The acolyte looks down towards Silvio, their face masked beyond recognition, and shrugs. "Never had much use for gods before this, but Abadar, I guess." Silvio doesn't recognize the man's voice from previous conversations in the mess hall or barracks.
He gets into a position that suggests he's ready to give the contest his best shot before relaxing slightly. "The first time--the first few times--are hard. But you get used to it."
The man reaches up and scratches his face under his mask before broadening his shoulders in mock confidence. "I, uh...I don't know much about Erastil to be honest. But, uh...what kind of a name is that, huh? Er-ASS-til? There's no strength in that name. If ErASStil was so smart, he'd choose a name mortals couldn't make fun of, am I right?"
The acolyte's bravado lingers for a moment before fading. "Wow that sucked. All right, tell me something real. What convinced you that Erastil wasn't worth following anymore? And then try me with Abadar."
Seeing Silvio head over to another acolyte, Charles moves over to a different acolyte as well, hoping to find someone more amicable to this type of philosophical discussion.
He squares up with someone behind an iron masks and begins. "I previously followed Erastil. Though I confess that I've studied various religions and divinities of various types. Do you follow one of the weaker gods of farmers known best for helping impregnation rates of farm animals? Or perhaps one of the gods of the city who has little power within the dark alleys those cities provide or in the wildernesses beyond? Perhaps you used to follow one of the demon lords, like Asmodeus, that subjugate and humiliate the weak? One where the strong are relentless on newcomers and think them as worthless to do anything more than meaningless tasks."
As it so happens, Charles does find someone who seems more philosophically aware, though perhaps pompous about it. "Well actually, Asmodeus leads the devils, not the demons. If you were a true scholar, you'd know that, but I guess that can't be expected of a farmer focused on breeding sows." The man laughs heartily. "I don't recognize your voice, I don't think. You one of the new guys? That's not half bad."
The man cracks his shoulders and stands tall. "I think I got the best of the batch, though, when it comes to previous gods. You know much about Gorum?"
Garen looks at the others and then back to Jia, "Sorry, didn't catch any of that. I can speak passable giant but that's about it."
“Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” Jia apologizes, hesitating for a moment before resigning herself to the possibility of getting into more trouble if there are keen-eared tattle-tales around as she lowers her voice. “I don’t think slandering anyone’s gods is going to be very productive. When they send us out later, I think we should focus on Razmir’s offerings –”
There is a decided hint of ‘such as they are’ in her tone, though they are better than nothing, for the desperate, she grants. “– though we can be isinuating about what the other temples in town are doing, or not.”
If it encourages more generosity among believers of all affiliations, surely that is a welcome side effect of the appearance of this strange cult that Jia’s investigating.
And then, despite the disastrous results of the last time she tried to be oblique with Garen, she tries again to convey her willingness to sneak around to see what the reclusive priests are doing upstairs and/or to get her new friends their things back. Letting her voice reach its normal volume again, she asks in a rather stage-y cadence that should alert the Iomedaean warrior that she means something else, “Is it really true that the Inheritor stole her sword back from the Whispering Tyrant at his very doorstep?”
Unfortunately, despite the shaman's theatrics, her comparatively shaky grasp on normal Taldane inflections makes it sound rather like an honest question by an eclectic spirit-collector.
Silvio shoots back at the man who so weakly insulted his god. "Oh Abadar, god of wealth? Or should I say god of the wealthy? Those hoity toity nobles collectin' coin and keepin' it for themselves!" It felt kind of easy to criticize Abadar--he didn't much like the deity.
Of course, Razmir was starting to feel a bit like Abadar in some ways--there was an excessive interest in money. He sidesteps the question about why he stopped following Erastil and instead tries answering the question about why he would follow Razmir. "Why worship a god when you can be one? Just gotta keep following the steps. One down, 30 to go!"
These masks truly made it difficult to tell what a person's reaction was. It was remarkable in some ways how much one typically relied on facial expressions. And yet Silvio's remarks hit the man with such ferocity that his body language betrays near shock.
