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<Narrator> ::the Abbey is mostly quiet in the evenings. The air is still muggy with summer's humidity as Jaret observes the building. Newly built after the orc invasion, the Morninglord's Monastery is only partially finished. Construction scaffolding adorns the partially completed walls:: <Narrator> ::three parts of the abbey have been mostly completed and are currently inhabited: the Circle of the Sun, a round temple that is not at all lacking in windows where the monks pray; Sun's Glory Hall, a fancy name for the monk's sleeping quarters and offices; and the Penitent's Tower, a four story spire where those who are atoning for their sins are housed.:: <Narrator> ::Tarri informed Jaret that Niralan's cell is on the third floor of the tower with a northern-facing window. Inside the Tower, there is a single spiral staircase in the center. <Narrator> ::the windows in the tower are narrow and tall hooded slits that appear to watch over the ground like stern eyes:: * Jaret is dressed in an appallingly nondescript undyed robe. As he approaches the temple, he pulls the hood up and pulls the top edge low over his eyes. He puts his hands into the opposite sleeve, casts his eyes down, and walks at a steady, straight pace that takes him to the front door of Sun's Glory Hall. <Narrator> ::most of the brothers are asleep - their duties to their god require them to be awake long before sunrise for preparation. A few lights gleam here and there in windows of the Hall, revealing brothers pouring over thick tomes or other sedate tasks. The grounds themselves are empty except for one enterprising rat who is skulking around:: * Jaret keeps walking at his steady pace, ignoring the rat. He walks through the Glory Hall towards the Circle. <Narrator> ::the Hall's main corridor is fairly wide and spotlessly clean, with rooms lining the sides. A few side passages spread out towards other mundane areas. A whiff of spiced cereal lingers in one passageway and the carpet here is slightly more worn from the tread of dozens of sandaled feet:: <Narrator> ::The doors to the Circle are tall, over ten feet, and ornate carved wood decorated with gold. The sun blazes down from the center of the door, dimly reflecting the corridor lamps:: <Jaret> ::in the excitement of preparing for this excursion, Jaret has forgotten to have dinner, and his stomach grumbles quietly at the fragrance. Jaret pushes his forearms into his stomach more forcefully:: Not now... I'm sure we'll be treated to some delightfully appetizing gruel in the morning, though... * Jaret walks past the breakfast corridor, keeps his head down, and continues his deliberate pace toward the Circle. <Narrator> ::the imposing doors seem somehow even more imposing once up close. The thick hinges show that the door swings outward into the corridor and that the doors are probably very solid and heavy. A set of double-bars holds the door shut:: * Jaret glares at the bars. "What of the poor noviate who wishes to make some nighttime devotions..? Probably not best suited as noviate for a god of the dawn. Point conceded." * Jaret looks back down the Hall, and then examines the bars holding the doors shut. <Narrator> ::the bars are solid oak, gilded and carved in an intricate sun pattern that reflects the light in spangles across Jaret's plain robes. They appear to swing upward on a dowel to open the doors, the top bar having to be lifted first. If he stretches, Jaret can *probably* push the top bar up high enough to slip it off its catch.:: * Jaret looks back down the hallway again, and then up at the bars. "I should have just gone in through the front door..." He stands right next to the door for extra balance, and reaches as high as he can for the bar. <Narrator> ::the bar rises easily under his hands and swings free with surprisingly little resistance:: * Jaret breathes a small sigh of relief, comes off his tiptoes and looks for where to set the top bar. <Narrator> ::it appears the bars lean against the wall to the left of the door to judge by the scuff marks against the pale yellow paint:: * Jaret starts to lean the bar against the wall, thinks better of it, and lays it down on the carpet, flush with the wall. He then lifts the second bar free, and places it next to its brother. <Narrator> ::the doors, unhindered by bars, swing outward on their hinges slightly, creating a black crevice in the middle of the golden sun:: * Jaret peers through the gap briefly before slipping through. <Narrator> ::very little can be seen, but that's probably for the best, as it indicates no one is within:: * Jaret tries to tug the doors shut as best as he can, and then walks through the vestry to the other set of impressive doors. <Narrator> ::behind