"If anyone asks us, what are we in town to do?"
"Maybe you're trying to recruit us?" offers Silvio. "Bigger question is how did you get recruited? Who got you into this? Also, seems like your mask is supposed to be made from metal."
"Yes, but Median was our blacksmith. I don't know how to do metal. I'll see what I can do to get it upgraded." Sledge ponders his situation for a minute, tapping his mask. "In terms of how did I get recruited, I'll claim the same thing I did at the guard station; Razmir appeared to me in a vision and then I got mystical powers. That happens sometimes, right?" he asks of Silvo.
"Seems as likely an explanation as any. I would expect for the vast majority of Razmirians... Is that the right plural? Oh well, you know what I mean... Most probably wouldn't know the difference. I believe Master Garen, he nods in the paladin's direction, "could probably confirm that far too many of those with religious beliefs have zeal unmatched by their knowledge. Meaning of course, that there are some zealous but ignorant and there are others which are knowledgeable but have no affections for it."
He pauses for a moment and strokes his brown beard while Roger sits quietly by the fire, warming himself.
"I would actually encourage you, whenever the need arises, to aim for the prior category. If we run across a devout of Razmir, show your zeal and ask questions. That may be the easiest way for us to find out the information we need. Kelinahat herself applied guile and cunning to find the information she needed," he says pointing over to Sledge's book.
”If only I’d get visions from Erasril,” responds Silvio. ”But I guess you could try it. The gods work in mysterious ways.”
Sledge nods, and takes on a determined pose. "Alright. Let's do this. Adventure and good comrades. I never thought that I would-" he cuts himself off, "Never thought that I would get them so early in my life," he finishes lamely.
Made from enormous timbers, the Forest Bounty is a long hall, open at both the front and back, filled with wooden tables and benches. Even now, at mid-morning, dozens of people gather here, eating, drinking, and laughing. They look like a mix of travelers, trappers, rangers, guards, and common folk of Tamran. One table of patrons even carries on with a bawdy song that seems to have most of the folk smiling. There are no traces of the wedding from the night before: the employees here must have worked through half the night to get the hall ready for the next day's business.
It's not all partying, though. There are a number of official-looking types skirting the outside of the hall carrying papers, books, and other implements of business.
A serving maid smiles at you as she sees you enter. "Have a seat wherever you like," she says, grabbing up a presumably-empty pewter mug from a table near the door.
Silvio stares in awe at the impressive hall. "Look at this enormous place! What a great home for the Council."
Winter starts sniffing around as he picks up the scent of food!
"It''s not that impressive," Sledge says, lying through his teeth.
The smell of food gets Charles stirring and excited about the Forest Bounty. "The atmosphere of this place is exceptional," he says as he notes the several different types of individuals under one roof. "I must imagine both their food and service are exquisite."
The serving maid pauses briefly as Garen asks her his question, considering him with a smile. "You're not from around here, I guess. If Aromina heard someone call her Lady Yasgon, she'd about have a fit." She laughs and briefly addresses Charles. "They are, hon." She turns back to Garen. "The Speakers are all three busy. Lots of business. But you can probably make an appointment. I can go check with Aromina's secretary, see when she's next available. Can I get y'all something to eat or drink in the meantime?"
Another dog in the hall runs up to Winter and begins sizing him up before trying to stick its snout directly into Winter's haunches.
Winter spins around toward the dog sniffing at his behind and begins the doggy dance of sniffing the other dog's rear in return. As long as there's no undue aggression, Winter seems happy to meet someone new.
"I hope we can get an appointment for today," worries Silvio. "May as well get a bite to eat while we figure it out."
One the server leaves, Silvio adds. "If we've got some time to spare, I could always look for the local temple of Erastil," he adds, following an old pattern.
"It's like you're reading my mind, madam. A bit to eat and drink would be wonderful while we wait."
Charles heads over and finds a table, preferably one that gives him a good view of as much of the establishment as possible.