"Damn," he says, his breath just about a whisper. "Damn, that's good. I gotta use that one next time I run into Tyrol outside the bank. Both of 'em, actually. Hang on a minute..." The man turns from Silvio for a moment and calls over a few other people. "New kid's good at this. Tell 'em what you told me, Brother..." He pauses. "You know, we might as well learn your name. You might be going places here."
---
|
Having been around Jia for the last couple of days, Garen feels he is starting to get a read on her. "Yes, yes she did. Snuck around at night as a matter of fact." Garen gets fairly literal but doesn't want to send an unclear message (bluff is pitiful) and the conversation should cover the situation anyway.
Silvio grins as he seems to make some new connections. It was tricky trying to tell everyone apart with the masks. Maybe his advantage was that everyone could pretty easily know who he was. "Thanks, friend. The name's Silvio." He offers a hand stretching upward to each of them and tries to catch some names. After a bit of mingling, he adds. "Any idea what Krant is going to do with Elvar? I'm still hurting a bit from the morning," he notes, rubbing his injured leg.
"Gorum, huh?" Charles asks. "That's actually got a lot of similarities with Asmodeus. At least with Asmodeus you've got a deity with a brain who plots while Gorum just encourages whacking things with big sticks. Everyone knows where Asmodeus stands when considering moral questions, but there is far more capriciousness when it comes to Gorum. Both focus on oppression of the weak by the strong."
Looking around to make sure there are no others within too close of earshot he asks, "Since you seem to know your stuff, which would you say would be a better comparison to large individuals that walk around here and like to beat others? Following Gorum would be like being excited to be lead by Krant."
Silvio gets a few names, but it's hard to pair any of them distinctively with any of the acolytes. They might try to find him later, though. "Did he break a rule?" one of the men asks of Evlar. When Silvio suggests that, no, he had just failed at the assigned task, there is a grumbling and general nodding. "Depends on Krant's mood. He likes beating folk."
Charles gets a similar vibe from his verbal sparring partner. "He's dumb as a bull, but he's fine if you don't get on his bad side. You wanna have fun with Krant? He doesn't get most jokes, so you can get one over his head real easy. Only thing he really laughs at is violence."
As if on cue, Krant returns with Evlar, who he tosses out into the courtyard. Although any injuries can't be seen beneath the mask and robe, it's obvious by the way he moves that the man is in pain.
"Awright, we tearing the pantheon of the useless a new one? I think you've earned your dinner, then, maggots. Come on!"
Dinner is moderately better than the day before, since it seems like someone other than Krant took over the bulk of prep. But it's still based on the same soup, probably just reheated. The meat--at least you think it's meat--has a different texture than the night before. At least the bread isn't moldy.
When he takes his mask off at dinner, Elvar's face is deeply bruised, with several swollen welts and an eye that's half-closed over.
Evening prayer is right after dinner, but the group is told that they'll have an hour after the prayer to themselves before they have their final work and study of the day.
Time flies when one’s having fun, so fortunately keeping her ears open for the other acolyte’s efforts at sacrilege means that dinnertime comes around before Jia is tempted to take the opportunity to run Shelyn down a bit, if only teasingly, as somewhat of a rival for Findeladlara.
If the last few days have made anything clear, it’s that this – and the whole Razmir business generally – isn’t really a place for the northern elf shaman, but before she extricates herself, she’s both curious about what the other newest arrivals’ angles are, and how best to make off with as many secrets as possible.
Knowledge and trickery: they’re motivations favoured by probably the most characteristically elven deity, so Jia doesn’t mind leaning a bit more on providence than she normally would, when she catches sight of poor Evlar’s battered face.
She remembers that some of the acolytes have been fascinated by Charles’ magic to spice mealtimes up, so… If they want a show, to see the grace of the spirits at work, well.
“How bad is it, Evlar?” she asks quietly, not looking at him directly as she plays with some of the unused cutlery on the table. (Getting through the stale artisanally aged bread’s crust is probably more easily achieved with a hands-on technique anyway.) Into the beat of waiting for a response, Jia casually places three knives on an open space on the table, quietly spinning a couple to form something like a tiny metallic starburst with the blades pointed out.
|
|
Garen seethes at the treatment but he wants information before he deals with or gets dealt with by Krant. Right after the prayer, he walks the halls they recently cleaned in the temple looking at the offices and trying to determine if the area was clear enough for one of them to poke around in an office.
