The Old Hermit's page

The old man cocks his head and strokes his wispy beard and replies cautiously, "Best as I can tell they where usually going north, last couple of weeks they mostly went south."

He says, "Oh I went to Leckumgee once, many years ago. But it's too far for my poor legs these days. Still there are comings and goings from Leckumgee! Sometimes in the dead of night a group of, oh, half a dozen or so strangers pass by. They always avoid the shrine, thumbing their noses at the gods! I saw them them twice from afar when I was out collecting night herbs and each time they wore hoods, even in the humidity of the jungle. They didn’t look like villagers to me, but my eyes are not what they where as a boy. They have become more common over the last month, always moving at night, always in a hurry."

When Mohktar asks of Demon worshipers, the man stiffens and looks distant for a moment before responding, "Demon worshipers, cultists, mad men! Lanterns can shine on the darkest of nights, but only if the sacred oil is anointed upon them."

He looks at you oddly.

The old man tries to explain, although he froths at the mouth a little, "each gods are all aspects of one greater godhead. None of them are greater or lesser than the others, and the result is greater than the sum of it's parts. As for who created the grove, who can say? It was not in my time, or the time of those before me or those before me. I can tell you it's a constant battle to keep it like so, for the vines and the creepers are always on the move trying to encroach the holy sanctuary." He produces a vicious looking pair of secateurs and as if to punctuate his point, he snips the head of some wild flower growing in the wrong spot.

The hermit tells you readily enough, "Oh I've been here for many a year. I'm just a poor servant of the gods, like those who tended this holy place before me, with only the holy communion of the great ones themselves for company. Over the years I've seen many many travelers, often they come seeking a blessing, for a safe journey or for a calf or maybe for a venture or even a marriage. If you seek the guidance of the gods, I their humble servant can mark the third eye on your forehead. This will open a mystical connection between you and the energy of the world to keep you safe from harm. All I ask is a small donation, a little food or maybe some coin. Not that I much use for material things, but the occasional tinker does pass by, and they always want coin for their wears."

The hermit glances at Shikyo curiously before flashing a gappy grin at Lilly. His accent is very thick, but you think he said "Sitrakha is pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss. Uh, what did you say your name was again? The blessing of the various gods," he indicated the statues, "be upon you all. Perhaps you travelers would like to pray at my most holy enshrined house of worship?"

He seems every so slightly mad, or perhaps eccentric.

In front of the shrine on a old bettered wicker chair is a hermit. He’s dirty, with a scraggly beard and worn and grimy clothing. He notices you and approaches, movements dulled by age. In heavily accented common he hails you, "Greetings travelers. Do you seek wisdom of the gods?"