the doors is a small vestry with a deeply arched ceiling. Two passageways with normal-sized doors lead off, one on either side. Directly opposite the main doors is a second set of impressive doors, unbarred. There are no hinges, so these doors swing out of the vestry:: <Narrator> ::heavy perfumed incense still lingers in the air. If a silence could be disapproving, this one decidedly is. The vestry has several carved wooden benches and a tidy stack of prayerbooks. This is obviously where the brothers gather to begin their preparation for the morning hymns.:: * Jaret picks up a prayerbook for a prop. * Jaret looks over the doors leading out of the vestry, flips to somewhere about halfway through the prayerbook, and is really studying the text quite thoroughly when he pushes the doors open. <Narrator> ::the doors push open to reveal a short space before a set of wide stairs. The stairs go up a floor before revealing the temple in all its glory. Perhaps the phrase "done to death" is inappropriate for the Morninglord, but the temple generally qualifies, both in yellows and in circles. Auditorium style seating surrounds a circular, sun-designed altar.:: <Narrator> ::the windows are wide and round, spaced such that the impression is much like being captured under an inverted punch bowl. The heavy incense lingers, but does not quite cover the smell of sweat. In full light, it must be excessively hot in this room.:: <Narrator> ::directly across the Circle is another set of stairs leading down to another similar set of doors:: * Jaret ascends the stairs, reading quietly to himself from the prayerbook. he circumnavigates the altar, and heads for the stairs on the other side of the room. <Narrator> ::the only other living creature Jaret has seen thus far lounges across a stair on the far side, a bright yellow cat with pale eyes that glimmer slightly:: Rwor? <Jaret> ::as Jaret descends the stair, he stops to scratch the cat between the ears.:: <Narrator> ::the cat purrs and twines around his ankles:: * Jaret finishes by rubbing the cat under the chin for a bit, and then proceeds down the stairs. <Narrator> ::the cat trots down the stairs after him:: * Jaret is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but knows better than to try to argue with a cat. <Narrator> ::the doors swing open silently into another vestibule-area, this one contains shelves of glass phials and carved boxes and a set of rich robes hanging on a hook. There are also three doors, one opposite Jaret, and one to either side.:: * Jaret watches to make sure he doesn't step on the cat and quickly checks the pockets of the robes, and to see whether there's anything behind the robes on the wall. <Narrator> ::the robes pockets contain a heavy, gold orb with Lathander's crest on it and a small phial containing a clear blue liquid.:: * Jaret leaves the pockets's contents where they are and snoops inside a few of the carved boxes. <Narrator> ::the boxes contain packets of herbs, vials of viscous ooze and other unpleasant or peculiar items that it is probably best not to think too hard about:: * Jaret shuts the boxes, his face grim. "Puss, I don't think they're treating the penitent's here solely with the Morninglord's dogma and scriptures." <Cat> ::jumps up on a bench to bat at one of the boxes:: Mrrr? * Jaret moves the boxes away from the bench. "No, no. Not what's in there. The first sausage I find, though, can be yours." He leans his head close to the nearest of the side doors and listens intently. <Narrator> ::very faintly, the sound of someone's wheezy snore can be heard:: * Jaret purses his lips and tiptoes across the room to listen at the other side door. <Narrator> ::the other door reveals nothing whatsoever except that it might be in need of a good sanding:: * Jaret tries the handle. <Narrator> ::the door opens with a creak:: * Jaret backs up and looks for the cat. <Narrator> ::the cat looks back at him with solemn pale eyes from her perch on one bench:: <Jaret> ::quietly:: At least you've let the boxes alone... ::if no noise issues from the ajar door, he advances on it again and peers inside. <Narrator> ::the cat gives him a slightly disdainful sniff and grooms her paw. The hallway beyond the door is narrow and dark.:: * Jaret gets a box from the stack, places it so the door can't inadvertently swing shut on him, and creeps down the dark hallway. <Narrator> ::the hallway curves around with doors all to the right-hand side. The doors show strange amounts of reinforcement. The reason is self-evident as soon as Jaret opens one - these rooms are labs for the making of clerical potions and items.:: * Jaret closes the door and retraces his steps back to the blocked-open doorway. He peers out into the antechamber