The half-elf doesn't look up as Jia asks her question. "I've had worse," he says. He winces as he says the /v/, his swollen lip catching on his lower teeth.
---
Following evening prayers, Garen walks the permitted grounds. He finds people in the following rooms of the first floor and the basement:
First Floor
Basement
When he has time to himself again, Silvio immediately goes to find Winter, offering him some of the unexciting slop that he had been given to eat. A small benefit of being a halfling given human-sized portions was that it was easy enough to share. "There's a good boy, Winter! We gotta keep a low profile so Krant doesn't come up with any ideas. I heard someone talk about putting you in a kennel, you know."
Apart from the mummery with the tableware, Jia delivers her magic without much fuss: a frank prayer in Elven to invoke and thank the spirits - including any, ah, Lady in the Room - for their powers of healing, and then a sympathetic grin as she grasps Evlar's hand to seal the deal.
"Well, that's no reason not to make you a bit better if I can," she says. "And if we've got the masks anyway, what's it going to be to the Old Lump?"
Winter seems delighted to see Silvio, licking his face even more than he laps up the meal portion he's brought. There were both benefits and detriments to being distinctive in this place.
---
As Jia pronounces her invocation, Evlar looks both relieved and confused. His swollen eye is now back to its normal size and the worst bruises have receded. He's not in perfect shape, but he's doing better. And his face betrays wary suspicion. In Elven, he asks "How'd you do that?"
---
Opening the wooden door to the west reveals...the kitchen. Sacks, barrels, crates, pots, pans, knives, and other cooking supplies dominate much of this room, and the stench of dirty pots is almost overwhelming. In the corner, a few dying coals smolder in a simple cooking hearth. A door on the right side of the room almost certainly leads back into the mess hall. The largest feature in the room is a combination table-cabinet with several drawers. Each drawer is dotted with a keyhole.
As Jia pronounces her invocation, Evlar looks both relieved and confused. His swollen eye is now back to its normal size and the worst bruises have receded. He's not in perfect shape, but he's doing better. And his face betrays wary suspicion. In Elven, he asks "How'd you do that?"
<“Blessing of the gods,”> Jia whispers back, her face straight. It does help that she is actually being dead serious for once. <“Maybe himself – it would be nice to think so, wouldn’t it? – but, honestly, I wasn’t trained like your temple priests. I get a … hint, sometimes, especially in a desperate situation, but it’s not really a first-name basis sort of situation. It’s a strange combination of carefully studying spellcraft, being open to the spirits, and getting their attention. I think it might be different for everyone.”>
OK, mostly serious. On that note, based on what she knows about Razmir, what she’s seen of his cult here so far, and her eclectic approach to spirituality, Jia thinks he probably takes himself too seriously, and wouldn’t have noticed her, so – especially in the little knot of doubt and perspective she finds herself in – she can’t help but be a bit flippant about her estimate of the probability that she’s channeling Razmir through her magic right now.
Charles does his normal routine, enhancing the food and chilling the water for the evening meal. Knowing that they are close to getting items back, he does not risk doing any exploring. He hangs around the barracks and attempts to entertain others with some of his cantrips to minimize the impact of some of the others sneaking away.
"I'm excited to finally get my hands on my spellbook again. Being able to peruse that and use a few more tricks could certainly come in handy. It also sounds like we may be able to wander around town a bit as well in a day or so. Are we given much freedom to look around the town and pick up items when we're out and about?"
Silvio contents himself with some playtime with Winter! He truly hoped this initiation would end soon. He didn't feel like he could learn the deeper secrets of this place as a mere initiate.
Leaving the kitchen behind, Garen trods east along the well-worn carpet to the iron door betwixt the stairs. He looks around the door for a few moments before jiggling the handle and finding the door...locked. The echo of steps suggests that someone is coming down the steps to the south.
---
After roughhousing with Silvio for a bit, Winter runs off and returns in short order to his master with a rather long bone.
