Chapter 3: The Hall of Judgement
"Prior to separation and prospecting the city for propaganda, lodging, and sundry accoutrements, a plan should be set forth for reassembly," said Drakul, checking the knives at his bandoleer as he stepped onto the docks. He cracked his neck and stretched his arms, shifting the weight of his pack after he hefted it to his shoulder. "One turning of the smaller preceding the downfall of the greater, then shall be the reconvening where the first foot fell."
The Half-Ogre eyes his comrades, looking for an affirmative reaction, a nod, anything.
Gonna fast-forward below, but obviously this scene is intended for some back and forth.
Once in the city proper, Drakul started his way through side streets, meandering towards the town square to get a feel for the layout of the city. He stopped as he came upon groups of men, sharing a drink with any who would welcome a foreigner, expressing interest in the gods of Norðlond.
"‘Twas a Norðlonder which set me on the path to Isfjall. Taught me a bit about the gods, enough to draw me here. Plus, the raiding, am I right?!"
Mostly cheering and drinking, trading of battle stories, often making its way into a tavern for more drinking and stories before pressing on through the city, but he managed to gather a bit of useful info, too. Carousing: Success by 3. Not too successful, however, was his attempt to identify contacts among the Black Cloaks, a group mentioned to him by the Lokean that initially piqued his interest for the region. Streetwise: Fail by 4.
Eventually Drakul found his way to the temple. He paid homage to Odin, a formality really, then visited the other shrines to give a similar nod of recognition, and to inquire about Loki. The devotees directed him to a solid stone building directly next door, with a bit of snickering from other worshipers. Bowing in thanks, the Half-Ogre took his leave, heading next door.
Next door turned out to be quite literally what the devotees described: A solid stone building. The front was a smaller but similar design to the temple, but without intricate stonework, just a simple wall, no windows, and double doors. The doors would not open on first try, and the lock turned out to be absolutely unpickable, not so much because the lock was difficult as because the lock was actually solid stone. By solid, apparently, was meant a giant hunk of rock carved on the outside to appear as a building. The doors were not really doors at all, just a clever decoration, and the locks were just a further facade. Realizing the exact literalism and how mischievous it could be, in this case, Drakul was forced to deeply reconsider his less-than-deliberate methods of communication. Only for a moment, though, as a few passersby practically fell over laughing, struggling to breathe from the hilarity before eventually managing to get out the actual location of the shrine itself. Drakul laughed at the situation along with them, then headed toward the shrine to Loki.
The shrine was actually a tent, recognized only by the sigils on banners stuck into the ground on either side. Devotees wanted to keep it mobile, mainly to keep visitors on their toes, but also in case a better location turned up with the massive population influx during summer. Upon entering by the front tent flap, a huge bucket of frigid water dumped on Drakul’s head. He should have seen something like that coming. The few devotees in the shrine were already rolling on the floor, clutching their sides. His baptism, they called it, a rite initiating any who expressed interest in the lord of Mischief.
The shrine was comprised of a single priest and a few devotees. Other adherents came and went throughout the day. Only a single brazier warmed and lit the tent, a small stone altar and bronze censure sat before an intricate wooden statue of the trickster god. The rest of the afternoon, Drakul spent conversing with the priest and devotees, eager to learn more of Loki and his masterful schemes. As the time for reassembly approached, he bid good-day and headed out to the prearranged location.
I assume that either Dagrak or Brandaelfr have an inn in mind.