Brother Darnö's page

The monk tilts his head, intrigued. "A traveling entertainer, you say?" He takes another sip.

"What an exciting life that must be. Not like here at all."

He gestures at the plain stone walls for emphasis.

”The monastic life is a simple one, with days filled with prayer and meditation, but it is as needful as the work of the farmer who tills the land. One feeds the body, the other feeds the soul.”

He looks down at his plate. ”Of course, a life of constant prayer doesn’t leave much time for family. Priests of Morghast are not forbidden to marry, but few do.”

He takes the last bite of the bread and stands up, brushing the crumbs off his cassock. He glances at the party apologetically and announces his departure. "I must return to tending the vineyard, but you are welcome to return at any time, should your liege have no need of you."

Brother Darnö wrote:

”Most people fear the mists, but in their soothing embrace I, at least, feel closer to my god.”

Jade smiles. "I couldn't agree more. Chaplain Baird always said clouds are the resplendent clothes Kassasi and Mulmano weave together to gird Ilara. The rain and mist are its threads and the dew its stitches."

Brother Darnö nods, surprised. "I didn't take you for the religious type, Firehair." Nonetheless, he smiles. "Kassassi and Mulmano are old gods, among the first emanations of zarach* when it brought the All into being."

*Empyrean word. Lit. "destiny", also "word, thought", comparable to Ma'at in Egyptian cosmology or the logos spermatikos or anima mundi in Stoic philosophy.

"The first gods to arise were beings of pure emanation. Lords and ladies of Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Strength, Life, Light, Shadow, Thought, Time, and Fate, they embodied primordial concepts of the universe that were before mortalkind was made. In the beginning our god Morghast was the deity of Fate, for death had not entered the world, and Weyron was the god of Thought, for the First War had not been waged. Zethiss was the god of Shadow, for there were no secrets at this time. And Rothar, first among them, was Strength, for there was no nobility in those days."

Brother Darnö nibbles at the cheese for a moment before continuing.

"Then it came to pass that a new god, Iodar, arose and introduced a new emanation of zarach, Emotion. The gods rejoiced, for now they had reason to take pride in their creation, and with Thought and Emotion, Strength and his wife, Light, created the first beings begotten of others: the titans. But the titans were too headstrong, and became too preoccupied with fighting and tests of strength to care for the world the gods created, so Rothar and Ilara gave birth to the First Ones to rectify their error."

The monk takes a bite of bread before resuming his tale.

"All was well at first, but with Emotion came jealousy, and Iodar desired Mulmano's wife, Silani. They dallied in secret, but Iodar sought her undivided attention, and she would not leave Mulmano. Gods could not be slain in those days, nor could anything else, for zarach did not allow it. So after an age of brewing schemes in his mind, Iodar went to the edge of Creation and found something evil from beyond the beyond. He allowed Zorgon, the Un-Thing, into the world, and with it Death and Destruction entered the universe. The world was split into three, Zoralon*, Faralon**, and Nuralon***, and from then on the unbegotten greater gods could not set foot on Zoralon. In this mass confusion, Iodar attempted to slay Mulmano as he took refuge in the Astral Sea, but was caught and killed by Rothar."

*Material Plane
**Other Place, First World, Feywild
***Dark World, Netherworld, Shadowfell

He wets his throat with a swig of water from the jug.

"Morghast knew then that it would be his fate to judge the dead, and found Iodar guilty of crimes against creation. Our god built a Pit of Bones, Shamshath, in the Dark World to imprison Iodar for his treachery for all time. But the Un-Thing, Zorgon, broke him from his prison and raised him as the first undead, a vampiric bug-thing that would slay Rothar by stealth and bring about so much pain. He has been the enemy of our god ever since."

”Congratulations on a mission well done. The bard should be joining us shortly.” He leans in and gives a conspiratorial wink. ”The abbot is gifting you a bottle of our best wine. I know because I fetched it for him and watched him put it in that satchel he’s carrying.”

