Masks of the Living God: Price of Immortality

Game Master polyfrequencies

Garen thinks this whole thing is a bunch of mumbo jumbo created to make some power hungry wizard or cleric happy. Maybe the guy actually attained some sort of immortal status. Regardless, the cells are annoying but easily handled. Training to be a paladin he had had numerous occasions upon which to sit a vigil. Enlightenment was the only thing he could get motivated about even though it was not enlightenment from Razmir. The deception made his skin crawl but it was not an outright lie. He dreaded any situation that may bring him to that point.

While waiting Garen lays quietly and sleeps as much as he can. He sips water every hour or so. When someone enters he sits up and waits to hear what that may say. When food is brought he eats. He would exercise but until food is brought he refrains.

Silvio is annoyed that only one bowl of water has been pushed through. But so it goes. He sets it down and lets Winter sniff at it, not entirely trusting drinks from the robed priests. If Winter seems okay with it, Silvio decides to drink also, not wanting to be dehydrated.

"I don't see why meditation needs a jail cell," he complains once the robed ones have left. "So, what's your name?" he asks of the unknown half-elf. "Do you think that Sledge got to skip initiation because of his special connection to Razmir?" After all, Sledge had yet to answer. In truth, Silvio was worried for his frenemy and how they might have viewed his wooden mask.

He keeps the robe aside for the moment, not sure he should sully it in this prison. But he intends to put it on later, once his boredom pushes him toward sleep.

Silvio's question hangs in the air for a few minutes before the half-elf replies. "Evlar," he says. "Thilisson." The halfling's second question also hangs for a minute. "If he got to skip all this, I'll be pissed. You hear me, you fraud?"

Sledge, if he is there, does not respond.

Definitely on the same page with spells. I've got him set to still only be using the ones he prepared the previous day. However, without his spell component pouch, that restricts him to V & S requirements only. So cantrips it is!

After the two robed priests leave, Charles relaxes a bit and waits in silence for a couple of minutes. With a few gestures and and mumbled phrases, he summons a group of light sources and sets them floating in the air above him.

He then goes about casting Prestidigitation to clean the cell and himself while getting a better look at the robes before changing. He allows Roger to drink some from the bowl while he dresses in the new garb.

"As long as it's not specifically unallowed," he says to those in the cells around him. He then proceeds to use his minor spell to give the water a bit of flavor resembling a bone broth and warms it up some. Not too much, for he doesn't want to cheat, flavor doesn't actually count against fasting. "Everyone else doing well?" he asks while seated on a nice pile of hay with his back up against the wall.

"All is well. I assume we'll be left here for a day so might as well settle in." Garen replies to Charles.

Since he has time, Garen will do his spell meditation for the day and take up some orisons more likely to help him in his current situation.

Changing to Create Water, Detect Magic, Purify food/drink

Sorry for the delay, was in a bad headspace for a while due mostly to work.

"Nice to meet you again, Evlar," he says, once the silence finally breaks.

"Doing fine. Let's hope it's just a day in these cells," he later replies to Charles and Garen. At least he wasn't alone. Silvio reaches out and gives Winter a rub, and decides to have some of the water.

"Nice," Evlar responds. "Sure."

At the sound of Charles' spellcasting, there is a rush of footsteps. In the light of his spell, it looks like one of the gray-robed priests. The mask looms in the window of Charles' cell, its expression unchanging. "He said quiet," comes the voice, rough and snarled.

---

A few hours pass before the sound of calm walking approaches with torchlight. A black-robed herald walks into view carrying a stack of fresh bowls of water. He walks to Charles' cell first, waits until he feels confident that he has the wizard's attention, and pours the bowl on the floor while shaking his head disapprovingly.

What do you do?

Charles frowns a bit at the gesture, but assumes this may be a part of the test as well. He nods his head in acceptance to the black-robed man and remains silent, shifting a little bit on the hard floor, but trying his best to abide by the given rules.

Garen seethes when he hears the water pour out. He wants to start singing just because but he has a mission and for that he must remain silent, so he waits.

Silvio probably has a good view of the water being spilled. He's extremely annoyed and wants to say something snooty. But then he comes up with another idea.

"Give him my portion of water," he offers. Maybe he'd be punished for that. But he wanted to show solidarity with Charles. And perhaps it was a test of what this new god or his followers valued. Community? Or obedience?

The herald walks next to Silvio's cell, looking in the halfling, and pours his bowl of water on the ground as well. The same disapproving head shake waggles in Silvio's vision, leaving both Silvio and Charles' waterless for likely the next few hours.

Anything else?

Silvio is more annoyed with the headshake than he is the loss of water. Accepting his fate, he settles in with Winter for a long rest.

Charles continues to sit in silence.

Garen waits.