"We may have to be a bit discreet while visiting the temple of Erastil. It doesn't seem like people here are too picky, but as we try to blend in it could make things more difficult or raise questions. Certainly something we can do while waiting and it may lead to some valuable information."
"Whereas all of the local masks are made of metal, it may be worthwhile to visit the local forge and see if they are using local work or have somewhere special they are getting them created."
"Come on, hon. I'll be back for the rest of your orders when we're all done."
Garen follows the server, wending and winding through the gathered people of Tamran, too loud to make proper moving conversation although Garen catches a word or two here or there when she turns her face back towards him. Eventually she breaks free from the crowd and into a side alcove where a half-orc man sits at a desk crammed with documents. "Gurney," she says. "We've got someone wants to meet with the Aromina."
The half-orc slides a pair of spectacles down his nose and turns towards the server, then glances up at Garen. He reaches for a calfskin-bound book and starts flipping through the pages while dabbing a quill into a vial of ink.
"Thanks, Kendra. Sir: name and reason for the appointment, please."
Kendra winks at Garen and begins walking back towards the others. "I'll leave you to it!"
"I'm no sir. Just Gurney. Good to make your acquaintance, Garen Williamson of Kassen." He jots a few notes into the book and then looks back up. "I'll let Aromina take care of the questioning of evidence. But your council was right: the Speaker of the Heart takes care of internal matters, so better her than the others. Let's see...she has a window in her schedule mid-afternoon today, around three o'clock. Make sure you're here then or else you'll miss your window."
"We may have to be a bit discreet while visiting the temple of Erastil. It doesn't seem like people here are too picky, but as we try to blend in it could make things more difficult or raise questions. Certainly something we can do while waiting and it may lead to some valuable information."
"Oh, you're totally right," realizes Silvio., holding a hand over his hidden holy symbol of Erastil. "Maybe we save that for another time."
Once he finds the others he heads over to join them. ”Well, we have an appointment at three. Shall we stay here to ensure we don’t miss it. Or at least one of stay?”
Silvio seems restless just thinking about waiting. "That's way too long to stay! Let's do something while we wait. Maybe find the local blacksmith and see if he knows a thing or two 'bout those masks."
.
Silvio wants to help but is a bit awkward around strangers as usual.
Garen asks around The Forest Bounty for the location of a blacksmith in town, especially one that might work with the Temple of Razmir. Silvio tries tugging on a few cloaks as well but gets distracted by a young halfling lass with chestnut curls who thinks that his awkward bearing is adorable. But while the halfling warpriest is getting flirted with, Garen gets a useful first lead.
"I don't know if he works with the Razmirans," a dwarven man with a bald head and a bushy beard informs the young paladin, "But there's a smith near the Temple. Lots of businesses in the center of town. Coopers, cobblers, and more. Just head east from here and it'll be hard to miss."
---
Armed with this information, Garen (and whoever decides to join him) musters out into Tamran to the center of town. It is clear that this is a more prosperous district overall. In addition to the temple and local businesses, there are some wealthy residences lining the streets. The city guard presence here is also higher than outlying areas of town. He also catches his first glimpse of Razmirans moving around in groups. They all wear identical iron masks. The groups number five to seven, with most of their number wearing white robes, but one or two in the group wearing gray or black robes. Two to three of the members of these groups are seen carrying baskets of bread and vegetables, and Garen sees the groups approaching homeless people and offering them food from their baskets.
Occupying an entire city block, the temple of Razmir is an imposing structure. Built of solid stone walls, the building stands two stories tall, with towers positioned every thirty feet along its circumference. These towers rise above the temple itself, each crowned with statues depicting the Living God. The temple has almost no windows, aside from a tall, stained-glass window on the east end depicting the mask of Razmir. The west end of the structure contains a courtyard, only accessible through a sealed barbican. Masked priests patrol the wall tops surrounding the courtyard, watching those below on the busy streets below through their implacable, identical iron masks.