He turns to Jaym’row. ”So what think ye of our humble home? It may be plain, but I for one would never live anywhere else.”

10pm

As dusk sets in, necessitating the use of a light cantrip to read the faint ink of the old books, Brother Darnö steps quietly into the reading room. "My apologies. Brother Wurl seems to be very late. We have no spare beds, so if you wish to deliver it in person you might wish to retreat to town and return in the morning. The monastery door is normally closed and bolted after compline, which ends at half past eleven, and doesn't open again until matins, roughly around five o'clock, but with Wurl expected we'll leave it open. However, you'll likely want to leave soon if you intend to get rooms in town."

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "If you've brought bedrolls in those saddlebags, though, I suppose you could sleep in the atrium; it's a warm night."

Brother Darnö, silent this whole time, finally speaks. ”Forgive me, Father, but his shade is but a shadow of what he was in life. You long ago gained the strength to destroy such as him; why did you never return to the abbey and cleanse—”

He holds out his hands, gesturing proudly at the assemblage of tomes. ”These are the works of our own hands. When a man or woman of renown dies, we write their chronicle and place it in our records, for the deeds of the dead are instrumental to their judgment by our Master and our prayers on their behalf. In addition to these biographies, we have made copies of many works regarding the nature of dæmons and the undead, that we may combat them appropriately.”

He points to the right and adds, ”The door to your right is the reading room, if you wish to peruse a volume in more detail.”

He turns to face you and clasps his hands together with an air of finality. ”I must go pray the nones with the congregation. Our hymns are essential to guide the dead on their journey through Shamshath (Empyrean for the Pit of Bones), and ward off the dæmons who seek to waylay them. When we are finished, I will inform the abbot of your arrival.”

Darnö nods at the other monks. ”They’ll be getting ready for nones. I’ll have to join them soon.”

The monk glances at Okoteck and nods reverently. ”If you truly believe you can set things right and put the abbey’s ghosts to rest, you would do us a great service indeed. The abbot should be finished with nones (3pm prayer) shortly.” He motions toward the entrance. ”Come, I will let you in. You can tie up your pack horse in the stable. In the meantime, perhaps the library might have some of the information you require.”

At Syper's question, he replies off-handedly, "While lay worshipers and itinerant priests of Morghast are not so constrained, clerics sworn to our monastic order are forbidden to bring death to those whose time has not yet come, while most lords demand their strongest servants do battle frequently. While it is possible for a rare few to square this circle, or else perform only peaceful duties, one cannot be in two places at once, and our religious rites are quite extensive. Furthermore, the abbot and his priests are bound by ecclesiastical law, not the law of the jarl or his hird, so whatever your letter might contain, it is merely a request and not an order. And if it conflicts with his duties to Morghast, Brother Wurl must reject it."

The monk laughs, taken aback only slightly by the talking bird. "The only one here that old is the current abbot, Hødír, and he is a rather busy man." The monk gives the rest of the party questioning looks. ”What business does this concern?”

If the monk is nonplussed by the unusual adventurers before him, he has the good grace not to show it, merely asking to see the letter.

Upon inspecting it, he nods. ”This seems genuine.”

The man sighs. ”Wurl has so little time for learning after his duties to our god and our lord are discharged, it’s amazing he’s mastered anything at all. Serving two sovereigns is a hard path indeed."

He looks up from the letter and back to you. "He is not here at the moment; unless I miss my guess he is performing his rounds and consecrating the various small cemeteries scattered about the county and will be back this evening for compline. If your liege has asked you to hand-deliver it, I suppose you will have to wait.”

He hands the letter back. ”Will that be all? If so, I can find you a place inside to sit.”

As you pass the vineyard and approach the base of the hill, a monk in simple but clean attire hails you. ”Greetings, travelers! I am Brother Darnö. What brings you to the monastery?”