin and Bohrs, both for their own reasons, listen carefully to the sermon. There was so much of Razmir's teachings that flew in the face of those preached by Cayden Cailean and Desna. And further, there are, within the teachings, what can generously be described as contradictions. There seems to be a suggestion that Razmir's followers will be rewarded with glory and riches, while those who do not shall have neither. And yet the acolytes here are universally denied their lives of plenty and pleasure--they are instead the ones suffering and toiling. There are others outside the Temple, of course, who also suffer and toil, but there seems to be no direct correlation between those who follow the Steps and those who prosper. Indeed, one of the tenets of the faith is that nonbelievers' wealth is ill-gotten. But then how does the Church of Razmir gain its wealth? Tithing? From people who have nothing to begin with and are not laboring outside the Temple?
And then there's the question of who speaks with the will of Razmir. Is it those who have ascended the steps? How many steps? Or is it all of his followers? The notion of hierarchy seems simultaneously enforced and dashed with the desire of anonymity and uniformity.
Given this, and the concerns espoused by some of the acolytes, Bohrs thinks that it's possible that the acolytes are given one set of dogma, but that this might not be the full, or even true, nature of the faith. Perhaps the priests, heralds, and even higher Steps are inducted with new orthodoxy. It wouldn't be the only, or even the first, faith to mete out teachings gradually to initiates.
But if Bohrs could intuit the structure of the faith beyond the acolytes, it more clearly resembles the Asmodean dogma: that the strong should rightfully govern the weak, and that the weak owe their masters unwavering obedience.
But these thoughts, percolating in different forms in the heads of the spycolytes, are interrupted by a noisy thud and a sound of surprise from one of the acolytes falling backwards.
---
Before Russiet has a chance to reason out what is going on, she sees the large figure of Krant muscling his way over towards her. Wordlessly, he picks her up with a twist to the fabric of her robe and throws her over his shoulder. The speaker stutters for a moment before regaining his composure and continuing on through the speech.
Krant carries Russiet through the vestible and kicks open the doors to the Courtyard, where he throws her into the dusty ground. "Didn't get enough beauty sleep?" he growls, cracking his knuckles. "I'll teach you to disrespect Razmir."
Now wide awake, Senrin's attention is split. He still tries to listen to know when to call out "All Praise", but is mainly listening to see what is happening to Russiet. He hopes Krant doesn't try something stupid like trying to rape him, destroying the disguise! But if Krant beats him too badly Bohrs might have to use healing magic, and that would be really hard to explain. They could all be kicked out!
Russiet squirmed atop Krant's shoulder, but didn't speak out as the sermon continued. Her shame burning her cheeks behind her mask. In any other situation she probably would have clawed blood from him. However, she was trying to uphold the illusion that she was desperate to follow Razmir.
As he throws her to the dirt she frowns and rises up to a seated position. Brushing the dirt from her uniform and canting her head up to look at he intimidating priest.
"I would never choose to disrespect Razmir!" she protested earnestly, "I've been dead on my feet from the work. You've seen me work father! I do not slouch in devoting myself to Razmir!"
Her protest dies down as he cracks his knuckles, but she keeps her chin raised. "What is Razmir's will? How should I be formally punished?" she asked directly. Her masked face showing no fear despite being cowed. There was a dignity in her tone that showed expectation.
Quietly, she willed some her of latent arcane energy into her gently closed hands. If this wasn't to be a formal punishment, she might feel the need to challenge Krant.
Krant grunts, seeming not to care for Teloda's reasons. "Razmir wants you to not slouch harder," he says. He surges forward and kicks Russiet in the stomach
The young sorceress winced at the kick to her abdomen, air leaving her lungs. She tried to rise to her feet, her pride demanding she not take a beating while prone. "Razmir wants me to be at his side." she responded through gritted teeth, "I am to be a powerful sorceress, his dragon. I will remember this as well, churl. I will teach you what formal means then."
When Teloda's nodding off attracts Krant's attention, Tamin's lips press into a thin line behind his mask. He's glad for it, in a way; he can let a hundred emotions flicker across his face and nobody will see them behind the Razmiran cipher.
Would the Razmirans kill Russiet, for sleeping? If so, cover or no cover, Tamin will surely have to do... something. The infiltration is not worth their lives. But with Russiet being hauled outside it's not like he can see what the hell is going on and know if he has to intercede or not. How can he possibly get out there without marking himself a target as well.
Mind racing, Tamin turns towards the closest Razmiran who outranks him.
"Brother... may I have permission to go observe the punishment of the one who has been found wanting? I wish to see Razmir's justice in the flesh. To see how Razmir... humbles the proud before raising them again in his footsteps." He assumes that some of Russiet's chosen cover-- the arrogant sorcerer-- has been reported upwards to the higher-ranked, in the manner of officers hearing about the quirks of the enlisted men.