to see if anyone has happened by before coming out and looking at the door opposite the stairs to the Circle. <Narrator> ::so far, the monks of Lathander are doing what all good little clerics of the sun god do during the night - sleeping.:: * Jaret listens for a moment at the door to the Penitent's Tower before trying the handle. <Narrator> ::there are sounds from the Tower, although they do not seem to come from the room directly on the other side of the door - muffled praying perhaps, or someone reading aloud. The door is locked.:: * Jaret kneels next to the door, hunts around under the robe, and pulls out a leather case with some bright and shiny lockpicks. He looks at the assortment for a bit before picking one. He puts his face right next to the lock, puts the pick in, and starts trying to turn tumblers and lift latches. <Narrator> ::the lock resists Jaret's attempts for a short while before suffering from terrible negligence of duty and letting him in:: * Jaret smiles proudly to no one in particular, puts his picks away, and eases the door open. <Narrator> ::the bottom floor of the Penitent's Tower is divided in half. Half is given over to the caretakers of the penitent's; a few patched lumpy chairs, a table, a desk, several cabinets with files, a waxed-paper screen that partially conceals a straw-stuffed pallet. A brother sleeps, facing the wall, on the pallet, a cowlick in his brown hair bobbing up and down as he breathes:: <Narrator> ::the other half of the bottom floor is given over to four cells. A quick peek into the cells reveals a sleeping penitent. The rooms are sparse, a worn cot, battered chair, threadbare rug and bucket make up the furnishings. Each penitent has a small niche on the wall which holds a copy of Lathander's prayerbook:: <Narrator> ::to the south is a narrow, rail-less staircase spiraling up along the wall:: * Jaret listens for the sounds of the praying or reading he heard earlier. <Narrator> ::the reader sounds to be on the second floor. his voice rises and falls without inflection as he reads from the second chapter of Megnacious, one of the more tedious parts of the Book of Lathander. And that's saying a lot.:: * Jaret slips through the door, trying to keep the cat on the other side of possible, and swings it mostly closed behind him. He heads for the stairs at an even pace, trying to avoid making too much noise. <Narrator> ::the cat has absolutely no intentions of allowing Jaret alone and trots along behind, moving silently:: * Jaret heads for the stairs, head down, reading the prayerbook. Idly, Jaret skims ahead, looking for the chapter the upstairs reader is reciting. He spares a quick glance at the sleeping acolyte and penitents. <Narrator> ::the second floor is divided by a single hallway, four cells on either side. Across the hall is the next flight of stairs. The reader continuous in his monotonous reading with excellent breath control. He neither stammers nor slurs as he reads:: * Jaret is relieved that there isn't a 'hall monitor' on this floor, and smoothly walks across the floor, head down, studying the prayerbook. He tries not to pay too much attention to his feline companion. <Narrator> ::the reader seems to pause slightly as he passes, but then continues his reading:: * Jaret fights the urge to turn and look at the reader, and continues to the stairs. <Narrator> ::the third floor continues like the second. An empty wooden chair sits at one end of the hallway. A single candle glimmers in one room:: * Jaret can't contain his curiosity any more and looks into the cell with the lit candle as he passes by. <Narrator> ::this cell contains a young woman, surprisingly beautiful despite the fact that her head has been shaved recently. She is sitting crosslegged on the floor, her eyes closed and her hands folded as if in prayer:: * Jaret stops and approaches the cell and leans over for a better look at the woman. <Narrator> ::she wears a plain cotton robe with deep belled sleeves and a simple cord of braided ribbon is tied around her waist. Her fingers are long and slender and recently held a wedding ring, to judge by the tan line on her left hand. Her face appears serene as her full mouth shapes the words of her silent prayer:: * Jaret looks at the woman for a long moment, then turns and looks at the doors on the other side of the hall. He looks up at the ceiling, remembering Tarri's description of the location of Niralan's cell. * Jaret walks to the door to Niralan's cell and peers inside the darkened room through the small window in the door. <Narrator> ::gradually Jaret can make out a lump of person either sleeping or pretending to sleep on the cot, blanket pulled up over hunched shoulders:: * Jaret takes care of the easy part first and slides