The sequence of receiving fresh water repeats three more times--approximately every five to six hours--with the same reactions of provision or disapproval depending on the behavior demonstrated by the occupant in the interim. After what can only be assumed to be a full day--hours stretching on in silence and time difficult if not impossible to measure accurately--the torchlight appears once more. This time there are half a dozen gray-robed priests--including the 7-foot tall one--and one black-robed herald.
"It is time. Come."

The tall priest unlocks each cell one by one, allowing the five occupants to exit and take a position between two of the priests. Sledge is actually present, his wooden mask gone but his face shrouded in quiet darkness. The group is marched out into a corridor with a worn rug, then up a set of stairs into an armory. A pair of weapon racks sits in the center of this chamber, each bearing a variety of arms, most of which look new. Mounted to the walls is a host of steel shields as well, each one painted with the symbol of Razmir: the mask affixed to the faces of almost everyone around you. A white-robed acolyte stands on a stepstool, polishing one of the shields. They briefly turn as the line enters the room before returning to their labor.

From the armory, the group is led into what seems to be the primary sacntuary of the temple. Rows of polished, black stone pews surround a vast staircase that ascends in the center of this grand worship chamber. Each pew is filled with white- and gray-robed Razmirans, all masked, all gazing forward at the stairs. The thirty-one white marble stairs, each carved with one of the tenets of Razmir, climb to the top of a pedestal that supports a gigantic porcelain golden mask, the symbol of the Living God. As sunlight streams through the great stained glass window high on the eastern wall, it passes through the eyes of the mask and reflects through a great emerald set into its forehead, bathing the room in shafts of green light.

Murals depicting the life and ascension of Razmir decorate the walls of this chamber. 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.

Standing on the eighth step are three black-robed figures--heralds by the look of it, arrayed with a space waiting for one more. Looking up, there are pairs of gray-robed priests in alcoves high above, watching the proceedings down below. Two more priests step astride Silvio and Charles as they walk down the center path, taking Winter and Roger respectively and holding them in state.

One masked acolyte in the crowd--an elf--looks at the gathered five. She had only been here in the Church for a couple of weeks--long enough to have most of the items she came with returned to her, but certainly not long enough to rise to another step. How long would it take these five newcomers?

"Come forward," the head black-robed priest says. "Ascend the first step but stand no higher."

Garen does as directed.

The past fortnight or so has certainly been a fascinating experience for the newly-masked elf in the congregation. She’s still not sure what to think, really: she can understand the purpose of an ordeal, and – with a bit more recalcitrance – doling out instruction piecemeal rather than promising a single, glorious epiphany, but nonetheless. Why thirty-one steps? Why here, on the shores of Lake Encarthan, rather than among all the nations gathering in Absalom? How do the mysteries connect with the work of the clergy in the community?

Such are the questions that have preoccupied her over the past several days, and she’s come to realize that the priests don’t take as kindly as one might hope to a barrage of questions from a neophyte. It probably didn’t help that she came with the rather significant baggage of her own spirits, and she can’t really blame the higher-ranking officials for doubting the zeal of someone who admits that she has served the lesser gods, and is eager to hear what the greater has to teach, now that he’s revealed himself. There is such a thing as too much honesty, perhaps, and isn’t that something to meditate on?

Regardless, maybe now that there are several more postulants, they’ll be encouraged to talk among themselves and encourage each other?

She has other reasons to hope so, too, though while the elven ears of one of the new arrivals briefly catches her eye, once she realizes from across the crowd that the new five are all gentlemen, she resigns herself to the fact that the particular person she’s been hoping to run into is neither a novice nor among the more established acolytes she’s been introduced to so far.

Charles moves a bit stiffly while following the robed-ones. He tries to stretch his back as unobtrusively as possible while turning to look at the various rooms they traverse. Though he does not try to hide his astonishment at the beauty of the worship hall.

He had only ever been in one temple that was near this austere during a journey in part of his studies at Anderson Academy. As he makes his way down the aisle, he steps forward in his white robe onto the first step, grabbing the hems along the side to lift it up so as not to trip over it.

Silvio had to admit that the inner sanctum was impressive. The way the emerald bathed the room in green, the murals depicting Razmir's story, the 31 steps. It was all much grander than the modest temple of Erastil in Kassen.

He takes a single step and stops, as he has been instructed.

The ceremony is familiar to Jia, from having experienced her own and then watched another a week ago.

Sledge and Evlar also take a single step up. The head herald nods as the six gray-robed priests who had escorted them from below filter between them and walk up to the third step. The especially-tall one scratches at himself indelicately, but no one else says anything about it if they even noticed. The other five step around and hand Charles, Evlar, Garen, Silvio, and Sledge an iron mask.