Senrin hears Tamin's request and wonders what the answer would be. Interrupt the service to "their God"? Or possibly punish Tamin for the interruption? Likely nothing good, but he listens for the response to see if there is any way he could help, Tamin or Russiet....
Doing his best to not move or shift his posture, Bohrs calls out from behind his mask, "Oi! Fight! Fight outside!"
"You can say what Razmir wants after you've met him, princess," Krant says, spinning around and delivering a devastating roundhouse as Teloda tries to rise. As she tumbles back into the dirt, Krant hears the shout from inside and snarls, but ignores the growing commotion. He scuffs his boot in the dirt and sees Teloda still concious. "Not bad, princess." He walks back over and lifts the masked sorceress up by the door. "D'you get it yet?" he says, letting her face fall back down into the dirt. He stands up and slowly presses Teloda further into the ground. ""I'm higher'n you, so my boots speak with more of Razmir's authority'n you do. I don' know if you're a true believer yet if you're fallin' asleep on your second day here. Do I need to do more, huh?"
---
As Tamin makes his request, Tim from across the room tries to instigate a riot of sorts. Without responding, the priest next to Tamin raises a finger to draw attention to the response. Next to Tim, a priest draws a baton from within his robes and delivers a short, sharp smack against the back hidden cleric's neck
"Not unless you want to experience the same," the priest next to Tamin growls.
Behind the mask Tamin briefly closes his eyes as Bohrs is struck and the priest denies him. Who knows how his request might have been taken if not for other circumstances... but that will remain unanswered.
"No, sir, brother!" he responds, and says nothing further, remaining standing at 'devout' attention. Though he stares dead ahead he listens as hard as he can for sounds from the outside.
But strain his ears as he can, he cannot make out any of the dialogue from the courtyard. Hidden in the sleeves of his robe, his hands curl into fists. Dammit. Krant might be killing him... But it's only a might, and without firm evidence... running out there is only going to get him injured as well. Too many unknowns to risk incapacitating himself right now...
Not wanting to get any of the attention that Bohrs and Russiet had earned, Senrin does his best to focus on the 'service' again.
Tim/Bohrs gives an audible grunt at the force of the blow, and winces visibly.
He says nothing else, and makes no other demonstration of pain or injury.
Well, that bastard's going to get his comeuppance before this is done..." he thinks to himself, as he tries to remember any particular features visible in the priest that struck him.
Russiet actually chuckles at Krant, though she followed with a wince of pain. Feeling her split lip bleed down her chin behind the mask. "I've often walked through the valleys around my hometown." Russiet haltingly explained, "But never... did I know a slug on the hilltop... to think itself so far above me for it."
The mask may have hid her features, but her amused tone made it all too obvious she was smiling wide behind it. What more could he do? Knock her unconscious? She slowly tried to stand one more time. Not giving him the satisfaction of submitting to a simple beating.
"You callin' me a slug, maggot?" Krant rages. As Russiet tries once more to rise to her feet, Krant raises the boot on her back and savagely stompts down.
Seeing Russiet finally unconscious, Krant reaches down and picks her up and drags her limp body back into the sanctuary.
The doors slam open as Krant muscles into the sanctuary, throwing Russiet at the bottom of the Stairs. The sermon on obedience to authority, which was nearing its end, stops immediately. All eyes turn to Krant. "Insubordination," he says simply. He turns to Brother Egarthis, sitting prominently with the other heralds not currently preaching in the front row. He bends down to one knee. "I did good this time, Brother Egarthis. I only hit her three times. And she's still alive."
Egarthis reaches out and slaps Krant in the face. "Fool," he says. Krant seems to have barely budged with the slap, but stays kneeling. Egarthis stands and strides to the center of the sanctuary. "Brother Faltore has spoken this afternoon of the nature of obedience," he says. "For those who have ascended the steps speak with the authority of the Living God."
Egarthis gestures his hand out broadly. "Obedience is right and just because those of us who have ascended higher know the truth of Razmir: the truth that shall set all men free. I am but a humble herald, beneath the High Priestess who guides us here in Tamran. Yet I know this: rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men."
Egarthis turns his iron mask once more to Krant. "And you, Krant, are a fool. Woe to him that claims obedience when it is not due; woe to him that refuses it when it is."
Egarthis turns once more and strides to Teloda, lying on the floor. "The Living God is not merciful. But he does give power to his supplicants. Witness, ye faithful, the power he grants a lowly servant such as me." Touching his mask, Egarthis' hand glows with green light, deeper than the emeralds in the masks around the sanctuary. Russiet stirs, and though she still feels stiff and in significant pain, she is conscious.