the bar off the door and sets it aside. <Narrator> ::the cat sniffs absently at the door's bar and looks up at Jaret with a faint, quizzical *mreer*:: * Jaret scratches the cat's head before getting his new picks out again. He undertones, "Trust me." He looks at the lock on the door, furrows his brow, and starts tentatively poking at it. <Narrator> ::the lock tentatively rebuffs his advances and stays stubbornly locked:: * Jaret stops and looks around to make sure he didn't miss an obvious key. <Narrator> ::no obvious key hangs from the wall. The cat sniffs at Jaret's pack of lockpicks and tools:: * Jaret lets the cat rub its face on the pick he has out. "Can't hurt anything..." He tries again at the lock. <Narrator> ::with a soft click, the lock opens:: * Jaret looks down at the cat. "Puss, you get a treat, as soon as I have one to give." He puts away all his picks. <Narrator> ::the cat looks smug, but that's difficult to tell from her normal expression:: * Jaret looks through the small window to see if the cell's inhabitant has noticed an imminent visitation. <Narrator> ::the cell beyond is sparsely furnished. The only difference between this one and the others is this one has a soft snow of shredded papers near the door as if the inhabitant recently indulged himself in the ritual shredding of the Book of Lathander:: <Narrator> ::Niralan, thus far, remains motionless, facing the wall. His breathing is rapid, but regular, and the faint smell of herbal tonic clings to the room like forgotten smoke:: * Jaret looks over his shoulder at the praying woman before slowly opening the door to Niralan's cell. <Niralan> ::in a soft voice, spoken in the tone of a professional prisoner that carries no further than absolutely necessary:: It doesn't suit you. <Jaret> ::opening the door more and slipping inside, not closing it behind him, Jaret replies similarly sotto voce:: Needs must when the devil drives, I understand. <Niralan> ::sits up slowly:: You need a cloak to swirl. And a snigger. Definitely noticed the lack of sniggering. ::the cat is a yellow blur as she darts under Niralan's cot:: <Jaret> I'm appalling at sniggering. I was almost last in my class at sniggering, but there was another pupil who kept getting it confused with guffawing, and so I was spared that fate. <Niralan> ::turns to look at Jaret:: Who treads these halls without grace of the Morninglords? ::in the faint light, his features are haggard, his eyes hooded:: * Jaret pulls the cloak back from his head, revealing his features somewhat, in the dismal light of the cell. "One who hopes to help you more than you have been so far, and to liberate you from the smoke and ghosts that visit you here." * Niralan moves with astonishing swiftness and seizes Jaret's arm. He tucks his face into the crook of Jaret's neck and breathes in deeply. "You spoke with her... several days have passed since, her scent is faint. And another woman. I smell books and magic. And steel, but not with you now." He releases Jaret's arm. * Jaret has started to bring a cupped hand up to Niralan's face and swing a leg around behind Niralan's, but he untangles himself as Niralan lets his arm go. "You have a remarkably keen sense of smell, Magus. And I have spoken with others about you, that is true." <Niralan> ::turns to look out his small barred window:: She is beautiful. And involved. I could smell her man's sweat on her. What help have you come to bring me? And why? <Jaret> I bring you the chance at freedom. You are caged here unwillingly. Your troubles go untreated. I offer you the chance to go and be freed of that which torments you. All you need do is take the opportunity. <Niralan> ::glances over his shoulder:: Altruism? Ha. <Jaret> In part. After, I may wish for you to provide witness against those that put you here. <Niralan> ::nods slowly, looking out at the cloud scrim across the sky:: There are many prisons. This is only one of them. <Jaret> And not pure altruism, as I understand your sufferings are in part due to a dislike by some of myself and some of my close friends. <Niralan> ::takes a deep breath:: Protected by my relations. Probably be dead and forgotten, but for my uncle... ::in a deeper voice:: Disturbed in the head, poor boy. Best place for him, really. <Jaret> Ba... damn, what's the name... Barise is your uncle? * Niralan winces. "Shut up, you bloody idiot!" He turns around in a full circle, eyes wide and darting from corner to corner as if expecting a sudden materialization. * Jaret starts at Niralan's sudden shriek, and settles himself quickly. "I see. I don't know how many other prisons clasp themselves around you, but I will do what I can for the few I know about. What say you?" <Niralan> ::wrings long fingers together:: I say... ::he