---
Lars nods at Charles' question. "Oh yeah. Once they think you won't embarrass the Church, you'll get more duties around the city and fewer around here. As long as you wear your mask and get done what you're assigned, you start to get free rein."
It's hard to tell whether Lars was at any of the earlier training events, but the voice doesn't sound the same as whoever Charles interacted with above.
---
Evlar's brow furrows as he listens to Jia, looking nervous. <"Gods? Spirits?">
Oh, right.
<“I’m not local, so I forget how different our ways back home look down here,”> Jia smiles. Or she tries, tilting her masked head a bit to the side in a gesture that she hopes will serve as translation.
She decides to work out in both directions from the middle. <“It’s … well, take the ones that are in all the oldest stories, the ones you learn at your parents’ knees: the fey enchantresses, the witches in the wild, the dryads dreaming under their trees and the bogeymen in the shadows.”
<“All something like spirits, right? Now, my roots go back to the silver tree on the other side of the world, so I was taught that all things have their spirits, not just the ones you hear about in tales, or, on the other side of things, the great ones we call gods who look after whole ideas of things.”>
<“And that’s what – and who – I was taught a priestess looks after: all of them, as best she can. Now, your door spirit, say, probably isn’t going to cause as much trouble as the lady in the local woods, if you start taking too much wood, or anywhere as much as if you catch the eye of one of the great gods in an unhappy sort of way, but we’ve got to live with all of them, so it’s only sensible to try to get along with all the neighbours.”>
Evlar looks uncomfortable as Jia talks, but nods carefully. He continues back in Taldane. "Like Vinyo, maybe," he says at last, remembering the curious ioun creature Jia had shown him the day before. "I don't know much...about..." He stumbles, his sullen eyes downcast. "Anything, really. But especially, uh, you. You people. Your people." He looks flustered, frowns, and sighs. "My mom's people. Elves." With a shake of his head and a shrug, intermixing Elven phrases here and there when he's quoting Jia. "Like I don't even know what <the silver tree on the other side of the world> is, and I've never heard about the <bogeyman in the shadows> either. It's..." The frown deepens. "Sorry."
---
A gray-robed priest meets Garen on the bottom step. Masked, implacable, the priest raises a finger at Garen. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Hey! Where'd you find that thing?" asks Silvio as Winter returns with a bone. Given the kind of slop they were eating, sure seemed weird that he'd snag any bone, let alone such a large one. Looking around to make sure he's truly alone, he utters a quiet prayer to Erastil and takes a careful look at it.
Winter drops the bone at his master's feet, his tongue lolling out, and gives a very small bark in response, as though expecting to play fetch.
With a chill, Silvio things that the bone looks almost...humanoid. Stripped of any muscle or sinew, but it might be a fibula.
Evlar looks uncomfortable as Jia talks, but nods carefully. He continues back in Taldane. "Like Vinyo, maybe," he says at last, remembering the curious ioun creature Jia had shown him the day before. "I don't know much...about..." He stumbles, his sullen eyes downcast. "Anything, really. But especially, uh, you. You people. Your people." He looks flustered, frowns, and sighs. "My mom's people. Elves." With a shake of his head and a shrug, intermixing Elven phrases here and there when he's quoting Jia. "Like I don't even know what <the silver tree on the other side of the world> is, and I've never heard about the <bogeyman in the shadows> either. It's..." The frown deepens. "Sorry."
Jia’s heart goes out to the poor fellow. It must be devastating enough to have human blood cutting one’s lifespan short, but for anyone to be deprived of as much of their birthright as they can hold onto, regardless of their circumstances… It’s enough to make one think that maybe it would be nice if what some of the impatient ones say about half-elves is true, she muses, though she’s certainly polite enough not to say so so bluntly.
“They’re our people – yours too, by your mother’s side. As for my side – well, that’s a long story and a long way. The silver tree was a vision to an oracle before Earthfall, when our people were scattered. My ancestors were among those who followed her to Tian Xia, and, much more recently, my family’s been trading along the Path of Aganhei. But few of us have made the entire journey recently: certainly not me, for whom the Dragon Empires are only the stuff of heirlooms and tales as much as anything else. It’s a bit of a miracle I’ve been able to come so far south from the roads along the Crown of the World.”
