Sighing at Master Brightsoul's baffling response, Aurion stared blank faced as the orc and the Halfling he knew shared something in a language the elf did not seem to grasp.

Turning to the Herald, he nods. "Yes, I'm ready to go."

Brindle's request for time off catches him off guard. He somehow doubted the leave would be accepted, but he hoped that if it was, the gods felt the remainder of the were sufficient to handle the task at hand.

Finishing his glass of wine, he stands and pulls the hood back over his face, resigned to action, ready for anything.

Wrukaog raises an eyebrow toward Brindle, then lowers it, and continues to wait.

"Well."  Leisha considers the question, looking at the reedy emissary as critically as she has been watching the other servants in the inn.  Perhaps even a bit moreso.

"No?" she replies.  "I really don't think I am.  I'm not entirely sure I'm likely to be, to be totally honest, but why don't you try back in a month and I'll let you know?"

The clerk consults his book, "Dauros, yes," he confirms for Tesseryn, while he finds himself nodding in full agreement with Wrukaog, noting, [Language unknown: "Mi his ck und atle, lareenoveous."]

However, the requests put forth by Brindle and Leisha seem to confuse him a little.  "Very well," he concedes with a shrug, pulling a small round object from his pocket to which it is attached by a chain, staring at it for a few seconds before putting it away.

"That was about a year," he assures the pair, "perhaps a little bit more."

Having been listening to the others talk about this and that Cogwitz slowly sipped his wine.  When the servant arrived and explained it was time to go Cogwitz said,  This is what I have been waiting for.  To see what Brandobaris has in store for me and what greatness I can achieve in his name.

Be careful what you say Wrukaog, [Language unknown: el man lossll tinounicares.]

Tesseryn nods his appreciation to the servant, confident that his prayer will be answered.  Then an afterthought has him bounding to his feet.  "But, if I too may have a moment, to don my armour?"  He hefts his leather sack and heads for the robing room.

Brindle snorts with barely contained laughter at the clerk's response to his request.

"I'm just glad I didn't ask for longer!" he chuckles. "And glad I didn't leave dinner on the stove when I left home this morning!"

When Tesseryn heads off Brindle rolls his eyes and murmurs, "Isn't that just typical of your holy warrior types? They have all year to get ready but leave it right to the last minute before they bother to get dressed for the big event!" But he grins and chuckles again, which makes it clear it was only said in jest.

Leisha, on the other hand, meets the clerk's eyes.  "Still not ready," she declares.  To be fair, standing there with bare feet and a nightgown, she has a case.

With a sigh, she drops into Tesseryn's open seat.  "But whatever.  I'm sure the Gods know what they're doing, in a very precise sense."

Tesseryn marches back to the table 4 minutes later wearing shiny full plate armour, the servant he commandeered to help him don properly trailing behind carrying the neatly folded leather sack with his clothes.  He clanks to a halt beside Leisha and raises one eyebrow briefly before turning to face the official with a nod to signify that he is ready to proceed.

Brindle glances at Leisha and frowns as he understands her predicament.

"Ah, yes," he says to the clerk, "the precipitate nature of our summons here has resulted in our dear Lady Leisha arriving without proper attire and equipment for the forthcoming mission. Can you arrange for it to be brought here, please? And anything else any of us would have brought if we had had sufficient warning of that summons, please."

Following Brindle's example, Tesseryn asks a servant to fill his waterskin and to pack up the leftover food to go.

"Not my department," the clerk quickly informs Brindle and Leisha, drumming his fingers and sighing meaningfully as he waits for Tesseryn to don his armour.  The servants bustle, as servants do.

Once all are gathered, he opens his book, leafing through a few pages till he finds the one wants and launches into his speech.

"I have been sent by your respective um, wise and let's say mostly benevolent deities," an outright lie in some cases, "to inform you of the <cough> singular honour they have bestowed on you ..." he falters.

The clerk sighs and closes his book.  "Look, there's this village ... some call it Mistra's Fist, others call it Mitra's Curse.  I call it an absolutely disaster.  Untold ages ago, a young man by the name of Mitra established a sanctuary there, and went on to launch a holy crusade against the worshippers of a lowly snake-demon called Set.  Mitra succeeded in destroying the demon's mortal form, but died so doing."

"Years later, pilgrims to the sanctuary found healing there, and a temple to Mitra, was established.  Years passed and a tall ornate white tower was raised on the site of that first temple.

A millenium later, Set - no longer a demon but a fully fledged god himself, saw fit to attack the birthplace of the religion that opposed his, and raised his own mighty tower of black stone, crushing half the village in the process.  Desperate battle ensued, and in the process, the mountains themselves were shattered, burying the towers of both Light and Darkness.

For a time all was quiet, both temples believed to be destroyed ... but now they stir again, and that conflict threatens to consume not only the village that now lies atop the ruins of the old, but all the lands around, perhaps the world itself."

"Your task, gods help you, is to get in there and ... sort it out."  The clerk seems to pick his words carefully, running what he'd said back over in his head, nodding with satisfaction before continuing, his voice picking up a most formal cadence.  "And thus you are bound, by the will and the word of your gods who do lay a duty upon thee, that thou strive with those of like destiny to fulfil this Quest, taking care that in thy zeal thou harmest no innocent."