twitches, sweat beading against his upper lip:: I say aye, if it can be done. <Jaret> Then there is but one thing you must do, before you go. Close me in here, in your stead. I must see what you have seen. <Niralan> ::raises an eyebrow, still wringing his hands together:: He will know. <Jaret> I have means of changing my visage, so I will appear otherwise. It is a risk, but it must be taken. That which he set in motion must be brought to rest, and you can help others quiet it. I will stay here, and do what I can to gain them, and you, time. <Niralan> Instruct me. ::touches Jaret's hand lightly:: And, above all, do not drink what they give you. * Jaret hands Niralan one of the glass rods Zoya gave him. "Close the door and bar it. Then, snap this in two, and you will be rescued. And thank you for the warning about the wine list. I've seen the cellar, and the vintages didn't look appealing." * Niralan nods. "Be cautious. Luck walk in your shadow." He takes the rod and steps out of the cell. <Jaret> And yours. Safe journey. * Niralan pushes the cell door closed and bars it. "'Ware the crows. They answer to him." He takes the rod and snaps it, vanishing into a cloud of lavender scented maroon smoke, which disperses rapidly. * Jaret sits on the cot and sighs. He leans over and looks under the cot. "You can come out now. It's just us." <Cat> ::sticks her nose out:: Mrrrrm. * Jaret takes a circlet from inside the robe and settles it on his brow. His features shift and flow, and resolve into Niralan's worn, haggard countenance. He looks down at the cat. "Although it's pointless now, if you're someone's familiar. Or my cross-hall neighbor isn't as penitent as she appears to be. Still, carry out the plan until it all falls apart, yes?" <Cat> ::purrs and rubs against Jaret's legs:: * Jaret scratches the cat's head. "Or I might be growing as irrationally distrustful as certain acquaintances. Time will tell, I suppose." <Narrator> ::the cat sneezes and jumps up onto the cot, curling in a neat ball near "Niralan's" pillow:: * Jaret leans down on the cot, and rests his head on the pillow. "Just for verisimilitude, you understand..." <Narrator> ::the night passes slowly. The woman across the hall eventually blows out her candle. Morning comes too early, accompanied by much clanging of bells and deep-voiced chants rising from the chapel. Breakfast, if you want to call it that, is a thin gruel of oatmeal, a hunk of brown bread and slab of cheese::: * Jaret offers the cat some of the cheese and bread, and toys with the oatmeal after checking to see if it smells undoctored. <Narrator> ::the cat daintily nibbles at the cheese and uses the crust of bread as a toy, batting it around the floor with a series of soft-pawed jabs:: * Jaret eats sparsely, both Niralan's warning and the excitement at being in the belly of the beast suppressing his appetite. <Narrator> ::time drags forward slowly. Near mid-morning, a young brother comes on the floor and reads aloud for a time from the Book of Lathander, passages of hope and salvation. At some later point, another brother comes around to look in on each penitent and inquire after their well-being. He approaches the cell across from Jaret:: Good afternoon, sister. Do you find your load lightened? * Jaret cocks an ear to listen, not having much else to entertain him besides cleaning up the shredded Book of Lathander bits the cat enjoys spreading over the cell. <Woman> ::her voice breaks:: I find no surcease of sorrow. Forgiveness is held out with one hand to be snatched away by my guilt. <Brother> ::soothingly:: The god forgives all, sister, if the heart and soul truly are remorseful. Your burden will lighten in time. <Narrator> ::the monk turns away and peers into "Niralan's" cell:: Brother? How fare you? Did you sleep? * Jaret roughens his voice. "I am as I have been before. That which was still is." <Narrator> ::the cat vanishes under the cot, not a whisker to be seen:: <Brother> ::again, his voice soothing, as if speaking to a somewhat stupid child:: You will recover, in time. I pray for you, brother, for your sins and your salvation. <Jaret> Go, and take your happy thoughts with you. They are out of place here. <Brother> ::shakes his head:: We are trying to help you, brother. I wish you believed that. ::he turns and heads to the next cell:: <Woman> ::softly, her voice bitter and sarcastic:: Liar. * Jaret stands up and goes to the window in his door, to look at the woman across the way. <Woman> ::looking across the hallway, one slender hand on the bars of her window:: The worst lie is the one he tells himself. ::she glances down the hall but the Brother is several cells down now and does not look back:: * Jaret looks at her for a moment and then turns away as if it