(Well, that and an elf-gate, but mum’s the word!) She offers Evlar a wistful smile before something else occurs to her, as she thinks it’s becoming increasingly likely that this Razmir business is no place for someone who seems like a nice enough young man.
She switches back to Elven, her tone conversational at first, and then dropping low and quick, using speed in an effort to disguise urgency as trivia.
Silvio freezes for a moment, chilled by the discovery. "Oh, this is something. Something really bad," decides Silvio. "Where did you find this?"
Winter continues to yip, wanting to play fetch and not tell Silvio where he found it. "Hush!" Silvio tries to quiet Winter, then starts looking around for a place to hide the bone. "We can't let anyone find this!"
Garen continues entertaining the crew in the barracks with some of the many uses of his few prepared cantrips. After summoning a group of glowing will-o'wisps to hover around the ceiling to provide some extra light, he summoned a ghostly glowing figure in to the room and had it approach the one who reacted the calmest to its presence. He didn't REALLY want to scare the hee-bee-gee-bees out of someone, though the looks on some of their faces betrayed that it wouldn't take much.
Once again he had to explain that this wasn't really a blessing of Razmir as much as it was an intellectual discipline. Nearly anyone could master it given enough time, though he had heard of some who took to magical discipline without any discipline or studies at all.
Though he couldn't wait to show them how easy it was to make simple repairs to his clothing when it would snag or tear on branches in the woods.
"Then you should know," comes the voice of the priest above Garen, "That the door you were rattling is off-limits. Period." He walks towards Garen, stopping just next to him and lowering his voice. "Don't try it again." And he moves past.
---
"Our?" Elvar says blinking, uncertain of his place as Jia talks of the Mithral Roots and the Crown of the World. When she switches back to Elven, he responds in kind. His words in the tongue of the Fair Ones is slower: his command of the tones and poetry demonstrate less fluency and familiarity, but at least his grammar is learned.
<"Let's see...naming around here is often your name and who's son or daughter you are, or maybe your profession. So I'm a Thilisson, and before this I lived under Thilis' thumb. I don't know whether I'm more of a bastard or the son of a bastard."> He gives a wry smile at his best attempt at Elven wordplay. <"He's just a man who preaches his-house-his-rules and wouldn't let me live my life, so I left. I did odd jobs for a bit. Mostly manual labor. The streets were better than his house, but...they were still the streets.">
---
As Silvio tries to process his and Charles yearns for his spellbook, the door to the barracks opens once more. It's about half an hour after the evening's nine bells, but this time it's not Krant; rather a different gray-robed priest stands in the door.
"It is time for your final responsibilities of the day, my brothers and sisters," the priest says. "You will continue to transcribe your own copy of the Thirty-One Steps. If you have already finished your own, you will continue so that you can have extra copies to provide to the people you meet in the streets of Tamran."
Silvio is relieved to see not Krant give them their final task. At least, he's relieved until he realizes what the task is. He lets out a silent groan in his mind, and gets to work. But he positions himself next to his companions as he writes.
"Psst. I need to tell you something. Winter found a bone today. But not just any bone. A humanoid leg bone. We need to be very careful here."
It takes him 3 hours of work to complete his task, which honestly is less than he expected given that he was writing what felt to him like blasphemy.
"Our?" Elvar says blinking, uncertain of his place as Jia talks of the Mithral Roots and the Crown of the World. When she switches back to Elven, he responds in kind. His words in the tongue of the Fair Ones is slower: his command of the tones and poetry demonstrate less fluency and familiarity, but at least his grammar is learned.