Egarthis helps Russiet to her feet. "Razmir is a jealous god. If you accept him, then he will raise you up. But he knows our hearts. If you are found wanting, then he will strip you of his blessings and all will know. All will see. And all will believe. All hail the living god."
"All hail the living god!"
The service ends and people get up from the pews uncertainly. The priest that smacked Bohrs in the head hops up and goes to speak briefly with Egarthis. Egarthis looks over at Bohrs and nods. Then the priest ascends to the third step. "Following a five minute recess, any acolytes who have been in the Church for less than one month will proceed out into the yard for training as typically scheduled. I will be responsible for the training today. All hail the living god."
Senrin watches as Egarthis casts the healing spell on Russiet, wishing that he could cast his cantrip to actually study the magical aura. Was the mask magical and the "priest" using it to fake his miraculous healing? Or was the mask a holy symbol and he just used it to actually cast the spell? He'd seen plenty of healing spells over the years, from his mother and many others to Bohrs most recently. It didn't look like casting a spell, but....
He joins the others with the reply, "All hail the living god!" and watches as they help the now conscious Russiet to his feet. Senrin is amazed that the man's disguise is still holding and wonders again why he chose that. Did he think that they wouldn't be brutal to a woman?
He takes less than a minute to finish his fake prayers and stands. "All hail the living God! I'm ready to go to the yard for training. May I proceed now Brother?"
The priest nods to Senrin. "Yes, of course. I'll be right there."
Tamin keeps his breathing even and steady as Russiet is dragged back in. Still breathing, thank the gods-- the ones other than Razmir. He watches grimly, again thankful for the mask that hides his face, and his eyes narrow as he watches the remonstration of Krant-- why? Interesting. And the mention of a high priestess... that's new, isn't it? Interesting indeed.
He makes no argument, he mouths the 'ALL HAIL' with everyone else. On the way out to the courtyard he 'just happens' to fall in next to Teloda, not saying anything but making ready to slip him a surreptitious hand of support if it looks like Teloda might fall or stumble.
Russiet slowly rises to one knee as she is brought back to consciousness, and is a bit taken aback by the helping hand. She accepts it though, standing impassively and faces Egarthis. At their words Russiet nods and when the call comes again to praise Razmir she repeats it with as much zeal as she can muster before returning to her seat. She had not seen or heard the dressing down of Krant, but as she looked to him she (might have) picked up on something to that end.
As they are sent out for training Russiet's posture is rigid. Limping slightly and favoring the side of her body that hadn't been the subject of that first brutal kick. Noting Tamin sidling up alongside her Russiet doesn't turn to acknowledge him, but posture relaxes.
"That. Hurt." she acknowledges in a quiet voice.
Russiet was not the only one who had fallen asleep or demonstrated themselves to not be being attention during the afternoon prayer: simply the most obvious. As the group begins moving outside, the other offenders are plucked out of the crowd and taken to the meeting room. Whatever discipline awaits them is uncertain, but it will most likely not involve Krant.
But after a few minutes to allow the excitement die down, the spies are greeted out in the courtyard by a priest who introduces them to the pre-dinner training. They had witnessed this sort of training previously, the majority of which focuses on interacting with the public. The priest begins by pointing out how each person has different walking patterns that can be used to identify them. This was a liability when speaking with people near the Temple. If the Guards believed that they knew who was whom, they might try to influence individuals. Keeping the populace uncertain, ensuring that all members of the Church were treated the same, was the best way to protect everyone.
The priest makes it clear that he doesn't expect everyone to change their step patterns instantly (especially with the beating Russiet had just received). But there is almost an hour and a half of walking instruction. Although Krant was worse, this priest is no less a bully: he verbally berates everyone in the group at least once (and often hitting their legs with the same baton he had smacked Bohrs with) to begin getting them to walk differently.
Senrin listens to the instruction with interest. This was something that he hadn't thought of. Masks and robes sure, but training to all walk alike? Made perfect sense.
Understanding doesn't necessarily mean that he is good at it though....
As they are sent out for training Russiet's posture is rigid. Limping slightly and favoring the side of her body that hadn't been the subject of that first brutal kick. Noting Tamin sidling up alongside her Russiet doesn't turn to acknowledge him, but posture relaxes.
"That. Hurt." she acknowledges in a quiet voice.
"I imagine so. Thought Krant was hauling a corpse back in for a second," Tamin responds out of the corner of his mouth, but risks no further dialogue as they troop outside to learn how to walk.
Though the lessons might seem odd to some, Tamin gets the gist of it quickly-- if all the priests walk alike, look alike, sound alike-- it creates a much greater impression of numbers and power to the outside. Interesting to know they are deliberately trying to sabotage the guards, of course, but not surprising.
He tries to keep near Teloda during the walking drill as much as is feasible, just in case 'she' is about to collapse. Not that he supposes there's much he can openly do to help the other man if so, but... still.