takes great effort to do so. "And which one is that?" <Woman> Prayer alone will not heal some wounds. The gods have many cares and we are among the least. * Jaret leans with his back against the door and starts slowly thumping his head against it. "Why are you still here?" <Woman> ::a single tear beads in her eye and trails slowly down her cheek:: The pity of strangers is unbearable. I am beyond the kindness and cruelty of the world. Their platitudes do not mirror my shame. * Jaret continues thumping his head against the door (somewhat more delicately as time goes on, as it starts to hurt), and repeats his question, "Why are you still *here*?" <Woman> ::softly, as if by rote:: I am a danger to myself. I cannot be trusted. Nor can you. <Jaret> Does the book help you? <Woman> Sometimes I can forget. ::she sighs:: Sometimes. <Jaret> And the draughts that the brothers dole out? <Woman> ::licks her lips:: The clouds will come. <Jaret> Too dark. Too dark. ::Jaret takes a last look at the woman across the way, and returns to his cot:: <Narrator> ::the cat sticks out her nose and looks up at Jaret:: Mrr? * Jaret rubs the cat under the chin. "Not yet." <Narrator> ::several days of boredom pass. The penitents are given three meals and in the late afternoon some are given herbal teas to help them sleep. most of the penitents take these eagerly, in fact some are impatiently waiting for them before they arrive:: <Narrator> ::the cat occasionally comes and goes through the food-slot. On several evenings, she brings Jaret dead birds and mice, and always sleeps in his cell:: * Jaret wants a bath, a hearty meal, and his own bed, but is still in Niralan's cell. He accepts the meals, but not the teas nor the tonics. He disposes of the teas and tonics into his mess bucket. The birds and mice he waits until the cat leaves before pitching them out the window. <Narrator> ::over a week passes. One fine afternoon, just after lunch, a man walks down the corridor, accompanied by a Monk:: <Brother> I'm afraid he's not much better, Magus. Perhaps with more time, the fever in his mind will cool. <Magus> Perhaps. I fear he will never recover. But he was a promising student, and I will continue to hope for the best. I'll call you, after I am done visiting. <Narrator> ::the monk opens the cell-door and lets the man in, then bars it behind:: <Magus> Niralan? <Jaret> ::on the cot, looking off to one side, away from the visitors:: Uncle. <Barise> The monks tell me you're withdrawn, this week. Don't feel like talking much? ::he leans against the wall and peers at "Niralan":: <Jaret> It doesn't matter what I say, so why say it? You know what wracks my every moment. <Barise> ::reaches out and grasps his chin, forcing his eyes upwards:: You... haven't been taking your tonic. * Jaret shakes his head free of Barise's grasp. "Why should I?" <Barise> ::raises one eyebrow:: It is all that controls the effects of your condition. You don't want to get worse, do you? <Jaret> My 'condition.' Is there worse? Is there hope of better days? I don't know. <Barise> ::ominously:: It could get much worse. <Jaret> And no answer to the other query. <Barise> ::shrugs:: If you don't take your tonic, there won't be. You won't live long enough for us to find a way to reverse it. <Jaret> How long like this? What do the others say? <Barise> ::rubs his chin thoughtfully:: Perhaps another month, or so. Penyl's given her notes out. When she gets them back, there might be something there I can use. <Jaret> A month? Or so. So. The notes are out. Might be something. I wish I was more reassured. Will... does Marsember rise, yet? Rise against them? <Barise> ::laughs, patting "Niralan" on the shoulder:: It grows... I expect that the demon-child will be attacked soon... ::he smiles down at "Niralan":: It is good to know you're coming around. This ::gestures to the cell:: is their doing. You understand that, now? That surge interfered, did this to you. <Jaret> If you say so. Things... it's hard to make things clear. I don't know all the time. Is there anything else? <Barise> ::nods:: I know. Take your tonic. It will make this easier. After they are gone from the city, I will dedicate my studies to curing your affliction. Permanently. <Jaret> If you say so, uncle. I will endure. <Barise> ::nods:: Be well, then. ::Barise knocks on the door and the monk comes to let him out:: * Jaret looks off to the side again, and waits for Barise and his escort to leave. <Barise> ::after their footsteps have faded down the stairs, the cat emerges from under Jaret's cot and noisily hacks up a hairball:: <Jaret> Oh, yes, I quite agree, Puss. ::he nudges the hairball off into a corner of the cell with the Book of Lathander.:: |
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