<"Let's see...naming around here is often your name and who's son or daughter you are, or maybe your profession. So I'm a Thilisson, and before this I lived under Thilis' thumb. I don't know whether I'm more of a bastard or the son of a bastard."> He gives a wry smile at his best attempt at Elven wordplay. <"He's just a man who preaches his-house-his-rules and wouldn't let me live my life, so I left. I did odd jobs for a bit. Mostly manual labor. The streets were better than his house, but...they were still the streets.">
<“Oh, I’m truly sorry to hear it. Family can change and have their differences, but they should never be cruel,”> Jia says sympathetically. After a beat, she returns to what she hopes is the happier subject, and says, <“Well, I’m afraid still wandering wide-eyed and curious, so I don’t know much about Kyonin myself, let alone Erages. But the latter’s on the lake, so if you haven’t had your fill of the open air and feel a pull to the water… One day I’d like to see the sea, myself: some of the river roads are lovely, and maybe Lake Encarthan’s a start, but I wonder what the great oceans are like.”>
Before she can continue her chit-chat, the brief reprieve of the break for dinner is over and a new (!) priest arrives to usher the acolytes off to their evening task. Jia tilts her head apologetically to Evlar, sorry to break off their conversation abruptly. At least, though, the evening’s work is finally something that suits her talents, and she’s rather excited – in a cool, placid sort of way, as befits a scribe keen to do a good job – even if the Thirty-One Steps isn’t the sort of thing to inspire her.
Unfortunately, her excitement is premature, and even the quiet, soothing clatter as Vinyo periodically clicks a couple of their orbiting stones together from where they hover over her desk is unable to distract her from the fallacies and incongruities in the text she's been set to copy, especially after Charles' masterful prodding in earlier discussions.
Gritting her teeth for a while – which is much less soothing than Vinyo’s quiet accompaniment – Jia finally manages to take a few deep breaths and get into a flow state, her pen whispering melodiously over the page. Once she really gets going, Jia finds her confidence again, but, unfortunately, also a bit of a devil in her after the lost time, and her increasing frustration with the nonsense she’s put up with for far too long already from these weirdos with their strange god, whether Razmir himself is the real deal or not.
It goes so well, in fact, once Jia concentrates on doing the best job she can, that instead of moving on to another copy as instructed, she surreptitiously starts illuminating her text with floral marginalia, into which she works among the leaves and stems, as discreetly as she can, exceedingly uncomplimentary commentary in curling Elven script, signposting illogicalities in the text and sometimes, baldly, “Lies,” along with barbs at the expense of Krant and one or two of the other priests whose foibles have attracted her wicked attention.
Silvio is relieved to see not Krant give them their final task. At least, he's relieved until he realizes what the task is. He lets out a silent groan in his mind, and gets to work. But he positions himself next to his companions as he writes.
"Psst. I need to tell you something. Winter found a bone today. But not just any bone. A humanoid leg bone. We need to be very careful here."
It takes him 3 hours of work to complete his task, which honestly is less than he expected given that he was writing what felt to him like blasphemy.
Jia's putting a flourish on an ivy stem / another quip at what passes for learning among Razmiran priests when Silvio quietly gets her attention with an even more damning pronouncement.
"That puts a rather different complexion on what's going on here," she replies carefully, setting down her pen. "Any suggestions on how we should proceed, to get some answers?"
Charles keeps the room well-lit with extra lights for all of the acolytes scribal work using his Dancing Lights spell. For the most part, he makes speedy work of this task in making his own copy. He is grateful for the opportunity to have an actual copy of the Thirty-One Steps so he can study the official teachings a bit better instead of relying solely on verbal instruction.
While writing, he ponders where they get the copies that they are using to make their copies. He has seen in other religions where having copious amounts of copied texts by professional scribes allowed errors to be recognized with some studious checks.
After copying the text, he goes through and spot checks the half a dozen pages, making sure that the words at the ends of the quarter, half, and three-quarters lines match and then another half dozen pages checking the middle word on the top and sides of the pages.
Feeling confident in his copywork, and seeing that others are still working, he grabs another blank book and begins making another copy, not necessarily anxious to spread the word of Razmiran, but knowing he could possibly get a message back on his group's status.
In the front of the new copy, he pens "by Charles Greenhilt, Alchemist/Sage, 45". Then in the bottom margin on page 45, he writes a quick note "We are good. Will report when possible. Information on Krant?"