The blacksmith is not far from the the temple proper, across the street from another building that he had been looking for. Both the Ranger's Lament and Dreadnaught Drakesteel sit in the shadow of the Temple to Razmir. The Ranger's Lament is a simple one-story establishment made from solid wood timbers, while Dreadnaught Drakesteel has its wooden doors open in spite of the cool late-autumn temperatures, ushering out the sounds of a smith busy at work. Before Garen moves to darken the door of the blacksmith, he notices that a crowd has gathered in front of the Temple, perhaps waiting for something.
An older man with a clearly injured leg turns at Garen's question. "It's the daily sermon by one of Razmir's heralds."
Sledge would accompany Garen, but he decides to stick outside to listen to the sermon instead of following into the blacksmith. Unless someone objects dramatically, he decides to continue to wear his wooden mask around.
Charles nods to Garen as enters the shop, but indicates that he's going to stay outside for a bit.
He stands beside Sledge to listen to the sermon by the Razmiran devout. He whispers over to Sledge and the other party members nearby, "It's a good sign having this so close to the blacksmith. Maybe we can learn quite a bit from this little excursion."
"Daily? And Razmir has more than one herald doing this?"
Silvio starts to scan the crowd. He was curious to see who was being drawn to this new god. Frankly, the masks were a bit disturbing to him.
Dreadnaught Drakesteel is dark within as Garen enters to the sounds of steel clanging on steel, moving aside a curtain designed to dampen some of the noise from within and without. The room is lit by the embers of a furnace, where a brawny man labors over some horseshoes. He notices Garen come in and holds up two fingers to indicate that he'll be with the paladin shortly. He brings his hammer back down to get the curve of the steel just right, several times in rapid succession, before holding it up with his tongs. His face glows red orange as the steel cools before him, and he nods, placing the metal back into the furnace.
Finally he waves the paladin over while checking a few other pieces already in the furnace. "Welcome to Dreadnaught Drakesteel. Don't recognize you. You placing an order? I've got a waiting list, but if you've got coin I've got time. What can do I for you?"
---
As Garen disappears into the blacksmith's shop, Sledge, Charles, and Silvio wait near the back of the gathered crowd to see and hear what is going to happen during the sermon. After a few minutes, a group of seven masked cultists exit from between two large, ornate doors in the barbicann and walk down towards the crowd in a "V" formation. Four are dressed in white robes, two in gray robes, and one--in the center--in black robes. All wear identical iron masks.
The six in white or gray break off from the one in black and begin moving through the crowd. The figure in black robes raises their hands. The street noise and murmuring ceases almost immediately, with only the distant sounds of seagulls and work several blocks away providing a low accompanying thrum to the herald's sermon.
The person in the black robes speaks in a bright, baritone voice "Good people of Tamran: good morning. I bring you good tidings of the power and glory of Razmir. All hail the Living God!"
The half dozen masked and robed figures flanking the herald on either side chant in one echoed voice. "All hail the Living God!" Sledge, Charles, and Silvio notice that some of the people in the crowd also chant along with the herald, including the man with the injured leg whom Garen had spoken with before going in to speak with the blacksmith.
"You, the good people of Tamran, have many needs in this life. Bread. Water. Shelter. Wisdom. Salvation. The power to lift yourselves up and throw off your oppressors to the South. The Molthuni who would enslave you and take your hard-earned gold, offering nothing in return. Razmir knows of your needs and he wishes to aid you in your liberation. But the Living God is a jealous god. He knows that there are yet those who doubt him in Tamran--in all of Nirmathas. There are not merely those who do not know of him, but those who do and still choose to worship the distant gods. The lesser gods. He cannot--nay, he will not--offer aid to those who refuse his call so openly."
One of the Razmirans in white robes nears the back of the crowd where Sledge, Charles, and Silvio are. They hold their hand out and a half-elf with an eyepatch fumbles around before depositing a few coins in the priest's outstretched hand. Two others nearby--a matronly human woman cradling an infant and a gnome that looks to be rapidly on their way to the Bleaching--also fish out a few coins for the priest.