The herald speaks once more. "Our new brothers: by placing this mask on your face, you signify your subservience to the Living God and your willingness to be his hands and feet wherever he deems it wise to send you. You are hereby required to wear this mask and these robes whenever you are on the first floor or outside the temple. In this way, we signify that we are all a part of the body of Razmir--no better or worse than any other part of the body. In this way, we signify to the unenlightened our commitment to bring Razmir's truth and light to the world."

As each of the five put on their masks, the gathered Razmirans chant "All hail the Living God!"

The herald speaks once more. "Welcome, my brothers. You four--" a black-robed arm rises and points to Charles, Evlar, Garen, and Silvio, "--will be tutored in the ways of Razmir by Brother Krant." The arm gestures around to the seven-foot tall man, who towers especially high over everyone else, his height almost matching the shortest of the four heralds five steps above him. "And let us see..." The arm scans out into the congregation before a finger points at an acolyte whose elven ears poke out from behind her mask: Jia Sunicial. "You, Sister Jia, will join them."

Sledge glances at the Kassenites he had come with. If he's surprised or perturbed by the notion of being separated from his companions, he's not showing it here in public. Before he or anyone else has a chance to ask about what fate awaits Sledge, the herald turns his attention back to the young man who had paraded around in a wooden mask. "You will work with Brother Faltore, receiving more direct instruction." One of the other black-robed heralds nods, indicating himself as this Faltore.

The herald leading the ceremony raises both arms once more. "Rejoice, faithful of the Living God! Razmir's reach grows with each soul who accepts his grace. All hail the Living God!"
"All hail the Living God!"
"My new brothers: prove yourselves worthy and capable and you will become free members, able to do what you please and given all of your worldly possessions back. But until then, you must follow Brother Krant's teachings to the letter. In this way, you signify that you are prepared to learn."

"Return to your routines, my brothers and sisters. Be good to your new siblings. All hail the Living God!"
"All hail the Living God!"

With that, the ceremony comes to a close and the rows of cultists stand and file orderly out of the room. Faltore descends and leads Sledge out of sight. The two priests who held Roger and Winter back return them to their owners. If anyone else makes a move to leave, Krant grunts and simply says "No." He also points a large finger towards Jia and ushers her up to stand with the other four new acolytes, waiting until everyone else has left the room.

Krant stands silently with the group at first before speaking. He is a very large man, both in height and girth. His iron mask is also covered in rust, which none of the others observed so far have been. "Fresh meat," he says, his voice a deep bass. He chuckles darkly. "Okay, fresh meat. You heard Brother Egarthis. I'm your boss now, so you do what I say or else. Got it?"

He takes out a piece of paper and begins monotonously reading from it. He mispronounces or stumbles over several words as he reads. (Jia has, of course, heard these before, and studied them over the last two weeks.)

“It’s good to see new faces turned to the light,” Jia says as she looks over the other new acolytes, once Krant finishes going over his catechism. With the mask, it’s hard to tell if there’s any sparkle to her eyes, but certainly there’s no indication in her tone of voice to indicate that she’s being intentionally ironic.

“Especially if they bring their own magic to the service of the Living God,” she adds, taking in the animal companions of the other initiates, and drawing her conclusion from their participation at one remove from the rite. She indicates the familiar that hovers a pace behind her right shoulder, a bizarre cloud of floating rocks, whether polished sea-stones, semi-precious gems, or even the odd nugget of gold, all tumbling over and around another, sometimes ricocheting off one another with a gentle click and clatter. “This is Vinyo; they help me communicate with the spirits in all things, including those I can’t just speak with normally. They can understand the common tongue, but they don’t speak it, I’m afraid.”

It’s technically possible, she imagines, for her familiar to arrange their stones to spell things out in letters, but it’s probably a bit strange to limit oneself to such contortions, so she doesn’t blame them for not indulging her very often. With that introduction, she adds, “Oh, I’m sorry to ramble on so! It’s just, I haven’t been here very long myself, and it’s interesting to see what insights all sorts of people have into the Steps of Razmir’s way. All paths ultimately lead to the true god, after all. I’m Jia, but you can also call me Silk Violet, or Silk, for short. Most everyone does, especially when we have to deal with poor unbelievers.”

Something about the way the odd elf speaks suggests that what she means by all sorts of people, in her lightly-accented Taldane, tends to include more folks like Roger and Winter, or even trees and bits of rock, than most two-footed people would. Or even creatures like Krant. In any case, she turns to the giant overseer and asks, with as much cheerfulness as she can muster in the face of the weirdly ghoulish man’s truculence, “So, Brother Krant, what next for us?”

Don't mind us, accidentally falling into "good cop, bad cap" routines. :)

At the large man's initial introduction Garen responds, "As you say."

When the man finishes reciting the statements he asks, "Do we put the mask on now or wait?" If so directed he puts on the mask and says, "Thank you."