There is a prickle that starts somewhere behind your eyes and finishes between your shoulderblades as these words bind you.  The clerk lets out a deep breath, relaxing somewhat.

"Any questions ?"

"A Quest!  Praise Dauros!"

Leisha's own eyebrow lifts in an unknowing mimicry of Tesseryn's expression when he found her in his seat, as she glances up briefly.  "I think you'll find that's an exclamation," she notes, with a small smile; teasing a bit, but not mocking.

"I have... several," she admits, returning her attention to the clerk, "But I think the most relevant is this.  It's clear that Set's side is backed by Set, but if there is truly risk of a battle to engulf the world, I presume that Mitra's side has a similarly powerful patron?  Did Mitra ascend to something greater than a corpse, then?"

"On a more personal note, if I might ask and if you know, which God has laid this duty upon me?"

Wrukaog's mouth drops open a bit. His disbelief in the previous event is obvious. Confusion slowly turns into anger.

Not quite yelling, and apparently not registering Leisha's nearly identical question, "What god sent me here to amuse it? I am no errand boy."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Wed 14 Oct 2015.

Brindle also has a question or two to ask.

"Get in where, exactly? The black tower? Is there a particular outcome that must be achieved for us to have actually 'sorted it out'?"

Then he realises he needs to add the obvious follow up question as well.

"Please tell us what it is?"

Brindle had echoed Cogwitz thoughts exactly, he had the same questions.

Clearly they were leaving no time soon. Aurion felt little reason to question the gods, instead following suit in requesting a backpack of food and several skins of assorted wines.

Sitting down he also ordered some roast beast for himself to nosh on while the others got their questions answered, clearly he wasn't going to have time for his ritual...

"Also one more of these..." he said, holding up his glass with a scant half inch remaining of the emerald wind in the direction of a servant.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:58, Wed 14 Oct 2015.

Tesseryn is distracted momentarily from the rapture of the quest by Leisha's enigmatic comment.  He frowns, "Indeed." but his attention is drawn back to the quest.

He listens to her questions, and those of the others while he straps on his greatsword and the servants fill his pack with the leftovers of the meal.  "It is clear, this is the will of Dauros.  We must throw down what remains of this tower of darkness and smite all who dwell there."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:48, Sat 17 Oct 2015.

Brindle grins at the paladin and raises his tankard in salute. (Sadly, it is an empty gesture.)

"I admire your enthusiasm, Master Tesseryn. Let us hope that our mission becomes clear - and achievable - when we get there. The will of the Gods is often difficult to fathom."

The cadre of waiting servants spring into action, racing off on a quest of their own, spurred on by the the various requests for supplies, and Aurion's sterling efforts to get in a last feast before you head off.

In the face of all this activity, the clerk remains motionless, at peace in the eye of a storm, a twitch of his mouth the only indication that he is in any way troubled by the questions he faces.

"Mitra too has his followers, and ascended from his mortal state to godhood," the clerk advises Leisha, his tone disapproving, suggesting that nobody herepresent should be getting any ideas of emulating the sun god.

"It is your own gods who have laid this quest upon you," he states sharply, astounded that any would question their will.  It's technically true, as well.  "My task is merely to advise you of the exact instruction laid down, no more, no less."  It is clear he considers this answer enough to Brindle's request for clarification, though a ghost of a smile plays over his lips momentarily at Tesseryn's latter pronouncement before if vanishes as if it never was.

"Where are those supplies ?" he looks around in some consternation, raising a brow at the senior servant who responds in kind, undaunted even by a messenger from the gods.

Still just on the verge of not shouting, "Which of my gods would send me on this errand?"

Brindle looks at Wruakog in surprise.

"You pray to more than one god? That could get interesting in your current situation!"

Not at all surprised that chatter would ensue, Aurion digs into his meal.

While the Inn is possessed of every form of food and beverage known in all the many worlds of existence, and has whole armies of wait staff dedicated to match these offerings with the appropriate dish, platter or cup ... they seem to be somewhat lacking in the backpack department.

So it is with a thunderously apologetic expression that the senior servant shakes his head as your requests are filled, albeit in picnic hampers, more suitable for a noble's day punting on the stream than in a foray into the dark and dangerous depths that the gods are wont to sent you.

The clerk either does not notice, or does not care, for the big Orc's insistence has him turning back to his book, flicking page after page, scanning each with eye and finger until finally he finds the entry he is looking for.

"Wrukaeg, Wrukaeg, ah here we are," he announces in triumph.  "Yes, your presence was specifically requested by Gork," he frowns and squints at the ornate lettering, "sorry, Mork.  There was some sort of contest or wager on your performance, I see."

Snapping the book shut he looks up to see Leisha's arched brow, and with ill-concealed impatience opens it again.  "Ah, top of the list," he remarks with some surprise as his finger pauses at the very start of the first page.  Leisha ... your participation was demanded by ... my that's quite a lot," he looks up at her archly.  "You seem to have been selected by quite a lot of them," he chides her, "most of whom don't even appear to have actually ever heard of you.  That's the proxy system for you - swings and roundabouts."

He shrugs, closing his book once more.  "But that's between you and Them.  I'm just the bearer of tidings."

"Now," he looks around, "if we're quite done ?"

With a negligent flick of his wrist the Inn begins to fade away ...