"Enlightenment is a long journey: one that may take the rest of your lives. Not all can become gods, yet all can achieve enlightenment. It took our god Razmir merely 31 steps to pass the Test of the Starstone. He returned from his ordeal to bring his message directly to the people of Golarion rather than making his home on another plane of existence. What power, what glory, could he have attained if he had chosen to become distant? And yet he eschews this so-called glory to help us mere mortals on our path to enlightenment. He chooses to share his wisdom and his might to lead us to true salvation. He chooses to look past the doubts and heresy of the nations of this world and offer a fraction of his power. All hail the Living God!"
One of the white-robed priests now approaches Charles, Silvio, and Sledge with an outsretched hand. "All hail the Living God!" he echoes in a dull bass, holding out his hand towards Sledge.
"What other god lives among his people? What other god so richly rewards those who follow him? What other god can lead you to true salvation? None of them! Only Razmzir can offer you the power, the fortune, and the glory that you desire. The power to declare your freedom! The fortune to keep your soldiers fed! The glory of liberation! But more than that--so much more--the understanding that you are the masters of your own destiny! Truths held captive by the distant gods because they fear what you would do if you knew them!"
A few people in the crowd seem angry at this, but they are shushed by the others around them. The man with the bum leg offers several gold coins to the passing priest.
The herald draws his arms in to himself. "I am merely a humble servant of Razmir: a Herald of the Eighth Step. Eighth! And yet, with my faith, justified not blindly on the promises of ancient tomes purporting to give the words of distant gods, but with open eyes as a result of seeing Razmir's miracles firsthand, I am able to work wonders! Come, you who are weak and weary, and witness firsthand what I--a mere herald--can work through Razmir."
Several people stumble forward, including several of those you have seen giving donations to the priests wandering throughout the crowd. As they approach, the black-robed figure reaches up and touches his mask. A wave of energy ripples around the mask before channeling out through the crowd. Several people gasp. There are some cries of surprise--or perhaps joy. People embrace and laugh. Murmurs cascade through the crowd, crescendoing into a fever pitch of excitement.
The man in black robes raises his arms once more and the noise falters. "All are welcome to pursue Enlightenment. The path will not be easy. You must give up your old life. But if you are willing and you show yourself worthy, then Razmir will accept you and will raise you up. All hail the Living God!"
"All hail the Living God!"
Charles pulls out a couple of silver from an inner pouch and clinks them into the white-robed priest's hand. "A good word, sir," Charles says with a nod.
He mumbles an [i]"All hail the Living God!"[/b] with the rest of the people. Then turns and heads into Dreadnaught Drakesteel with Garen.
"Make the masks?" the blacksmith repeats, arching an eyebrow. "No, no, nothing like that. I don't know where they get the masks, but it's not me."
He pauses and smiles, looking Garen up and down. "But they've still been good for business. I used to have some problems with thieves coming in and stealing my supplies. But that's cut way down since they came to town. I think my last theft was maybe three weeks ago? But a group of 'em were walkin' by and chased the rapscallion down. Impromptu sermon and everything about the evils of theft and the need for rehabilitation."
He looks thoughtful. "I guess whatever their methods are, they work. Seems like it cuts down on repeat offenders, which the usual city guards' methods never did."
"Oh tha--that's all?" the man asks as Garen exits. He clears his throat and waves, looking hopefully at the next customers entering the shop. "All hail the Living God!"
Distant gods? The gods aren't distant--people are! At least that's how Silvio thinks of the problem when the preacher complains. And lesser? How does a new god think himself greater than the others?
It all felt absurd to him. He was thankful that the white-robed priest had focused his attention on Sledge, and that Charles had fished out a few coins in response. He knew he ought to do the same, but couldn't bring himself to do it.
He then watches as the head priest channels a wave of energy among the crowd, a wave that the crowd was clamoring for. "What was that?" he asks in surprise, loud enough that it's not clear if he was talking to his companions or those around him in the crowd. Perhaps it was just the type of channeling that Father Prasst also offered? Even so, it seemed to prove that the priest truly had a connection to the divine.