Garen listens to the woman cultist and wonders what made her go bat crazy to join this outfit. Then after she voices the question, "Yes, Brother Krant, what do we do next?"

Having seen such rituals, though not quite in such a grand place, Charles puts on his mask after initiation and taking back Roger. It was official at that point, so he followed suit of the others who had been officially inducted and were already wearing masks. Though the white robe doesn't have a pocket designed for the weasel, Roger rests comfortably on Charles' forearm during discussion after the ceremony.

Not quite sure what to make of the massive "instructor," Charles maintains his silence other than offering up "All hail the Living God!" when appropriate, imitating the others.

You put the masks on during the ceremony. If you hadn't, we'd still be in the ceremony!

You can't see Krant's face, of course, but you can almost tell that he must be scrunching up his face in confusion underneath the mask by the way he scratches his head. Then he lets out a guttural laugh of sorts. "Brother. Ha." He seems to lose his train of thought for a moment before pointing to a door to the door to the east. "You missed morning labor and you're no good to me until you out. I'll start you on regular $#*! tomorrow. We got a good schedule for new acolytes, learn you quick." He begins leading the group back downstairs to the lower level before pausing and shoving Evlar in the shoulder. "Oh! None of you are allowed upstairs. That's only for heralds. If I catch you up there, I swear to Razmir I'll beat your face in. Got it?"

The group is led back down the stairs they had come up several minutes before. Instead of going back to the cells, the group turns right and begins walking down the worn rug they had passed earlier. Several doors leading to other rooms flank the long hallway. A simple carpet, stained and worn, runs down the center of the hall. At the west end is the symbol of Razmir, painted on the wall. Krant point to the first door on the right, which leads into a dining hall.

The dining hall contains two long, wooden tables, with chairs arrayed on either side. Scraps of the morning meal litter the floor and the smell of stale wine hangs heavy in the room. A green everburning torch provides light. Most of the people in the room right now are white-robed acolytes. Most have their masks off while they're eating. "Meals are at eight bells, noon, six bells, and ten bells," Krant says. "Eat up."

Based on what the group can see of what the other acolytes are eating, it looks like lunch is half a loaf of bread, some fatty cut of meat, a thin slice of cheese, and some sort of white stew. Krant waits a moment, scanning around the room, before he leaves out the way he came and leaves the acolytes alone.

What do you do?

It's been a day so Garen heads over to get something to eat. "Good morning," he says as greeting to those nearby when he sits and removes his mask. "So, what's the news? What's the daily schedule like around here? You fellas do anything for fun?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12

Charles concentrates, trying to remember the tenets Brother Krant, but is very eager as soon as he smells the food. He quickly takes his mask off while he grabs a plate of food and makes his way to a table with an empty seat. He gives Roger a bit of the meat and cheese, but devours most of it himself. "Mmmm... Is the food always this good?

"Any chance we could get a bit of extra for a hungry acolyte?

The half-orc that Garen sits down next to scoffs. He looks like he has bags under his eyes. "Work, work, and more work," he responds. "You get used to it."

Charles finds that the food is not good, and his questions draws laughter from some of the acolytes nearby. There's more fat than meat and the meat is overcooked so that it has an unpleasant mouthfeel of tough, dry, and squishy. The bread is dry and crumbly--not stale, just lacking sufficient moisture. The cheese would be the best part if it was not so bland, but it at least offers some texture that masks the meat. The stew is a potato stew that tastes like no seasonings have been added. The potatoes themselves are an odd mixture of too firm and too mushy, so that one can't anticipate which one will get with each bite.

"Yup," a Garundi man with a shaved head says. "Krant's cooking is better than my mother's," he says, his words laced with obvious sarcasm. The other acolytes snicker as well, though a couple look nervously towards the door. "But it's free."

Jia relaxes a bit once Krant is gone. She’s trying to keep an open mind, but that he’s being kept around without anything serious being done that she can see about his bullying tendencies is going on the list of things that make her suspect that not all is well with this new religion.

Some much more obviously wicked cults are very honest about what they do and believe, and she can respect that, at least.

The same cannot be said for meals here, much to the elf’s chagrin after a few days trying to get a feel for the place. Asceticism is very definitely not her thing.

While getting her meal together, Jia takes the opportunity of so many acolytes being unmasked to assess their features candidly: nothing impolite, but obviously looking for something, or someone.

After deciding that that’s likely to prove as inconclusive this time as the last she tried it, she takes a seat with the gentlemen whose work crew / initiation circle she seems to have been assigned to, and tries to make conversation with them and the nearest other acolytes. She hasn’t really got to know anyone all that well yet, after all.

