A place for Character building IC posts and crafting.

 Technically speaking, if one wanted to get all legalistic about it Vova doMedvyed isn't an official member of the Midmarch Religious Council on the basis that at no point did anyone ever actually invite him... On the other hand, it didn't take very long to realise that whenever he gets drunk enough (or possibly just more drunk) and there's some matter which may touch upon the interests of Nethys he gravitates to it like some sort of... drunken... gravitating... thing and it didn't take too much observation to realise that he's uncommonly blessed with magical prowess (if not power, discernment or sense), lending credence to the idea that he represents the All-Seeing Eye.

 But since most sedentary (rather than adventuring) priests operate out of a single settlement for long periods of time and they have their mind set upon Higher Things, it's generally held as important that their worldly concerns be addressed by others...

 ...which is a roundabout way of saying that the hall has a pretty damn' good kitchen staff who are used to the vagaries of the religiously inclined and who have, by this point more or less adopted Vova doMedvyed the way one might a back-alley stray that shows up every so often mewling at the door for scraps.

 Well, rather less 'might' and more 'that's exactly how it happened' but in his defence he'd drunk the entire contents of a jug of 'all sorts' kept behind the bar on a bet (which he'd won) and then didn't die of it (winning another bet) and had, subsequently woken up in a particularly unfriendly gutter with an Eastern exposure, exposing him to the rising rays of the sun at an hour which even the most fervent of agricultural sorts might describe as 'sod off, it's early'.

 So he wasn't really trying to butt his head against the kitchen door for attention, so much as he was unable to muster enough coordination or strength to rise to all fours and the pitiful mewling noises coming from his mouth were less about hunger and more about the fact that someone appeared to be trying (with a modicum of success) to summon Rovagug inside his skull.

 The result, in the end was that - after a couple of buckets were emptied over him in a fashion that would warm the heart of the Bishop of Abadar - the pitiable archmage-in-training was assisted onto a bench and provided with a fry-up, thus and forever cementing his abiding fondness for the domestic staff of the Hall.

 Well, at least until that whole thing with the fruit preserves.