Charles keeps the lights on and even coalesces them around those who stay up the full 4 hours with him as needed so others can get some sleep.
|
|
"At what level would I have access, when I wear a robe like yours?" Garen asks trying to sound sincere.
---
With a sigh, wishing he were swinging practice swords in summer heat while wearing an itchy gambeson rather than doing copy work, he puts his pen to paper. While not a scholarly student, Garen is persistent. His skill is fair at best but he hammers away at the task. Finally, after three hours of rigor, a cramped hand, and anger over the fact he will never get those hours back, Garen sets aside his final copy.
The gray-robed priest turns back around and chuckles. "I am not yet worthy," he responds. "Only the heralds go there. And Krant."
The transcription work is harder work than some of the new acolytes of Razmir expect, but they come away with little more than cramped hands and the promise of an uncomfortable bed.
Morning comes too soon, and with it another rude awakening by Krant to eat another dreary, flavorless breakfast.
But when they wake up, the spy-colytes notice a familiar face with them in the barracks: they see Sledge for the first time since he was escorted away following the induction ceremony, sitting up in a previously-unoccupied bunk. Outwardly, he seems no worse for the wear. Where he has been and what he has been up to for the last near-two days is unclear. But he's here.
If anyone in the group asks Krant when they get their stuff back, he grunts and sticks a finger in his ear to dig around. "You'll get it when you're done with your morning labor," he decides, brooking no argument to the contrary.
---
As always, "A fatigued character becomes exhausted by doing something else that would normally cause fatigue." If you're already exhausted and do something else that would cause fatigue, you will take 2d6 nonlethal damage.
Both staircases (from the armory and the meeting room) lead down to the basement, opening into a...
With the revelation that there are skeletons falling out of closets, Jia spends an uneasy night trying to think of how to speed up her investigation.
In the morning, cranky and frustrated, trying to find something to which she can turn such physical gifts as she has, she's lucky enough to be directed to a pile of late-harvested sheaves. Wheat on the stalk is still a bit of a novelty to her, but flails - if not for agricultural reasons - are not.
Unfortunately, she overdoes it a bit, so by the time the daily cleaning of the temple rolls around, the slender elf has had more than enough sweat of the brow and all that, and drags herself to afternoon prayer pooped. There, at least, she manages to recover a bit by switching her brain off and concentrating on not falling asleep.
Predictably, inspiration strikes in the study. Now, why can't she hole herself up there and make it her very own scriptorium? She supposes it's too soon for there actually to be a substantial body of Razmiran literature of interest, so.
As Jia shakes another finished page to make sure the ink's dry, a sudden sparkle reflected from the candle in one of Vinyo's stones catches her eye, and she's suddenly reminded of shooting stars, and the night ... Well, it would be a grotesque exaggeration to say anything whispers to her, but she bows her head in thanks for the spirits' guidance.
As soon as she can, she whispers to her friends that she has a plan, as soon as she can look through a keyhole or two.
---
Although Sledge falters early in the morning, however comes back with a vengeance after lunch. He listens adroitly to even the most dull of Krant's services, seeming to actually be held in rapt attention. His own transcriptions go smoothly, and without a hitch; not particularly surprising for someone who used to be a wizard's apprentice.
He sees no real reason to change the spells he has prepared at the moment, instead deciding to use the extra free time he gets after he finishes his cleaning to rest, and watch the others.
"You missed a spot Silvo," Sledge says, pointing. "Wouldn't want to let the glory of Razmir be marred by substandard mopping now would we?"
Feeling a little bad about what he just said, he grabs a mop and uses the rest of his free time helping Silvo clean. "So, how has my favorite Razmiran convert been?" he asks, making small talk.
Charles wears himself out with morning chores and is fatigued.
Charles finishes cleaning a bit early, most likely in part to his Prestidigitation cantrip speeding the cleaning process, and takes the extra hour to spend time with Roger and go through his spell book.
Manages to keep himself awake despite the fatigue.
Makes his spare copy, keeping his with the secret message separate in hopes to pass it to the local constable.
Morning Labor
Afternoon Cleaning
Afternoon Prayer
Training:
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