“So, what brings you all to the Living God? We all have our own stories, I’m sure,” she asks, gaze moving over the nearest faces around her. She keeps her tone casual, having gathered that the priests are likely not enthused by the prospect of a new initiate probing too keenly or recording her reflections and observations too assiduously. An unattended moment and not keeping pen and ink ready at hand might reassure the other acolytes too, for that matter.

Diplomacy, to gather information: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13
Mainly to get a feel for the mood of the other acolytes. True believers? Desperate? Curious? But she’ll ask keep an eye out for anyone who looks like she can chat with in Elven, and discreetly hint about trying to track down GM-knows-who. :)

She punctuates her observation of and contributions to the table-talk with bursts of quick bites at her meal, obviously torn between getting the eating over with, and not being eager to consume the unappetizing repast.

Charles considers speaking in favor of the Garundi's mother's cooking, but changes his mind, not sure how the humor would be taken and not wanting to cause too much commotion. Despite the nature of the food, his appetite is still voracious after having been starved for the past day. However, he does manage to keep his manners, but eats far more than one would think recommended.

"Silk, was it? The name's Charles and this," he says pointing down to the weasel on his lap who is not nearly as excited with the food, "is Roger. As for me, I've studied various religions, as well as the arcane and other such topics, and was intrigued at hearing about the Living God, especially given how close this area was to where I lived."

He expresses interest in Vinyo and openly observes him. "I've never quite seen anything similar. Are you a student of the arcane... or perhaps given Vinyo's consitution, a student of the natural?"

"I for one am here to seek enlightenment and to learn as much as I can about Razmir." Garen says quite truthfully.

"Do you have any beer here?"

“Oh, another scholar, how wonderful!” Jia perks up as Charles introduces himself, obviously finding the previous levels of intellectual curiosity among the Razmirans about as enticing as their meals, unless all the good conversation and comestibles are kept among the priests’ off-limits lounge upstairs. One more reason to investigate, and these fellows seem like they’d be more than adventurous enough.
Yay for co-conspirators! :)

It’s not that Jia has never encountered cliqueishness before – far from it! It’s just, among her people, it’s understood that that will lead to one-upmanship, infiltration, subversion, and so forth, all in (mostly) good fun, especially at the Crown of the World, where the harsh conditions and the influence of Findeladlara’s faith help to mitigate typical elven / Calistrian habits.

He expresses interest in Vinyo and openly observes him. "I've never quite seen anything similar. Are you a student of the arcane... or perhaps given Vinyo's consitution, a student of the natural?"

“A bit of both, I suppose you might, as the followers of the Wise (read: Yuelral) would, but I was trained among the priests of my people, mostly. A bit more … unusually than most, perhaps, but some of us try to keep ourselves open to what all the spirits and gods might teach us, though that does get complicated sometimes.”

“Like yourself, I’m generally interested in religion, though unlike you, my home is a ways further north,” the shaman gestures vaguely. “A lot of travellers in my family, and I seem to have inherited the wanderlust.”

“And dear Vinyo, honestly,” she adds, glancing to her own familiar. “Or perhaps the other way around. Occasionally an ioun wyrd turns up back home – goodness knows, rocks are some of the things that grow best up there, apart from birds and snowdrifts – but I don’t really know much about them. Iouns aren’t originally an elven invention, to the best of my knowledge. Still, when the spirits decided I needed a helper, they sent Vinyo, and they’re a godsend.”

“Here’s to the little mysteries, hmm?” She feels a flash of affection preening through her bond at her praise, as her wyrd spins and revolves their stones, as she lifts her cup in a partly ironic toast at Garen’s words.

"Do you have any beer here?"

“Watered, like the wine, and the tea’s worse,” she says flatly. She would be hard-pressed herself to pin down whether it’s attitude, resignation or pique that keeps any obvious humorous intent out of her tone. “We are certainly being tested, to prove our worthiness.”

“If –” the first word is a bit quieter, so as not to offend any more zealous or tattling among the acolytes surrounding her and her new neophyte friends “– Razmir is everything they say he is, won’t that be something? To think we’d be living in an age when a new god rises from the Starstone! So to speak. I have so many questions!”

"As do I, first, however, to find the brewery and see if I can at least improve the lot. Shall we go look for it? Hopefully they are not buying it."

Just as she had looked around on other days, trying to catch meals at each bell, Jia doesn't find the something or someone she's looking for. But she's starting to recognize a few faces. People are as choosy with their names here as they are with their stories, so she hasn't quite joined names to faces. It's mostly humans--to be fairly expected on this side of the Encarthan. A few half-orcs, and even fewer half-elves. The new kid is one of the few with elven features that Jia has seen in the past fortnight. Jia's certainly the only full elf she's seen. No dwarves or gnomes. And this halfling is also the first of the smallfolk she's seen.