Silvio definitely recognizes what the black-robed herald had done as a channeling of positive energy. He's even close enough to feel the influx of energy .
Father Prasst had discussed such channeling and begun to guide Silvio in the skill required to serve as a divine conduit. So far Silvio had figured out some of this already--sacrificing a spell granted by Erastil to instead heal himself or an ally, or even targeting a single figure with a burst of highly-localized energy. But that wave? That was something else, a skill not yet attained. The theory, though, was something Silvio understood well enough.
Fundamentally, through some combination of blessing on the part of the god and faith on the part of the worshiper, a sufficiently faithful servant could use a holy symbol (or unholy symbol as was the case for evil gods) to open a controlled rift to the positive or negative energy planes respectively. The control was necessary because, by itself, positive energy was not a warm, comforting thing. The metaphysical structure of the planes was unfamiliar to Silvio, but he had been led to believe that someone visiting the Positive Energy Plane would be incinerated within seconds of arrival if they didn't take the appropriate precautions. In other words, the association of positive with good was more tenuous than the layman might like to think. There were more than a few cautionary tales of people trying to bypass these protections and unwittingly slaughtering their families and friends while trying to heal them.
Sledge gladly fishes a gold piece out of his pocket and enthusiastically hands it to the priest, joining loudly in the chant of "All hail the Living God!"
He approaches the front of the crowd, seemingly eager to witness the miracles of Razmir up close and personal. As he moves, he makes some attempt to draw the attention of the head priest, but does not talk to him, and maintains a respectful posture.
The black-robed herald notices Sledge's approach, lifts a hand, and beckons the unrobed, wooden-masked man over. Others in the crowd turn to witness this interaction.
"One desiring to take the first step towards enlightenment," the herald says. "Willing to profane themselves with a wooden mask just to draw nearer."
One of the white-robed priests draws nearer and whispers something in the other's ear. "And offered a donation to the Living God's Church. A good day's wage, no less."
The unmasked common folk look at Sledge curiously as the herald continues. "We are having a public prayer meeting this evening at the Ranger's Lament. Please, join us. All are welcome." The black sleeve rises as a hand points behind Sledge to the small tavern across the street. "All hail the Living God."
The herald turns to leave, and the remaining Razmirans similarly withdraw from the crowd and begin walking back up the steps. While most people turn away from Sledge and begin going about their daily business, Sledge notices one person still staring at him. He's a bit gaunt in the cheeks and has circles under his eyes, but his facial structure is the stereotypical shape of Chelaxian nobles. His clothing looks a bit bedraggled, like maybe it hasn't been properly laundered in some time. The slight point of his ears, mostly hidden by shaggy hair, reveals him as a likely half-elf. He glares at Sledge, takes a long drag from a cigarette, and then tosses the cigarette on the ground, grinding the remnant underneath his boot heel.
Sledge ignores the comment of the half elf, but makes a mental note for later.
"A good day's wage well spent! Alas, I had no access to a metal mask, and so whittled this one myself to better fit in when Razmir-Ah, but I should not take more of your valuable time, oh wise herald of The Living God! Those" Sledge wracks his brain to think what Garen might say in this situation, "in greater need of your miracles should receive them before I tell more of my tale. In fact the Living God has blessed me with some small power of my own; I could help-but I get ahead of myself."
"This evening!" he shouts, as the priest walks away.
===
As he retreats into the crowd, he will try subtly to point out the half-elf to Charles. They could investigate them further.
As the priests withdraw into the compound, Silvio looks up at the imposing, nearly windowless building, along with the patrolling masked followers of Razmir.
What kind of temple is sealed from the outside world like this? A temple is supposed to invite worshippers, right?
He was curious what weapons the guards might favor and whether they, too, had divine power. Did Razmir have paladins? That would certainly say something about their god. He looks for signs of the white, grey, or black robes that apparently signified some sort of rank.