TEMPLE OF SILBAN
[ZONE 2] [TOP]
FIRST VISIT:
A priestess escorted them.
Expecting a chamber in keeping with the rest of the grandeur of the Temple, Locklear was startled when they were led into a cramped room where an old woman sat reading through a sheaf of papers. Glancing up, the high priestess squinted at them, then shook her head.
"You will excuse me, but I was expecting someone else," she said, laying aside the papers she had been reading. "A few days ago I sent a summons to one of our faithful, a Franklin that lives to the north of Eggley."
"I doubt he would have been able to get to you," Locklear replied. "We ran into a band of men just outside the temple who seemed bent on killing any that came up the road."
The priestess exhaled loudly. "The Quegian fever is spreading here, and likely those were more men infected with it. If you were to go to him and tell him the way is clear, I would consider it a very great favor." Looking back down at the tracts scattered in her lap, she rubbed at her eyes. "You'll forgive me, but I really must get back to work on these. Please see yourselves out. Goddess' blessing on you."
SECOND VISIT (if not Devon):
Locklear requested an audience.
After several minutes of waiting, a plump woman dressed in brown robes appeared in the courtyard, a quizzical look etched on her face as she hurried across the flagstones. Glancing at Locklear, she arched an eyebrow. "You are the father of the child?"
Locklear blinked. "I'm no one's father as far as I'm aware, but..."
"Then why in the sweet goddess' name are you here?" the woman asked, blinking furiously as beads of sweat trailed into her eyes. "I've got four exhausted acolytes and a terrified woman who we aren't sure will make it through birth. Then I have a priestess come running and telling me that a lord is demanding an audience. Did you just decide to drop in and chat?"
Turning red, Locklear tried to make amends. "I didn't really mean to..." But before he could finish, the priestess was storming back across the courtyard.
SECOND VISIT (if Devon):
A messenger went to find the high priestess.
In a few moments, a tall, proud looking woman limped from under one of the arches, her long grey hair hanging lank around her face as a plump woman trundled at her side for support. When Locklear hailed them, the shorter woman wheeled angrily. "The high priestess has been through a terrible ceremony," she snapped. "She has no time for..."
"Belandra!" The high priestess jerked her arm from her assistant's grasp, silencing her with a cold stare. "I am neither so old, nor so ill in the goddess' favor that I cannot spare a moment to speak with these gentlemen. If you were to remember the spirit of our catechisms more often than their letter, I think you might replace me someday. Our place is in service to both the earth mother and those who worship her. Remember."
Locklear bowed his head. "That is very gracious of you, high priestess, but if another time would be more convenient..."
The old woman chuckled darkly. "Speak, noble one."
Sensing that brevity was in his best interest, he quickly related the things Devon had told him during their visit to the Stranger Tavern in Eggley. When, at last, he had finished, a grave expression was on the high priestess face.
"There is no curse upon the town, whatever this man Devon may have told you," she said. "But we share fault in this. The ritual of the Festival never was intended like this, and now it has brought shame on this Temple and misery up on our faithful of Eggley. Never more shall there be a Festival..."
Belandra gasped. "High priestess! the Festival..."
"Silence, child," she said, turning her glare on Locklear. "I will also see this Collector brought to justice! If you can find him, send him to us with word that we have a reward to give him. I will see you very well remunerated for your efforts. Goddess' blessing on you."
Turning, the high priestess moved across the courtyard, followed quickly after by her plump assistant.
COLLECTOR NOT FOUND:
Locklear sent for the high priestess.
After only a brief pause, the woman appeared in the courtyard, thankfully without the company of her plump assistant.
"As you have returned so early, I must only assume you have found the gentleman named the Collector," she said quickly. "Is it so?"
Locklear shook his head. "We have not met face to face as yet, but..." Holding up a hand, the high priestess shook her head. "No excuses. I shall see you again once you have sent him to us. Goddess' blessing on you."
COLLECTOR FOUND:
A messenger went to find the high priestess.
In a few moments she appeared, her grey hair floating behind her as she greeted her guests. "On behalf of the Earth Mother, we thank you," she said. "The man who called himself the Collector is now in our custody."
"What will become of him?" Locklear asked.
"He will learn what it means to anger a goddess," she replied. "After, if he still lives, we will see he is rehabilitated."
Locklear shivered as he contemplated the future that likely lay ahead for the criminal. In the few instances he had seen a convicted heretic punished, he had been forced to avert his eyes. Hesitantly, he cleared his throat. "I believe there was some mention of a reward?"
The priestess nodded. "I have arranged for a few healing potions to be given to you as well as a small sum of gold. You will have them before you leave the Temple. I must leave you now to begin dispensing justice on this Collector. Goddess' blessing on you."
SUBSEQUENTLY:
They waited.
After an uncomfortably long wait, the high priestess' plump assistant emerged into the courtyard, her face high with color.
"The high priestess sends her regrets that she cannot come at the moment," Belandra said with a respectful bow. "She is otherwise occupied. She sends her thanks and her gratitude for having helped us in the past and asks that you forgive her this discourtesy. Goddess' blessing on you gentlemen."
SHRINE OF ASTALON
[KRONDOR] [TOP]
The priest motioned for them to follow.
Although the temple was smaller for its housing within Krondor's palace, it was far more richly adorned than many of the other places of worship in Midkemia. Where others used woven curtains or tapestries to divide rooms, there were often richly carved doors here, sometimes with religious themes, other times with scenes of life in Krondor.
When at last they had reached a small room, the priest followed them in and closed the door. Turning, he looked as if he were waiting for Owyn to do something.
"Are you going to get the Lector for us?" James asked, feeling uncomfortable.
"I am the Lector," the man explained, smoothing the folds out of his sky blue robe. "Were you not aware that Father Timothy died recently? I am his replacement sent from Rillanon. Father Francis at your service."
James nodded and offered his apologies about the mistake. "We were hoping you could offer us a bit of advice on something." As quickly as possible, he attempted to explain their situation as the Lector listened patiently.
"I don't know how Astalon might help you in this situation," the priest admitted after a brief moment of contemplation. "I wouldn't even know where we might begin. You would perhaps do better seeking advice from Prince Arutha or his assistants on this matter."