Motivations have been mixed. The gray-robed priests seem almost invariably lock-step in reciting Razmiran scripture or dogma to answer any questions. And the white-robed acolytes? They stumble more with the scripture, but if anyone holds any doubts about what they're doing here, they haven't let on.

To Garen's probable dismay, Jia is absolutely correct--there is some ale available, but the quality is far diminished from his usual expectations. If a good ale can still taste good as its temperature warms, a cold temperature seems to be the only thing that makes this watered-down pale passable.

The half-elf at the same table has been quiet during Jia's initial introduction, appearing even more voracious than Charles. But as he polishes off a disappointing yet filling sandwich, he reaches his hand across the table. "Evlar," he says in acquaintance. "Dad said mom had some ioun stones but I never saw them. I didn't even know they could--" he gestures at the bobbling animated batch of stones "--do that." He pauses and furrows his brow. "What, do you think Razmir sent you Vinyo, or had something to do with them?"

The Garundi man who compared Krant's cooking to his mother's overhears Garen talking about the brewery and shakes his head. "Hey, new guy. Kitchen's off-limits less you wanna catch a Kranting."

Jia can also let the others know that they have limited time before Krant comes to retrieve them for work detail. There's only half an hour allotted for lunch, and they lost a few minutes with Krant's butchered introduction of the Razmiran catechism.

"Manual labor is good for the soul, or so they say." Garen says ready to deal with the work. Still, he will need to ask about the brewery.

The half-elf at the same table has been quiet during Jia's initial introduction, appearing even more voracious than Charles. But as he polishes off a disappointing yet filling sandwich, he reaches his hand across the table. "Evlar," he says in acquaintance. "Dad said mom had some ioun stones but I never saw them. I didn't even know they could--" he gestures at the bobbling animated batch of stones "--do that." He pauses and furrows his brow. "What, do you think Razmir sent you Vinyo, or had something to do with them?"

“That’s possible,” Jia allows with a nod. “In the tradition I was taught, familiars are … well, sometimes sent in the stronger sense, and sometimes the right one just happens to be in the right place for a priest to find.”

“I understand iouns themselves are old magic, but I’m sure that divine wisdom could work wonders to improve it. Maybe that Vinyo crossed my path is a sign of his providence after all,” she adds coolly. Her tone isn’t exactly overflowing with zeal, but it’s not overtly sarcastic either.

Her lips tighten at the mention of another ‘Kranting,’ and it provokes her rebellious side. “We can try to appeal to the cook’s –” (that she doesn’t say brewer’s is a telling choice) “- better nature after dinner, perhaps. We’ll probably be rounded up shortly to be given something to keep busy while we meditate on what we’ve learned today, though maybe we’ll be scrubbing potatoes and can get a word in that way.”

“Or, like I said, there’s always the evening.”

Bluff (nudge-nudge, wink-wink), DC 15: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

Continuing our inauspicious start. XD

Jia means to hint at openness to sneaking about after nightfall, but her equable neutral tone instead conveys a lack of interest, as if to reiterate her initial shrugging agreement to put their heads in at the door after the evening meal.

Can elves and humans (and halflings) find common ground? It remains to be seen as the door once more swings open. You still can't see his face, but his ample size makes it abundantly clear that Krant has returned.
"Fresh meat, come with me," he says. If anyone is still eating or looks like they might linger longer than he wants, Krant pounds his meaty fist on the doorframe and shouts "NOW!"

As the group is marched up the stairs, Krant turns around to make sure that everyone has put their masks back on. Evlar seems to have forgotten, and he gets shoved from a few steps up back down, where he trips and tumbles. "Mask, pretty boy." The young half-elf complies, though he looks angry at being shoved before his face disappears.

The well-worn path back up the stairs and through the armory now leads into the yard under the hot noonday sun.
"Right. Your ordinary routine starts tomorrow. Lucky for you, elf girl."

The afternoon proceeds with a series of exercises, drills, and manual labor: cleaning up the stables, splitting timber, and other boring but necessary work. Krant doesn't explain how long this labor will last (though Jia remembers her first day and recalls that they will break for afternoon prayer in a few hours).

---

Let's get creative! Everyone: please describe one (or more) of the tasks that you're doing and pair it with an appropriate roll of your choice. For instance, an appropriate Profession check (e.g., farmer, shepherd, stable master, woodcutter) would be the most appropriate. Most other skills are not relevant, and so a physical Ability check (especially Strength or Constitution) would be the most appropriate. This will determine Krant's starting attitude towards you.

Sense motive on Jia: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

My lady, I would love to have relations with you but I do not think this evening is good timing. Besides, we barely know one another." Garen says misreading Jia's cues but he does let her down nicely.

Diplomacy toward Jia: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

After the young elf man gets pushed, Garen can take it no longer, "I don't recall one of Razmir's tenets as being a bully. Perhaps you need to be enlightened."

Intimidate: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Krant turns around to Garen, not even drawing up to his full height. "You wanna try, maggot?"

The bear of a man cracks his knuckles and shrugs his shoulders back. "Sounds to me like mutiny."

That's a retaliatory 27 vs Garen's demoralize DC of 14, so he's now Shaken for 3 rounds.

A shaken character takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.

So Garen's intimidate obviously fails, by a lot. If we're getting into a tangle, I'm going to need Garen to roll for Initiative >:D

At some point, does Charles get his spellbook back and would have time to prepare spells for the day?

"Manual labor is going to be rough after the all-nighter." Looking at the faces around him he assumes they don't put a high focus on making sure acolytes rest a great deal.

As her attempt at conspiracy with her new friends goes terribly wrong, Jia turns as red as the impossibly long dawn of the high arctic, to the tips of her ears, and her jaw drops in horror as she briefly checks that she was actually speaking Taldane and hasn’t forgotten her words. She’s a writer, how could she have got this so wrong?

Maybe it’s a body language thing? Humans are weird, with their rounded features and creepy white eyes, and that’s even before getting into the fact that she’s so far south.

“What?! No! That’s not-” she splutters, until, for the first time in the few days she’s known him, the appearance of Krant offers hope of rescue.

At least, until the giant of a man starts bullying Evlar while roaring for everyone to get moving and Garen calls him on it. She appreciates Garen’s honorable stand, and part of her desperately wants to see Krant pushed back, though she’s not sure what will happen if things get very messy. Could she be kicked out? Will she lose the trail she’s trying to find, and her chance at finding out what Razmir’s all about?

Ah, well, if things are already this fraught, maybe she can combine a call for cooler heads with a way of getting a peek at what the higher-ups are doing.

“Look, brother,” she addresses Krant, cutting in quickly, “I don’t know what’s troubling you to sour your mood so, these few days past, but aren’t we all siblings in the Living God?”

She points to her own acolyte’s mask among the crowd of initiates with the same artificial face. “Can we take a breath to calm down, or do we have to take this to the elders upstairs?” Oh yes, pretty pretty please. ;)

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

Well, I'll be darned. Not meaning to work against you, Garen! If you want to roll for initiative, by all means!

I hate it when I refresh and post something only to see there have been a dozen posts come through in the meantime. I hate technology.

"Those who have ascended the steps speak with the authority of the Living God. Failing to obey them is akin to disobeying the will of Razmir Himself." Charles repeats one of the main tenets he has heard. "Even though we may disagree, Brother Krant does speak as the will of Razmir to us. I think we need to just remember to wear our masks and listen."

Charles does his best to ignore any looks from the others that comes his way as he tries to do what is expected and calm the situation down. Through his study of history, he has seen that appeasing bullies only works in the short-term, but his companions plans he doesn't see this being a long-term endeavor.

--------------------------------------

I'll wait and post actions in the work yard after we watch the fight. :-) But on that note, would Craft (Alchemy), Knowledge (Nature) or Knowledge (Engineering) be of any use? Assuming not, but never hurts to ask... hopefully. lol

Technology is wonky!

Craft (alchemy) won't come in handy here, not yet, especially as you lack the tools to make anything potentially useful. But at other, later tasks, perhaps when you have some reagents, then it may be able to be rolled either by itself or to provide a bonus to a primary roll. The Knowledges won't come in handy right now, unfortunately.

Stellar Diplomacy roll, Jia. So Krant doesn't hate Jia right now, and might even be willing to back down and not beat the snot out of Garen, but much depends on what Garen does next.

"Not at all brother Krant. I was merely pointing out that we are all on an enlightenment journey and that it might be better to help," with this Garen offers Evlar a hand to help him to his feet. "Our brothers in need instead of causing them grief." With Evlar up, "Please, show us what our tasks for today are." Garen says closing out his comments. Krant was one big, scary man but Garen felt he covered himself well.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 - 2 ⇒ (9) + 8 - 2 = 15

Krant huffs as Jia and Charles reference the catechism back, looking for a moment like he had been looking forward to driving the unarmed and unarmored Garen's face into the ground. But then he points to Charles after the "will of Razmir" comment. "What he said. And don't you forget it."

He whirls and leads the group out into the yard. On the way, Evlar walks a little closer to Garen and whispers.

Let's go again! Everyone: please describe one (or more) of the tasks that you're doing and pair it with an appropriate roll of your choice. For instance, an appropriate Profession check (e.g., farmer, shepherd, stable master, woodcutter) would be the most appropriate. Most other skills (i.e., knowledge, lore, craft, artistry) are not relevant, and so a physical Ability check (especially Strength or Constitution) would be the most appropriate. This, in addition to the interaction that just occurred, will determine Krant's starting attitude towards you.

Well, Jia wasn’t able to talk it into an audience with the higher priests, but at least no one started throwing punches.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

She moves on too quickly to catch what she assumes is Evlar's murmured thanks, hoping that Krant has some even marginally interesting chores in mind.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that the barbarian has any mind to use her skills. Taking a look at the liturgy? Penning a hymn, or practicing accompaniment? Looking after any ill or wounded members of the community? No, no, no, and no.

Maybe she could go foraging for mushrooms? Something to liven up the acolytes’ meals on the cheap?

Hell’s whiskers, even painting a fence to give it some weatherproofing would be a better use of her talents, though an insult to them. Long-shot, but if possible… Survival, or Craft (painting): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18 (Same mod either way.)

Mostly, though, she finds herself being dragged into helping tidy up the stable. After all, she has a mount, one of the other faceless acolytes helpfully points out. She does not offer the rejoinder that she normally looks after one mount, not a horse, either, and much as she’s fond of him, as far as things go, that’s not that far. She’s no druid.

Shanghaied into stablehand or muck-raker, then. Con check: 1d20 ⇒ 4

It's far too much for her delicate sensibilities, too, and she very nearly faints.

Here's hoping she can go foraging after all. Or she'll just embarrass herself being all prissy. XD

With no sign of a brewery as of yet, Garen heads to the stables. Having spent time with several animals he felt it was probably what he was most suited for other than just brute manual labor.

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

If the stable has no animals to be tended or the spots are taken Garen moves into manual labor mode and chops wood or hauls water as needed.

STR: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (13) + 10 = 23

Charles shrugs at Evlar's self-sufficiency. He was certainly glad he wasn't in here alone, though he did hate that one member of his group had just been separated off.

Hitting the yard, Charles moved towards the large log pile and began splitting logs. Grateful for his magical abilities, but the long night on the hard floor made it rough on him and his back began aching, slowing him down significantly more than he'd like.

Constitution: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Botting Silvio for now. The PC is still trying to get things sorted.

Silvio, Profession (shepherd): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
Evlar, Profession (woodcutter): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

The afternoon passes long under the heat of the sun overhead. Unlike what Jia expected, they work through the afternoon prayer and all the way through until six bells dinner. During the sweaty manual labor of the late afternoon, the workers observe the other acolytes running through different drills under the instruction of more senior priests. Much of today's training seems to be focused on walking together as a group. Whatever instruction is being given is out of the earshot of those still laboring.

Unfortunately Garen finds that the stables are currently empty, so the effort is more to clean up the stables than to care for animals. Silvio and Jia join him in the effort, which is as smelly as it is backbreaking. (Jia thins that it might be possible to grow some mushrooms in the manure, but Krant has no interest in entertaining the discussion at the moment. Nor does he provide any cans of paint.)

Garen and Jia can make a Survival check while in the stables.

Evlar joins Charles in the woodcutting efforts, trying to give the older gentleman some pointers on how to work without wrecking his back. It might be good advice for future days, but Charles finds himself getting tired as the hours stretch on.

Both Charles and Jia are now 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.

Dinner, it seems, can't come soon enough. Krant leads the way back down to the mess hall. Before leaving them in the mess hall, he points the new recruits to the barracks where their sleeping quarters are: directly across from the mess hall. Eight wooden double bunks rest in this room, each outfitted with simple straw mattresses and a thin blanket. A communal table sits in the center of the room, flanked by four chairs, at which a few unmasked acolytes are currently seated playing a dice game. Two chests lie open between the bunks, each one loaded up with fresh white robes. Pegs are mounted to the walls above the chests for the acolytes to hang their masks on when they are not wearing them. An everburning torch rests in a cloth-draped frame hanging from the ceiling above the table.
"You get a free night," Krant says. "Eat up. Training starts at seven tomorrow."

Dinner is not much better than lunch. A vegetable stew, again with no seasonings, greets the eaters. The vegetables are--like the potatoes earlier--alternately mushy and hard, like the result of overheating or reheating. Occasionally flecks of meat are found floating in the soup, though what animal they came from is hard to tell. Coarse bread is served alongside, though without butter or oil it's probably best reserved for sopping up the juices of the soup. Ale and wine are also on offer, though the quality hasn't improved in the hours since lunch.

The evening is yours. What do you do?

Garen draws Charles and Silvio aside. "I think we need to make a good impression before we start poking around. Easier to get away with it in that case. I didn't help that situation earlier, for that I apologize. I just don't like bullies. Once we get into a regular rhythm we will need to try and find out what the cult is actually up to. I'll start asking around tomorrow, see if I can get people to talk about what they've seen. Charles, can Roger communicate with you? Do you think he would be a worthwhile spy to send out? Last but not least, what do you think of this Jia girl, she doesn't seem to be like the other cultists?"

Survival: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15